He knew exactly what he had approved. “One fifty per hour,” Jake said.

“So a total of, let’s see.” He was peering down his nose through the thick reading glasses perched on the tip, still frowning mightily as if he’d been insulted. “Twenty-seven thousand dollars?” His voice rose with fake incredulity.

“At least that much.”

“Seems a bit steep?”

“On the contrary, Judge. It’s a bargain.”

“It’s also a nice start to the holiday season.”

“Oh yes, that too.” Jake knew Atlee would approve his fees if his hours had been doubled.

“Approved. Other expenses?” He reached into his coat pocket and removed a tobacco pouch.

Jake slid over more paperwork. “Yes, Judge, quite a few. Quince Lundy needs to get paid. He’s showing 110 hours, at a hundred bucks per. And we need to pay the appraisers, the accountants, and the consulting firm. I have the documentation here, along with orders for you to sign. May I suggest that we move some cash from the bank in Birmingham to the estate account here at First National?”

“How much?” he asked, striking a match and waving it over the bowl of tobacco.

“Not much, because I don’t like the idea of anybody at the bank seeing the money. It’s tucked away over in Birmingham, let’s leave it there as long as we can.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Judge Atlee said, something he often said when confronted with a good idea. He discharged a blast of thick smoke that engulfed the table.

“I’ve already prepared the order,” Jake said, shoving over even more paperwork and trying to ignore the smoke. Judge Atlee pulled the pipe from his teeth, a trail of smoke behind it. He began scribbling his name in his distinctive style, one that could never be deciphered but was recognizable nonetheless. He paused and looked at the order transferring the money. He said, “And with the stroke of my pen, I can move half a million bucks. Such power.”

“That’s more than I’ll net in the next ten years.”

“Not the way you’re billing. You must think you’re a big-firm lawyer.”

“I’d rather dig ditches, Judge.”

“So would I.” For a few silent moments he smoked and signed his name, alternating between puffing and scribbling. When the stack was finished, he said, “Let’s talk about next week. Is everything in order?”

“As far as I know. Lettie’s deposition is set for Monday and Tuesday. Herschel Hubbard is Wednesday, his sister Thursday, and Friday we’ll do Ian Dafoe. That’s a pretty grueling week. Five straight days of depositions.”

“And you’re using the main courtroom?”

“Yes sir. There’s no court, and I’ve asked Ozzie to give us an extra deputy to keep the doors closed. We’ll have plenty of room, which of course we’ll need.”

“And I’ll be right here in case there’s trouble. I do not want any witnesses in the room while another witness is being deposed.”

“That’s been made clear to all parties.”

“And I want them all on video.”

“It’s all arranged. Money is no object.”

Judge Atlee chewed on the pipe stem and was amused by something. “My oh my,” he mused. “What would Seth Hubbard think if he could look in next Monday and see a roomful of hungry lawyers fighting over his money?”

“I’m sure he’d be sick, Judge, but it’s his own fault. He should’ve split things up, taken care of his kids and Lettie and anybody else he wanted, and we wouldn’t be here.”

“You think he was crazy?”

“No, not really.”

“Then why’d he do it?”

“I have no idea.”

“Sex?”

“Well, my new intern thinks not, and this girl has been around the world. It’s her mother, but she’s not naive.”

There was actually a prohibition against such a conversation. Among the many antiquated sections of the Mississippi Code, one of the more famous, at least among lawyers, was titled Earwigging the Chancellor Prohibited. In simple English, it prohibited a lawyer from discussing sensitive areas of a pending case with the presiding judge in the absence of the lawyer for the other side. The rule was routinely violated. Earwigging was common, especially in the chambers of Chancellor Reuben V. Atlee, but only with a few preferred and trusted lawyers.

Jake had learned the hard way that what was said in chambers stayed there and was of no importance in open court. Out there, where it counted, Judge Atlee called them fair and straight, regardless of how much he’d been earwigged.

22

Just as Judge Atlee imagined the scene, old Seth would indeed have been upset, had he been a fly on the wall. No fewer than nine lawyers gathered in the courtroom early Monday morning to formally kick off discovery in the case now known on the docket as In re Estate of Henry Seth Hubbard. In other words, nine lawyers sharpening their knives for a slice of the pie.

In addition to Jake, those present were Wade Lanier and Lester Chilcott, from Jackson, representing Ramona Dafoe. Stillman Rush and Sam Larkin, from Tupelo, representing Herschel Hubbard. Lanier was still pressuring Ian to pressure Ramona to pressure Herschel to ditch the Tupelo lawyers and join forces, but such efforts so far had only led to more tension in the family. Lanier was threatening to bolt if the two allies could not join forces, but his threats were losing steam. Ian suspected there was simply too much money in the pot for any lawyer to walk away. Herschel’s children were represented by Zack Zeitler, a Memphis lawyer also licensed in Mississippi. He brought along a useless associate whose only role was to fill a chair, scribble nonstop, and convey the impression that Zeitler had resources. Ramona’s children were represented by Joe Bradley Hunt, from Jackson, and he dragged along an associate similar to Zeitler’s. Ancil, also in at five, was still presumed dead, and thus unrepresented and not mentioned.

Portia was one of three paralegals in the courtroom. Wade Lanier and Stillman Rush brought the other two, both white males, same as everybody else except for the court reporter, who was a white woman. “The courtroom is owned by the taxpayers,” Jake had told Portia. “So act like you own the place.” She was trying, but she was still a nervous wreck. She was expecting tension, maybe harsh words, an atmosphere pervaded by competition and distrust. What she saw, however, was a bunch of white men shaking hands, swapping friendly insults, poking fun, laughing, and having a good time as they drank their coffee and waited on 9:00 a.m. If there was any edginess as they were about to begin their war over a fortune, it was not evident.

“It’s just depositions,” Jake had said. “You’ll be bored out of your mind. Death by deposition.”

In the center of the courtroom, between the bar and the bench, the tables had been joined together, with chairs crammed around them. The lawyers slowly found their places, though no seating was assigned. Since Lettie would be the first witness, Jake sat near the empty seat at the end. At the other end, the court reporter fiddled with a video camera as a clerk entered with a full pot of coffee and sat it on the table.

When everyone was in place and somewhat settled, Jake nodded at Portia who opened a side door and retrieved her mother. Lettie was dressed for church and looked great, though Jake had told her she could wear anything. “It’s just a deposition.”