Free The Testament by John Grisham

father?”
    “I don’t know what she knows.”
    “Where is she?”
    “Brazil, we think. She’s a missionary working with a remote tribe of Indians.”
    Nate stood and walked around the room. “I spent a week there once,” he said. “I was in college, or maybe law school. It was Carnaval, naked girls dancing in the streets of Rio, the samba bands, a million people partying all night.” His voice trailed away as the nice little memory surfaced and quickly faded.
    “This is not Carnaval.”
    “No. I’m sure it’s not. Would you like some coffee?”
    “Yes. Black.”
    Nate pressed a button on the wall and announced his order into the intercom. A thousand bucks a day also covered room service.
    “How long will I be gone?” he asked, sitting again by the window.
    “It’s a wild guess, but I’d say ten days. There’s no hurry, and she might be hard to find.”
    “What part of the country?”
    “Western, near Bolivia. This outfit she works for specializes in sending its people into the jungles, where they minister to Indians from the Stone Age. We’ve done some research, and theyseem to take pride in finding the most remote people on the face of the earth.”
    “You want me to first find the right jungle, then hike into it in search of the right tribe of Indians, then somehow convince them that I’m a friendly lawyer from the States and they should help me find a woman who probably doesn’t want to be found to begin with.”
    “Something like that.”
    “Might be fun.”
    “Think of it as an adventure.”
    “Plus, it’ll keep me out of the office, right, Josh? Is that it? A diversion while you sort things out.”
    “Someone has to go, Nate. A lawyer from our firm has to meet this woman face to face, show her a copy of the will, explain it to her, and find out what she wants to do next. It cannot be done by a paralegal or a Brazilian lawyer.”
    “Why me?”
    “Because everybody else is busy. You know the routine. You’ve lived it for more than twenty years. Life at the office, lunch at the courthouse, sleep on the train. Plus, it might be good for you.”
    “Are you trying to keep me away from the streets, Josh? Because if you are, then you’re wasting your time. I’m clean. Clean and sober. No more bars, no more parties, no more dealers. I’m clean, Josh. Forever.”
    Josh nodded along because he was certainly expected to. But he’d been there before. “I believe you,” he said, wanting to very badly.
    The porter knocked and brought their coffee on a silver tray.
    After a while, Nate asked, “What about the indictment? I’m not supposed to leave the country until it’s wrapped up.”
    “I’ve talked to the Judge, told him it was pressing business. He wants to see you in ninety days.”
    “Is he nice?”
    “He’s Santa Claus.”
    “So if I’m convicted, do you think he’ll give me a break?”
    “That’s a year away. Let’s worry about it later.”
    Nate was sitting at a small table, hunched over his coffee, staring into the cup as he thought of questions. Josh was on the other side, still gazing into the distance.
    “What if I say no?” Nate asked.
    Josh shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “No big deal. We’ll find someone else. Think of it as a vacation. You’re not afraid of the jungle, are you?”
    “Of course not.”
    “Then go have some fun.”
    “When would I leave?”
    “In a week. Brazil requires a visa, and we’ll have to pull some strings. Plus there are some loose ends around here.”
    Walnut Hill required at least a week of PreRelease, a period of conditioning before it fed its clients back to the wolves. They had been pampered, sobered, brainwashed, and nudged into emotional, mental, and physical shape. PreRelease braced them for the reentry.
    “A week,” Nate repeated to himself.
    “About a week, yes.”
    “And it’ll take ten days.”
    “I’m just guessing.”
    “So I’ll be down there during the holidays.”
    “I guess it looks that