Minutes before they began, Jake had attempted to politely introduce himself to Herschel and Ramona, but they had rudely turned their backs. He was the enemy now, not their father. Ian in particular looked as if he might throw a punch. Their teenage children were turned out in the finest preppy fashions and gave every impression of bearing the arrogance of inherited wealth. Herschel’s two children, on the contrary, were ill-kempt and grungy. Just days earlier, the four had been too busy to attend the funeral of their beloved grandfather. Now, though, their priorities had suddenly shifted.

Jake figured the lawyers had impressed upon the families the need for the kids to be there, to be seen, to be closely identified with the consequences of the court’s actions. A waste of time, in his opinion, but then the stakes were high.

At the moment, in a crowded courtroom, Jake felt very alone. Next to him, Russell Amburgh was uncooperative, hardly civil, and planning a quick exit from the proceedings. Behind him, only inches away, sat Lettie, a person he thought he could talk to. She, though, was being guarded by a couple of pit bull lawyers who were ready for an alley fight over the fortune. And these were the people on his side of the room! Across the aisle, an entire pack of hyenas was waiting to pounce.

Judge Atlee said, “I’ve read both wills. We will proceed with the last one, the handwritten will dated October 1. A petition to probate it was filed on October 4. Mr. Brigance, you will begin the administration of the estate as required by law—posting the notification to creditors, filing a preliminary inventory, and so on. I expect this to be done promptly. Mr. Amburgh, I understand you wish to step aside.”

Amburgh slowly stood and said, “That’s right, Judge. I have no stomach for this. As the executor I would be required to take an oath in which I swear that this is the valid last will and testament of Seth Hubbard, and I simply refuse to take that oath. I don’t like this will and I want no part of it.”

“Mr. Brigance?”

Jake stood next to his soon-to-be-ex-client and said, “Your Honor, Mr. Amburgh was once a lawyer and he knows the basics of probate. I will prepare an order allowing him to withdraw, and at the same time I’ll submit names for his replacement.”

“Please make this a priority. I want the administration to proceed while we sort out other matters. Regardless of what happens to the holographic will, or the prior one, the estate of Mr. Hubbard needs tending to. I assume there are several parties who intend to contest this will, am I right?”

A squad of lawyers stood, nodding, and Judge Atlee held up his hand. “Thank you. Please be seated, everyone. Mr. Amburgh, you may be excused.” Amburgh managed a terse “Thanks” as he scampered from the plaintiff’s table and hurried down the aisle.

Judge Atlee adjusted his glasses and said, “We will proceed as follows. Mr. Brigance, you have ten days to find a substitute executor, and, according to the wishes of the deceased, let’s make sure it’s not a lawyer from this county. Once the executor is in place, you and he will begin the task of locating assets and identifying liabilities. I would like a preliminary inventory as soon as possible. In the meantime, the rest of you should file your objections to this will. Once all parties have properly joined in opposition, we will meet again and map out a plan for the trial. As you know, either side may demand a trial by jury. If you so wish, then please make this demand timely, when you file your objection. Will contests proceed like all other civil trials in Mississippi, so the rules of evidence and procedure will apply.” He removed his glasses and chewed on a stem as he surveyed the lawyers. “Since we are headed for a trial, I’ll tell ya’ll right now that I will not preside over one with a dozen lawyers. I cannot envision such a nightmare, nor will I subject a jury, if we do in fact have one, to such abuse. We will define the issues, streamline the procedure, and try the case in an efficient manner. Any questions?”

Oh, a thousand questions, but there would be plenty of time to ask them later. Suddenly, Booker Sistrunk rose, and in his booming baritone said, “Your Honor, I’m not sure what’s appropriate at this time, but I would like to suggest that my client, Lettie Lang, be appointed as the substitute executor to take the place of Mr. Amburgh. I have reviewed the law of this state and have found no provision requiring a lawyer or an accountant or the like to serve in this role. Indeed, the law sets forth no requirements for training or experience for one to serve as either an administrator, in the case of an estate with no will, or an executor, in a case like this.”

Sistrunk spoke slowly, carefully, with perfect diction, and his words boomed around the courtroom. Judge Atlee and the rest of the lawyers listened and watched. The words were true. Technically, anyone could be named to take the place of Russell Amburgh: any sane person over the age of eighteen. Not even criminals were excluded. However, given the size of the estate and the complex issues facing it, a more experienced, dispassionate hand would be needed. The notion of putting Lettie in charge of a $20 million estate, with Sistrunk whispering in her ear, was shocking, at least to the white 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.”