Gray Mountain: A Novel(100)

Kipling was huddled up with his client, a representative to Top Market, a red-faced little stump of a man in a cheap, tight suit. He was furious and sweating, but he could also grasp what was happening. It was obvious the lawyer and the client did not trust one another. Finally, Kipling said, “Could we have five minutes, Your Honor?”

“Sure, but only five.”

They stomped out of the courtroom.

Pamela leaned over and nervously whispered, “I can’t believe this.”

Samantha nodded smugly as if it were just another day in court. She pretended to be captivated by a document, frowning and underlining some terribly important words, while wanting to yell, “I can’t believe it either. This is my first trial!”

Of course, it really wasn’t a trial, but more of a hearing. But it was her first lawsuit, and to win in such a slam-dunk fashion was thrilling.

The main door opened and they stomped back to their table. Kipling looked at the judge and said, “Your Honor, well, uh, well it looks like my client made some mistakes and is truly sorry for all the trouble it caused. What you suggested is a fair settlement. We’ll take it.”


Samantha floated back to Brady. She thought of Donovan and Jeff after the Tate verdict, floating back to town with a $3 million verdict in their pocket. They could not have been more excited and overwhelmed than Samantha at that moment. She and her colleagues had rescued the Bookers from homelessness, even starvation, and returned them to a normal life. They had pursued justice with determination, and found it. The bad guys had been thoroughly routed.

As a lawyer, she had never felt so worthy. As a person, she had never felt so needed.

Monday’s brown-bag lunch was spent celebrating Samantha’s crushing victory in her first lawsuit. Annette advised her to savor the moment because victories were rare in their business. Mattie cautioned her about celebrating too soon; the check had not yet been received. Once they rehashed the Booker case, the conversation drifted to other matters. Mattie reported that Jeff was out of jail in Charleston. Did he post a bond or did he escape? Samantha asked. A prominent lawyer there, one of Donovan’s pals, secured his release. No, he did not elaborate on his alleged crime.

Annette received an off-the-record call that morning from a clerk in the courthouse, alerting her to the possibility that an unnamed lawyer for the Crump family planned to file a petition to probate the prior will of Francine Crump, one she had signed five years earlier, and presumably the one she had shown Samantha. The family was claiming the prior will was valid because Francine had destroyed the later will, the free one prepared by the clinic. It was a looming mess that no one around the table wanted to jump into. Let the Crumps have their land and sell it to a coal company; they didn’t care. However, as Mattie explained, as lawyers they were officers of the court, and thereby duty-bound to prevent, if possible, a fraud. They had the original free will, mailed to them by some mysterious person after Francine was felled by a stroke. She had not destroyed it; indeed, she was hiding it from her children and wanted the clinic to protect it, and to probate it. Should they produce the will now, and start a war that would rage for several years? Or should they wait and see what the Crumps alleged? There was a good chance the family would continue with its lying about Francine’s destruction of the will. If these lies were told under oath, and then exposed, there could be serious implications for the family. In all likelihood, they were walking into a trap, one that the clinic could avoid by producing the will now.

It was a legal quagmire, a classic law school exam question, designed to drive students insane. They decided to wait another week, though all three lawyers, along with Claudelle and Barb, knew the will should be produced and the family alerted.

A heavy snowfall was expected to begin late in the afternoon, and they discussed the office contingencies. Mattie, Annette, and Samantha usually walked to work anyway, so the clinic would be open. Claudelle was eight months pregnant and would not be expected to show up. Barb lived deep in the countryside on a road that was seldom plowed.

By 3:00 p.m. the snow was already falling. Samantha was watching it from her desk, daydreaming and avoiding her files, when the prepaid phone buzzed in her purse. Jeff said he was still in the Charleston area. “How was jail?” she asked.

“Be careful what you say,” he said.

“Oh right, I forgot.” She stood and walked to the front porch.

He said he entered the ramp at the general aviation section of the airport by an unlocked gate in a chain-link fence. The small terminal was open but only a clerk was there, a young girl sitting at a desk flipping through tabloid magazines. From the shadows he watched the area for half an hour and saw no movements. In the distance, at the main terminal, there were a few flights, but nothing involving small aircraft. There were thirteen airplanes tied down on the ramp, including four Skyhawks. Two were unlocked, and he crawled inside one and sat in the darkness for ten minutes.

In other words, there was virtually no security. He could have tampered with any of the airplanes on the ramp. Then he saw a guard and decided to get arrested. It was only trespassing, a misdemeanor. He’d had more serious charges, he reminded her. The guard was nice and Jeff turned on the charm. He said he was a pilot and had always dreamed of owning a Beech Bonanza; he just wanted to see one up close. No harm intended. The guard believed him and was sympathetic, but he had a job to do.

Jail was no big deal. The lawyer would take care of things.