Gray Mountain (31 page)

“And real lawyers at that,” Euna Faye said, pushing back from the table. The rest of them slowly got to their feet and helped Francine to the door. As they were leaving the room, Samantha said, “And you do want the new will, Mrs. Crump?”

“Damned right she does,” Jonah said, ready to throw a punch, but Francine did not respond. They left without another word and slammed the door behind them. When it stopped rattling, Annette said, “Don’t prepare the will. Give them time to get out of town, then call Francine and tell her that we will not be a part of this. They have a gun to her head. The whole thing stinks. If she wants a new will, let her pay for one. They can scrape together $200. We’ve wasted enough time.”

“Agreed. We’re going to court?”

“Yes. I got a call last night. Phoebe and Randy Fanning are in jail, got busted Saturday with a truckload of meth. They’re looking at years in the pen.”

“Wow. So much for a quiet Monday. Where are their kids?”

“I don’t know but we need to find out.”

T
he roundup ensnared seven gang members, though the state police said more arrests were coming. Phoebe sat next to Randy on the front row, along with Tony, who’d been out of prison for only four months and was now headed back for a decade. Next to Tony was one of the thugs who had threatened Samantha weeks earlier during her first trip to court. The other three were from central casting—long, dirty hair, tattoos crawling up their necks, unshaven
faces, the red puffy eyes of addicts who’ve been stoned for a long time. One by one they walked to the bench, told His Honor they were not guilty, and sat back down. Annette convinced Richard, the prosecutor, to allow her a private moment with Phoebe. They huddled in a corner with a deputy close by.

She had lost weight since they had last seen her, and her face showed the ravages of meth addiction. Her eyes watered immediately and her first words were “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe this.”

Annette showed no sympathy. “Don’t apologize to me. I’m not your mother. I’m here because I’m worried about your kids. Where are they?” She was whispering, but forcefully.

“With a friend. Can you get me out of jail?”

“We don’t do criminal law, Phoebe, only civil. The court will appoint another lawyer for you in a few minutes.”

The tears vanished as quickly as they materialized. “What happens to my kids?” she asked.

“Well, if the charges are anywhere near the truth, you and Randy are about to spend several years in prison, separate facilities of course. Do you have a family member who can raise the kids?”

“I don’t think so. No. My family turned their backs. His family is all locked up, except his mother and she’s crazy. I can’t go to prison, you understand. I gotta take care of my kids.” The tears returned and were instantly dripping off her cheeks. She doubled over as if punched in the gut and began shaking. “They can’t take my kids,” she said too loudly, and the judge glanced at them.

Samantha could not help but think, Were you thinking about your kids when you were peddling meth? She handed her a tissue and patted her shoulder.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Annette said. Phoebe returned to the group in orange jumpsuits. Samantha and Annette took a seat across the aisle. Annette whispered, “She’s not technically our client anymore. Our representation ended when we dismissed the divorce.”

“Then why are we here?”

“The Commonwealth will try and terminate parental rights. That’s something we need to monitor, but there’s not much we can
do.” They watched and waited for a few minutes as the prosecutor and the judge discussed the matter of bail hearings. Annette read a text message and said, “Oh boy. The FBI is raiding Donovan’s office, and Mattie needs help. Let’s go.”

“The FBI?”

“So you’ve heard of them?” Annette mumbled as she stood and hustled down the aisle.

A wreath was still on the front door of Donovan’s office. The door was wedged open, and just inside Dawn, the secretary, was sitting at her desk, wiping tears. She pointed and said, “In there.” Loud voices were coming from the conference room behind her. Mattie was yelling at someone, and when Annette and Samantha entered they were greeted with “Who the hell are you?”

There were at least four young men in dark suits, all tense and ready to go for their guns. Boxes of files were stacked on the floor; drawers were open; the table was covered in debris. The leader, one Agent Frohmeyer, was doing the barking. Before Annette could respond, he growled again, “Who the hell are you?”

“They’re lawyers and they work with me,” Mattie said. She was in jeans and a sweatshirt, and she was obviously agitated. “As I said, I am his aunt and I am the attorney for his estate.”

“And I’ll ask you again: Have you been appointed by the court?” Frohmeyer demanded.

“Not yet. My nephew was buried just last Wednesday. Don’t you have any decency?”

“I have a search warrant, lady, that’s all I care about.”

“I get that. Can you at least allow us to read the search warrant before you start hauling stuff out of here?”

Frohmeyer grabbed the search warrant off the table and thrust it at Mattie. “You got five minutes, lady, that’s all.” The agents left the room. Mattie closed the door and pressed an index finger against her lips. Her message was clear: “Don’t say anything important.”

“What’s going on here?” Annette asked.

“Who knows? Dawn called me in a panic after those goons barged in. Here we are.” She was flipping through the search
warrant. She began mumbling, “Any and all records, files, notes, exhibits, reports, summaries, whether on paper, video, audio, electronic, digital, or in any other form, relevant to, pertaining to, or in any way connected to Krull Mining or any of its subsidiaries, and—it goes on to list all forty-one plaintiffs in the Hammer Valley lawsuit.” She flipped a page, skimmed it, flipped another.

Annette said, “Well, if they take the computers, they’ll have access to everything, whether it’s covered in the warrant or not.”

Mattie said, “Yes, everything that’s here.” She winked at Annette and Samantha, then flipped another page. She read some more, mumbled some more, then tossed it on the table and said, “It’s a blank check. They can take everything in the office, whether it’s related to the Hammer Valley litigation or not.”

Frohmeyer rapped on the door as he opened it. “Time’s up, ladies,” he said like a bad actor as the agents reappeared en masse. There were five of them now, all itching for trouble. Frohmeyer said, “Now, if you’ll please get out of the way.”

“Sure,” Mattie said. “But as his executor, I’ll need an inventory of all the stuff you haul out of here.”

“Of course, once you’re appointed.” Two agents were already opening more file cabinets.

“Everything,” Mattie almost yelled.

“Yeah, yeah,” Frohmeyer said, waving her off. “Good day, ladies.”

As the three lawyers walked out of the room, Frohmeyer added, “By the way, we have another unit searching his home right now, just so you know.”

“Great, and what might you be looking for there?”

“You’ll have to read the search warrant.”

They were rattled and suspected someone was watching, so they decided to stay away from the office. They found a back booth at the coffee shop and felt somewhat secure. Mattie, who had not smiled in a week, almost laughed when she said, “They’ll get nothing off the computers. Jeff took out the hard drives last Wednesday, before the funeral.”

Samantha said, “So they’ll be back, looking for the hard drives.”

Mattie shrugged and said, “Who cares? We can’t control what the FBI does.”

Annette said, “So, let me get this straight. Krull Mining believes Donovan somehow got his hands on documents he shouldn’t have, which is probably true. Now that he’s filed the lawsuit, Krull is terrified the documents are about to be exposed. They go to the U.S. Attorney, who opens a case, for theft, I assume, and sends in the goons to find the documents. Now that Donovan is dead, they figure he can’t hide the documents anymore.”

Mattie added, “That’s pretty close. Krull Mining is using the U.S. Attorney to bully the plaintiffs and their lawyers. Threaten a criminal action, and prison, and your opponents quickly throw in the towel. It’s an old trick, and one that works.”

“Another reason to avoid litigation,” Samantha said.

“Are you really the executor of his estate?” Annette asked.

“No, Jeff is. I’m the attorney for the executor and the estate. Donovan updated his will two months ago. He kept his will current. The original has always been in my lockbox at the bank. He left half of his estate to Judy and his daughter, part of it in trust, and the other half he split three ways. One third to Jeff; one third to me; and one third to a group of nonprofits at work here in Appalachia, including the clinic. Jeff and I are going to court Wednesday morning to open probate. Looks like our first job will be to get an inventory from the FBI.”

“Does Judy know she’s not the executor?” Annette asked.

“Yes, we’ve talked several times since the funeral. She’s okay with it. She and I have a good relationship. She and Jeff—that’s another story.”

“Any idea of the size of the estate?”

“Not really. Jeff has the hard drives and is putting together a list of open cases, some of which are years away from disposition. Hammer Valley was just filed and I assume the other plaintiffs’ lawyers will pick up the ball and run with it. The Ryzer case appears to be dead now. There’s a verbal agreement with Strayhorn Coal to settle the Tate case for $1.7 million.”

Annette said, “I suspect there’s some money in the bank.”

“I’m sure of it. Plus, he had dozens of smaller cases. Not sure where they’ll go. We might be able to handle a few of them, but not many. I often suggested to Donovan that he find a partner or at least a good associate, but he loved having the place to himself. He rarely took my advice.”

“He adored you, Mattie, you know that,” Annette said. There was a moment of silence for the dead. The waitress topped off their cups, and as she walked away Samantha realized it was the same gal who’d served her the first time she had entered the Brady Grill. Donovan had just rescued her from Romey and jail. Mattie was waiting at the clinic for an interview. It was hardly two months ago, yet it seemed like years. Now he was dead and they were talking about his estate.

Mattie swallowed hard and said, “We need to meet with Jeff late this afternoon and talk about some issues. Just the three of us, away from our offices.”

“Why am I included?” Samantha asked. “I’m just an intern, just passing through, as you like to say.”

“Good point,” Annette said.

“Jeff wants you there,” Mattie said.

J
eff rented a room at the Starlight Motel, twenty bucks an hour, and tried to convince the manager that nothing immoral was in the works. The manager feigned surprise and ignorance, even seemed a bit insulted that anyone would suggest bad behavior at a hot-sheets joint like his. Jeff explained that he was meeting three women, all lawyers, one of whom was his sixty-year-old aunt, and that they just needed a quiet place to discuss some sensitive issues. Whatever, said the manager. Would you like a receipt? No.

On another day, Mattie might have been nervous about her car being seen at the motel, but a week after Donovan’s death she could not have cared less. She was too numb to worry about such trivial matters. It was a small town—let ’em talk. Her mind was focused on far more important matters. Annette rode in the front seat, Samantha the rear, and as they parked next to Jeff’s truck she realized he was standing in the door of the room once occupied by Pamela Booker. Next door had been Trevor and Mandy. For four nights, long ago it seemed, they had taken shelter at the motel after living in their car for a month. With Samantha’s fearless lawyering and the clinic’s generosity, the Booker family had been rescued from the wilds and was now living peacefully in a rented trailer a few miles outside of Colton. Pamela was working at the lamp factory. The lawsuit against Top Market Solutions—Samantha’s first—was still unresolved, but the family was safe and happy.

“He’s probably been here before,” Annette said as they looked at Jeff.

“Enough of that,” Mattie said. The three lawyers got out of the car and walked into the tiny room.

“You’re serious about this spying stuff, right?” Annette asked, obviously not serious about it.

Jeff leaned against the pillows on the rickety bed and waved at three cheap chairs. “Welcome to the Starlight.”

“I’ve been here before,” Samantha said.

“Who was the lucky guy?”

“None of your business.” The three lawyers settled into the chairs. There were files and notepads on the bed.

Jeff said, “Yes, I’m dead serious about this spying stuff. Donovan’s office was bugged. So was his house. He suspected they, whoever they are, were watching and listening, and it’s best if we don’t take chances.”

“What did the FBI take from the house?” Mattie asked.

“They were there for two hours and found nothing. They took the computers, but by now they know the hard drives were replaced. All they’ll find is a bunch of obscene greetings to anyone who might be snooping. So, they’ll be back, I suppose. Doesn’t matter. They’ll never find anything.”

“You know you’re skirting around the edges of the law,” Annette said.

Jeff smiled and shrugged. “Big deal. You think Krull Mining is sitting around right now worrying about who’s playing by the rules? No, they are not. Right now they’re on the phone with the U.S. Attorney desperate to find out what the Fibbies scooped up in their raids today.”

“It’s a criminal investigation, Jeff,” Annette said with an edge. “One that is aimed at Donovan and those working with him, primarily you, if you in fact have possession of ill-gotten documents, or access to them. These guys are not going to disappear just because you outfoxed them with the hard drives.”

“I don’t have the documents,” he said, a throwaway that no one in the room believed.

Mattie waved her hand and said, “All right, all right, enough of this. We’re going to court Wednesday to probate his estate and I thought we were going to talk about that.”