Free The Testament by John Grisham Page B

else.”
    “So I’ll become a lobbyist, and do lunch with the press secretaries for a thousand little congressmen.”
    “We’ll find a place for you. But it won’t be in the courtroom.”
    “I’m not good at doing lunch. I want to litigate.”
    “The answer is no. You can stay with the firm, make a lot of money, stay healthy, take up golf, and life will be good, assuming the IRS doesn’t send you away.”
    For a few pleasant moments the IRS had been forgotten. Now it was back, and Nate sat down again. He squeezed a small pack of honey into his lukewarm coffee; sugar and artificial sweeteners couldn’t be allowed in a place as healthy as Walnut Hill.
    “A couple of weeks in the Brazilian wetlands is beginning to sound good,” he said.
    “So you’ll go?”
    “Yes.”
    ________
    S INCE N ATE had plenty of time to read, Josh left him a thick file on the Phelan estate and its mysterious new heir. And there were two books on remote Indians of South America.
    Nate read nonstop for eight hours, even neglecting dinner. He was suddenly anxious to leave, to begin his adventure. When Sergio checked on him at ten, he was sitting like a monk in the middle of his bed, papers sprawled around him, lost in another world.
    “It’s time for me to leave,” Nate said.
    “Yes, it is,” Sergio replied. “I’ll start the paperwork tomorrow.”

NINE
_____________
    T he infighting grew worse as the Phelan heirs spent less time talking to each other and more time in their lawyers’ offices. A week passed with no will, and no plans to probate. With their fortunes within sight but just out of reach, the heirs became even more agitated. Several lawyers were fired, with more brought in to replace them.
    Mary Ross Phelan Jackman fired hers because he wasn’t charging enough per hour. Her husband was a successful orthopedic surgeon with lots of business interests. He dealt with lawyers every day. Their new one was a fireball named Grit, who made a noisy entrance into the fray at six hundred dollars per hour.
    While the heirs waited, they also incurred massive debt. Contracts were signed for mansions. New cars were delivered. Consultants were hired to do such varied things as design pool houses, locate just the right private jet, and give advice on whichthoroughbred to purchase. If the heirs weren’t fighting, then they were shopping. Ramble was the exception, but only because he was a minor. He hung out with his lawyer, who was certainly incurring debt on behalf of his client.
    Snowball litigation is often commenced with a race to the courthouse. With Josh Stafford refusing to reveal the will, and at the same time dropping mysterious hints about Troy’s lack of testamentary capacity, the lawyers for the Phelan heirs finally panicked.
    Ten days after the suicide, Hark Gettys went to the Circuit Court of Fairfax County, Virginia, and filed a Petition to Compel the Last Will and Testament of Troy L. Phelan. With all the finesse of an ambitious lawyer to be reckoned with, he tipped a reporter from the
Post.
They chatted for an hour after the filing, some comments off the record, others offered for the glory of the lawyer. A photographer took some pictures.
    Oddly, Hark filed his petition on behalf of all Phelan heirs. And he listed their names and addresses as if they were his clients. He faxed them copies when he returned to his office. Within minutes his phone lines were burning.
    The
Post
’s story the next morning was complemented by a large photo of Hark frowning and rubbing his beard. The story covered even more space than he’d dreamed of. He read it at sunrise in a coffee shop in Chevy Chase, then hurriedly drove to his new office.
    A couple of hours later, just after nine, the circuit court clerk’s office in Fairfax County was crawling with lawyers, more so than normal. They arrived in tight little packs, spoke in terse sentences to the clerks, and worked hard at ignoring each other. Their petitions were varied but they all