Sycamore Row - John Grisham

“No comment, Dumas,” Jake said, impressed that the notoriously lazy reporter had
been working the phones.
“I’m not much when it comes to business, but you gotta figure the old guy had some
debts, you know? No comment, right?” Jake nodded, yes, no comment. “But I can’t
locate his banks. The more I dig, the less I learn about your client.”
“Never met the man,” Jake said, then wished he hadn’t. Dumas wrote it down.
“Do you know if he had any debts? Mr. Amburgh clammed up, then he hung up.”
“No comment.”
“So if I say that Mr. Hubbard sold out for fifty-five million and don’t mention any
debts because I have no sources, then my readers will get the impression that his estate
is worth a lot more than it really is, right?”
Jake nodded. Dumas watched him, waited, then scribbled. Shifting gears, he asked,
“So the great question, Jake, is, Why would a man who’s worth millions change his will
the day before his suicide, screwing his family with the update and leaving everything to
his housekeeper?”
You got it, Dumas. That is the great question. Jake kept nodding but said nothing.
“And perhaps number two might be, What did Seth and his little brother witness that
left such an impression that Seth mentions it decades later? Right?”
Jake replied, “That’s indeed a great question, but I’m not sure it’s number two.”
“Fair enough. Any idea where Ancil Hubbard is these days?”
“None whatsoever.”
“I found a cousin in Tupelo who says the family has assumed he’s been dead for
decades.”
“I have not had time to search for Ancil.”
“But you will?”
“Yes, he’s a beneficiary under the will. It’s my job to locate him if possible, or find out
what happened to him.”
“And how will you go about this?”
“I have no idea. Haven’t really thought about it yet.”
“When’s the first court date?”
“It has not been set.”
“Will you get your girl to contact me when a date has been set?”
“Yes, unless it’s a closed hearing.”
“Fair enough.”
Jake’s last visitor of the afternoon was his landlord. Lucien was in the conference
room on the first floor where the law books were kept. He’d covered the table with
them, obviously lost somewhere deep in his own world. When Jake walked in, said
hello, and saw a dozen books opened, he took a deep breath as a sense of dread hit him
in the gut. He could not remember the last time Lucien dug through law books. The
disbarment had happened not long after Jake hired on, and Lucien had kept his distance