Gray Mountain (30 page)

He wasn’t giving up. He explained to Samantha that he was running the case through his vast network of trial lawyer contacts from coast to coast, and was confident he could put together the right team, one that would attract sufficient funding from another investment group. He was willing to put up some of his own money and to take an active role in the litigation. He envisioned himself as the coach on the sideline, sending in plays to his quarterback.

They were at lunch the day after Thanksgiving. Samantha preferred to avoid the topics of lawsuits, Donovan, the Ryzer case, Lonerock Coal, and so forth, anything, really, to do with Brady, Virginia, and Appalachia. But as she toyed with her salad, she realized that she should be thankful for litigation. Without it, she and her father would have so little to discuss. With it, they could talk for hours.

He spoke quietly, his eyes flitting here and there as if the restaurant might be filled with spies. “I have a source at NTSB,” he said, as smug as always when he had some inside dirt. “Donovan did not make a distress call. He was flying at seven thousand feet in clear weather, no sign of trouble, then he vanished from the radar.
If there was an engine problem, he had ample time to report it and give his exact location. But, nothing.”

“Maybe he just panicked,” Samantha said.

“I’m sure he panicked. The plane starts going down; hell, they all panic.”

“Can they determine if he was using the autopilot?”

“No. A small plane like that doesn’t have a black box, so there’s no data on what was happening. Why do you ask about the autopilot?”

“Because he told me once, when we were flying, that he sometimes takes a nap. The hum of the engine makes him sleepy, and so he simply flips on the autopilot and dozes off. I’m not sure how you engage it, but what if he fell asleep and somehow hit the wrong button? Is that possible?”

“A lot of things are possible, Samantha, and I like that theory better than the foul play scenario. I find it hard to believe that his airplane was sabotaged. That’s murder, and it’s far too risky for any of the bad guys he was dealing with. Lonerock Coal, Krull Mining, Casper Slate—all bad actors, sure, but would they run the risk of committing murder and getting caught? I don’t think so. And a high-profile murder at that? One that is certain to be fully investigated? I don’t buy it.”

“Well Jeff certainly does.”

“He has a different perspective and I appreciate that. I sympathize with him. But what do they gain by knocking off Donovan? In the Krull Mining case, there are three other law firms at the plaintiff’s table, all, I might add, with far more experience with toxic torts than Donovan.”

“But he has the documents.”

Marshall pondered this for a moment. “Do the other three firms have the documents?”

“I don’t think so. I get the impression they’re buried somewhere.”

“Well, anyway, Krull doesn’t know that, not yet anyway. In fact, if I were counsel for Krull, I would assume all the lawyers on
the plaintiff’s team have access to the documents. So, again, what do they gain by knocking off only one of the four lawyers?”

“So, if we follow your line of reasoning, then Lonerock Coal and Casper Slate would have enormous incentive to take him out. He’s the lone gunman, as you say. There’s no other name on the lawsuit. He dies one day and within forty-eight hours the litigation funds are gone. Lawsuit’s over. They win.”

Marshall was shaking his head. He glanced around again; no one had noticed they were there. “Look, Samantha, I loathe companies like Lonerock and law firms like Casper Slate. I made a career fighting goons like them. Hate them, okay? But they are reputable—hell, Lonerock is publicly traded. You’ll never convince me they’re capable of murdering a lawyer who’s sued them. Krull is another matter; it’s a rogue outfit owned by a rich thug who roams the world causing trouble. Krull is capable of anything, but, again, why? Knocking off Donovan will not help its case in the long run.”

“Let’s talk about something else.”

“I’m sorry. He was your friend and I liked him a lot. He reminded me of my younger days.”

“It’s pretty devastating, really. I have to go back, but I’m not sure I want to.”

“You have clients now. Real people with real problems.”

“I know, Dad. I’m a real lawyer, not some pencil pusher in a corporate firm. You win.”

“I didn’t say that, and this is not a contest.”

“You’ve said it for three years, and everything is a contest with you.”

“A bit edgy, are we?” Marshall said as he reached across the small table and touched her hand. “I’m sorry. I know it’s been an emotional week.”

Her eyes suddenly watered as her throat tightened. She said, “I’d like to go now.”

T
here were four of them, all large, angry, rough-looking people, two men and two women, ages forty-five to sixty, she guessed, with gray hair and rolls of fat and cheap clothes. They were in town for a rare Thanksgiving visit with their momma but were now forced to stay over, to miss work, to deal with a legal mess that was not of their making. As Samantha approached on foot, she saw them loitering around the front door, waiting impatiently for the legal clinic to open, and she instinctively knew who they were and what they wanted. She thought about ducking into Betty’s Quilts and hiding for an hour or so, but then what would she and Betty talk about? Instead, she walked around the block and entered the offices from the rear. She turned on lights, made coffee, and eventually drifted to the front, where she opened the door. They were still waiting, still angry; things had been simmering for some time.

“Good morning,” she said as happily as possible. A blind person could see that the next hour would be most unpleasant.

The leader, the oldest, growled, “We’re looking for Samantha Kofer.” He took a step forward, as did the other three.

Still smiling, she said, “That’s me. What can I do for you?”

A sister whipped out a folded document and asked, “Did you write this for Francine Crump?”

The other brother added, “It’s our mother’s will.” He seemed ready to spit in her face.

They followed her into the conference room and gathered around the table. Samantha politely offered them coffee, and when all four refused she went to the kitchen and slowly poured herself a cup. She was stalling, waiting for someone else to arrive. It was 8:30, and normally Mattie would be holed up in her office chatting with Donovan. Today, though, she doubted Mattie would arrive before noon. With a fresh cup, she sat at the end of the table. Jonah, age sixty-one, lived in Bristol. Irma, age sixty, lived in Louisville. Euna Faye, age fifty-seven, lived in Rome, Georgia. Lonnie, age fifty-one, lived in Knoxville. DeLoss, the “baby” at forty-five, was living in Durham, and at the moment he was home with Momma, who was very upset. It had been a rough Thanksgiving. Samantha took notes and tried to burn some clock so they might take a breath and settle down. After ten minutes of one-way chitchat, though, it was obvious they were itching for a fight.

“What the hell is the Mountain Trust?” Jonah asked.

Samantha described the trust in great detail.

Euna Faye said, “Momma said she ain’t never heard of no Mountain Trust. Said you’re the one who come up with it. That so?”

Samantha patiently explained that Mrs. Crump sought her advice on how to bequeath her property. She wanted to leave it to someone or some organization that would protect it and keep it from being strip-mined. Samantha did her research and found two nonprofits in Appalachia that were appropriate.

They listened carefully but did not hear a word.

“Why didn’t you notify us?” Lonnie demanded rudely. Fifteen minutes into the meeting it was apparent that there was no real pecking order in this family. Each of them wanted to be in charge. Each was trying to be the chief hard-ass. Though she was on her heels, Samantha stayed calm and tried to understand. These were not wealthy people; in fact they were struggling to stay in the middle class. Any inheritance would be a windfall, one that was
certainly needed. The family plot was eighty acres, far more than any of them would ever own.

Samantha explained that her client was Francine Crump, not the family of Francine Crump. Her client did not want her children to know what she was doing.

“You think she don’t trust us, her own flesh and blood?” demanded Irma.

Based on her conversations with Francine, it was abundantly clear she did not trust her own children, flesh and blood be damned. But Samantha calmly replied, “I only know what my client told me. She was very clear with what she wanted and didn’t want.”

“You’ve split our family, you know that?” Jonah said. “Driven a wedge between a mother and her five children. I don’t know how you could do something so underhanded.”

“It’s our land,” Irma mumbled. “It’s our land.”

Lonnie tapped the side of his head and said, “Momma ain’t right, you know what I mean. She’s been slipping for some time, probably Alzheimer’s or something like that. We were afraid she might do something crazy with the land, you know, but nothing like this.”

Samantha explained that she and two other lawyers in the clinic had spent time with Mrs. Crump on the day she signed her will, and that all three were convinced she knew precisely what she was doing. She was “legally competent,” and that’s what the law requires. The will would stand up in court.

“The hell it will,” Jonah shot back. “It ain’t going to court because it’s gonna be changed.”

“That’s up to your mother,” Samantha said.

Euna Faye looked at her phone and said, “They’re here, DeLoss and Momma. Parked outside.”

“Can they come in?” Lonnie asked.

“Of course,” Samantha said, because there was nothing else to say.

Francine looked even weaker and feebler than she had a month earlier. All five siblings stood and tried to help their beloved mother
as she shuffled through the front door, down the hallway, and into the conference room. They placed her in a chair and gathered around her. Then they all looked at Samantha. Francine adored the attention and smiled at her lawyer.

Lonnie said, “Go ahead, Momma, and tell her what you told us about signing the will, about how you don’t remember it, and—”

Euna Faye interrupted, “And about how you never heard of no Mountain Trust and you don’t want them to get our land. Go ahead.”

“It’s our land,” Irma said for the tenth time.

Francine hesitated as if she needed even more prodding, and said, finally, “I really don’t like this will anymore.”

And what have they done, old woman, tied you to a tree and flogged you with a broom handle? Samantha wanted to ask. And how was Thanksgiving dinner, with the entire family passing around the new will and frothing in apoplectic fury? Before she could respond, though, Annette walked into the room and said good morning. Samantha quickly introduced her to the Crump brood, and just as quickly Annette read the situation perfectly and pulled up a chair. She never backed down from a confrontation, and at that moment Samantha could have hugged her.

She said, “The Crumps are unhappy with the will we did last month.”

Jonah said, “And we’re unhappy with you lawyers, too. Just don’t understand how you can go behind our backs and try to cut us out like this. No wonder lawyers got such a bad reputation everywhere. Hell, you earn it every day.”

Coolly, Annette asked, “And who found the new will?”

Euna Faye replied, “Nobody. Momma was talking about it the other day, one thing led to another, and she got out the will. We near ’bout died when we read what you folks had put in it. Going back to when we was kids Momma and Daddy have always said the land would stay in the family. And now you guys try and cut us out, give it to some bunch of tree huggers over in Lexington. You ought to be ashamed.”

Annette asked, “Did your mother explain that she came to us
and asked us to prepare, at no charge, a will leaving the land to someone else? Was she clear about this?”

DeLoss said, “She’s not always too sharp these days.”

Francine glared at him and snapped, “I’m sharper than you think I am.”

“Now Momma,” Euna Faye said as Irma touched Francine to calm her.

Samantha looked at Francine and asked, “So, do you want me to prepare a new will?”

All six nodded their heads in unison, though Francine’s nodded at a noticeably slower pace.

“Okay, and I assume that the new will leaves the land to your five children in equal shares, right?”

All six agreed. Annette said, “That’s fine. We’ll be happy to do just that. However, my colleague here spent several hours meeting with Mrs. Crump, consulting and preparing the current will. As you know, we don’t charge for our services, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have limits. We have a lot of clients and we’re always behind with our work. We will prepare one more will, and that’s it. If you change your mind again, Mrs. Crump, then you’ll have to go hire another lawyer. Do you understand?”

Francine looked blankly at the table while her five children nodded yes.

“How long will it take you?” Lonnie asked. “I’m missing work right now.”

“So are we,” Annette said sternly. “We have other clients, other business. In fact, both Ms. Kofer and I are due in court in thirty minutes. This is not a pressing matter.”

“Oh come on,” Jonah barked. “It’s just a simple will, barely two pages long, won’t take you fifteen minutes to fix up. We’ll take Momma down to the café for breakfast while y’all do it, then we’ll get her to sign it and be on our way.”

“We ain’t leaving till she signs the new one,” Irma said boldly, as if they might set up camp right there in the conference room.

“Oh yes you are,” Annette said. “Or else I’ll call the sheriff. Samantha, when do you think you can have the will prepared?”

“Wednesday afternoon.”

“Great. Mrs. Crump, we’ll see you then.”

“Come on!” DeLoss said, standing and red-faced. “You got the damned thing in your computer. Just spit it out. Won’t take five minutes and Momma’ll sign it. We can’t wait around here all week. Should’ve left yesterday.”

“I’m asking you to leave now, sir,” Annette said. “And if you want faster service, there are plenty of lawyers up and down Main Street.”