Though the Hubbard case had saved Jake financially, he was ready to move on. He didn’t like the prospect of clipping the estate for a monthly fee for years to come. At some point, he would begin to feel like a leech. He had just won a big trial and was looking for another one.

Not a single person at the First Presbyterian Church mentioned the trial that morning, and Jake was grateful. Afterward, as they mingled under two giant oaks and exchanged pleasantries while inching toward the parking lot, Judge Atlee said hello to Carla and Hanna and commented on such a beautiful spring day. He walked down the sidewalk with Jake, and when no one could hear them, he said, “Could you stop by this afternoon, say around five? There is a matter I’d like to discuss.”

“Sure, Judge,” Jake said.

“And could you bring Portia with you? I’d like her insights.”

“I think so.”

They sat at the dining room table, under a creaking fan that did nothing to cut the heat and stickiness. It was much cooler outside—the porch would have been nice—but for some reason the judge preferred the dining room. He had a pot of coffee and a platter of cheap pastries, store-bought. Jake took one sip of the weak and dreadful coffee, then ignored it.

Portia declined it all. She was nervous and could not control her curiosity. This was not her part of town. Her mother might have seen some nice homes because she cleaned them, but never as a guest.

Judge Atlee sat at the head of the table with Jake to his right and Portia to his left. After a few awkward preliminaries, he announced, as if on the bench and looking down at a pack of anxious lawyers, “I want this case settled. For the next two years, the money will be tied up while the appeal runs its course. Hundreds of hours will be spent. The contestants will make a strong argument that the verdict should be reversed, and I see their point. I admitted the video of Ancil Hubbard because it was the fair thing to do at that moment. The jury, and I suppose all of us, needed to understand the history. It gave meaning to Seth’s motives. It will be argued forcefully that I was wrong procedurally. From a selfish point of view, I prefer not to be reversed, but my feelings are not important.”

Like hell they’re not, Jake thought as he glanced at Portia. She was staring at the table, frozen.

“Let’s suppose for a moment that the case comes back for a retrial. The next time around you will not get blindsided by the Pickering matter. You will be ready for Julina Kidd. And, most important, you will have Ancil here as an interested party and a live witness. Or, if he’s in jail, you will certainly have time to conduct a proper deposition. At any rate, your case is much stronger the next time, Jake. Do you agree?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You’ll win the case because you should win the case. That’s exactly the reason I allowed Ancil’s video. It was the right and fair thing to do. Do you follow me, Portia?”

“Oh, yes sir.”

“So, how do we settle this matter, stop the appeal, and get on with life?” Jake knew he had the answer and really didn’t want much input.

“I’ve thought of nothing else since Friday afternoon,” the judge continued. “Seth’s will was a desperate, last-minute attempt to correct a horrible injustice. By leaving so much to your mother, he was in reality trying to make amends to your great-grandfather and to all the Rinds families. Do you agree?”

Agree, damn it, Portia, agree. Jake had been here a hundred times. When he asks, “Do you agree?” he’s already assuming that you agree enthusiastically.

“Yes sir,” she said.

He took a sip of coffee, and Jake wondered if he drank the same wretched brew every morning. Judge Atlee said, “I’m wondering, Portia, at this point, what does your mother really want? It would be helpful to know that. I’m sure she’s told you. Can you share this with us?”

“Sure, Judge. My mother doesn’t want a lot, and she has reservations about getting all that money. For lack of a better term, it’s white folks’ money. It doesn’t really belong to us. My mom would like to have the land, the eighty acres, and she’d like to build a house on it, a nice house but not a mansion. She’s seen some nice houses but she’s always known she’d never have one. Now, for the first time in her life, she can dream of having a beautiful home, one she can clean for herself. She wants plenty of room for her kids and grandkids. She’ll never marry again, although there are a few buzzards circling. She wants to get away and to live way out there in the country where it’s peaceful and nobody will bother her. She didn’t go to church this morning, Judge, she hasn’t been in a month. Everybody’s got their hand out. My mother just wants to be left alone.”

“Surely she wants more than a house and eighty acres,” Jake said.

“Well, who doesn’t want some money in the bank? She’s tired of cleaning houses.”

“How much money?” Judge Atlee asked.

“We didn’t get that far. In the past six months, she’s never sat around and thought, ‘Okay, I’ll take five million and I’ll give each kid one million and so on.’ That’s not my mother, okay? She doesn’t think in those terms. It’s just so far beyond her.” She paused for a second, then asked, “How would you divide the money, Judge?”

“I’m glad you asked. Here’s my plan. The bulk of the money should go into a fund for the benefit of your blood relatives, not a cash giveaway that would turn into a feeding frenzy, but a foundation of sorts that would be used solely for education. Who knows how many Rindses are out there, though I’m sure we would quickly find out. The foundation would be tightly controlled by a trustee who would report to me. The money would be invested wisely and spread over, say, twenty years, and during that time it would be used to help as many students as possible. It must be limited to a sole purpose, and education is the most likely. If it’s not limited, then there would be a thousand requests for everything from health care to groceries to housing to new cars. The money is not guaranteed, but must be earned. A blood relative who studies hard and gets admitted to college will qualify for funding.”

“How would you split the money?” Jake asked. Portia was smiling.

“In broad strokes, I suggest this: Let’s work with the figure of twelve million. We know that’s a moving target but it’ll be close. Fund the bequests to Ancil and the church at half a million each. Down to eleven. Take five million of that and place it in the trust fund I just described. That’s a lot of tuition, but then we can anticipate a lot of kinfolks, both old and new.”

“They’re still arriving by the carload,” Portia said.

Judge Atlee continued, “That leaves six million. Split it equally among Lettie, Herschel, and Ramona. Of course, Lettie gets the eighty acres that was once owned by her grandfather.”

Jake took a deep breath as the numbers rattled around. He looked across the table and said, “Lettie’s the key, Portia.”

Portia, still smiling, said, “She’ll take it. She gets a nice house and a nice cushion, yet she won’t be hassled by a fortune everybody wants a piece of. She told me last night the money belonged to all of Sylvester’s people, not just her. She wants to be happy and she wants to be left alone. This will make her very happy.”