Sycamore Row - John Grisham

people in the courtroom. Even Judge Atlee seemed frozen for a second or two.
Sistrunk wasn’t finished. He paused just long enough for the initial shock to register,
then continued, “Now, Your Honor, I know that virtually all the probate work is done
by the estate’s lawyer, under the strict supervision of the court, of course, and for that
reason I’d suggest that my firm be designated as counsel of record in this matter. We
will work closely with our client, Ms. Lettie Lang, to follow the precise dictates of Mr.
Hubbard’s wishes. If necessary, we will consult with Mr. Brigance, a fine young lawyer
in his own right, but most of the heavy lifting will be done by me and my staff.”
And with that, Booker Sistrunk accomplished his goal. The war would now be defined
in terms of black versus white.
Herschel and Ramona and their families glared with hatred across the aisle at the
group of blacks, who eagerly and somewhat smugly returned the looks. Their girl Lettie
had been chosen to receive the money, and they were there to fight for her. But the
money belonged to the Hubbards. Seth had been out of his mind.
Jake, stunned, shot a fierce look over his shoulder but was ignored by Sistrunk. Jake’s
first reaction was, How stupid! A predominantly white county means a predominantly
white jury. They were a long way from Memphis, where Sistrunk had proven skillful at
getting his people on federal juries and winning huge verdicts. But Memphis was
another world.
Put nine or ten white folks from Ford County on the jury, make them suffer through a
week with Booker Sistrunk, and Ms. Lettie Lang would leave with nothing.
The horde of white lawyers sat as stunned as Jake, but Wade Lanier quickly saw the
opportunity. He jumped to his feet and blurted, “We have no objection, Your Honor.”
Judge Atlee snapped, “You have no standing to object to anything.”
Jake’s second thought was, Fine, get me out of here. With this pack of vultures, there
will be nothing left. Life is too short to waste a year dodging bullets in a race war.
Judge Atlee said, “Anything else, Mr. Sistrunk?”
“Well, not at this time, Your Honor.” Sistrunk turned and looked smugly at Simeon
and the family. He had just proven his backbone. He was fearless, could not be
intimidated, and was ready for a street brawl. They had hired the right lawyer. Before
he sat, he shot a glance at Herschel Hubbard, and with a smirk seemed to say, “Game
on, old boy.”
Judge Atlee calmly said, “You need to keep researching, Mr. Sistrunk. Our probate
laws give supreme deference to the wishes of the person who wrote the will. Mr.
Hubbard clearly stated his intentions with regard to the attorney he wanted. There will
be no change in that regard. Any other requests you may have should be dealt with by
proper motion; that is, once you have associated a lawyer recognized by this court and
are duly before it.”
Jake began to breathe normally again, though he was still shaken by the brazenness
of Sistrunk and his ideas. And his greed. There was little doubt he had signed up Lettie
to some form of contingency agreement that gave him a cut of her take. Most plaintiffs’
lawyers took one-third of a settlement, 40 percent of a jury verdict, and half where the
case was appealed. An ego like Sistrunk, and, admittedly, one with a history of winning,