- •I can almost hear the champagne corks popping below me. The tumor has been confirmed!
- •It'll never be seen by the vultures.
- •It was such a good idea that the other lawyers couldn't argue. They arrived, along with Flowe, Zadel, and Theishen, at Gettys' office after five. A court reporter and two video cameras were waiting.
- •In recent years the fighting had almost stopped. Neither could change, so they simply ignored each other. But when the tumor appeared, tj reached out again.
- •It seemed almost cruel to bother her.
- •It was obvious Josh had been thinking about Nate all along, and this slightly irritated Tip. “You kidding?” he said.
- •It would be a vicious, glorious, thoroughly unique moment in the history of American law, and Josh suddenly couldn't wait. “The twenty-seventh is fine with me,” he said.
- •It was made of brown leather, new but built to look well used, and large enough to hold a small legal library. Nate sat it on his knees and popped it open. “Toys,” he said.
- •It was the day before Christmas Eve. Not all memories were painful.
- •Valdir continued, “Even if you flew into the area, you would then have to use a boat to get to the Indians.”
- •Valdir rerolled the last map. “I can arrange an airplane and a pilot.”
- •Valdir had been informed by Air. Josh Stafford that money was no object during this mission. “He'll call me back in an hour,” he said.
- •It was a quick shower, a cool rain the children played in while the adults sat on the porch and watched them in silence.
- •Internal, Jevy said, glancing at Milton.
- •It was almost two when Welly heard them coming. Jevy parked on the bank, his huge truck scattering rocks and waking fishermen as it roared to a stop. There was no sign of the American.
- •If Josh was worried, his voice didn't convey it. The firm was still closed for Christmas, et cetera, but he was busy as hell. The usual.
- •In a corner of the cabin, not far from the four bunks, Nate ate alone at a table that was bolted to the floor.
- •It was overcast and threatening more rain. The sun finally broke through at about six. Nate knew because he'd rearmed himself with a watch.
- •If the fisherman was happy to see another human in the middle of nowhere, he certainly didn't show it. Where could the poor man live?
- •In return for his good work, the children and wives had called him a fag.
- •I will die here, Nate said to himself. I'll either drown, starve, or be eaten, but it is here, in this immense swamp, that I will breathe my last.
- •It was a slight affront to Jevy's pride, but under the circumstances he could not argue. “He may want a little money.”
- •If you only knew, thought Nate. “Thanks. You, uh, said something about seeing a patient.”
- •It had been three years since the Ipicas had seen a death by snakebite. And for the first time in two years, Rachel had no antivenin.
- •Very gently, she touched him. She patted him three times on his arm, and said, “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that you are lonely. How would I know?”
- •In fact, Troy Junior had already threatened to fire them. They grew quiet and listened. Hark had the floor.
- •If dengue fever didn't get poor Nate, the irs was waiting.
- •In his sleep, Nate was refortified with drugs he didn't need.
- •Valdir took the phone and walked to a corner. He tried to describe Nate's condition.
- •In Valdir's office, alone, Nate dialed the number of the Stafford Law Firm, a number he had trouble remembering. They pulled Josh out of a meeting. “Talk to me, Nate,” he said. “How are you?”
- •Valdir's despachante in Corumba knew another one in Sao Paulo, a powerful one with high contacts, and for a fee of two thousand dollars a new passport would be delivered.
- •In the narrow dining room between the kitchen and the den, a table had been set for four. Nate was pleased that he had accepted their invitation, not that he'd had the chance to decline it.
- •It certainly wasn't okay with Snead, but he'd taken their money. He had to play along.
- •In St. Michaels, only the Rector and his wife knew who he was. Rumor had it that he was a wealthy lawyer from Baltimore writing a book.
- •In eleven years, Rachel had never received a personal letter, at least not through World Tribes.
- •It was difficult to believe that for most of his professional life he often worked until nine or ten at night, then had dinner in a bar and drinks until one. He grew weary just thinking about it.
- •It occurred to Nate that it was nine o'clock in Houston. She was calling from home, and this seemed more than odd. The voice was pleasant enough, but tentative.
- •If his client didn't want the money, why should he care who got it?
- •It was the only time during the two-day ordeal that Troy Junior fought to a draw. Nate knew to move on, then to come back later.
- •It would take a billion dollars in therapy to straighten out this poor kid, Nate thought. He finished with him in less than an hour.
- •It was a well-rehearsed little oration, and it convinced no one. Nate let it slide. It was five o'clock, Friday afternoon, and he was tired of fighting.
- •It was a game of high-stakes chicken, and Snead held firm. “Of course I'm sure,” he said with enough indignance to seem plausible.
- •It took about fifteen minutes to figure this out.
- •In the loneliness of the hotel room, in a city where he knew no one, it was easy to pity himself, to suffer once again through the mistakes of his past.
- •It was a risk, and they were still talking about it.
- •It was Josh. “It couldn't have gone better,” he announced. “I stopped at twenty million, they want fifty.”
- •If they only knew, he thought as he left the courthouse.
It would take a billion dollars in therapy to straighten out this poor kid, Nate thought. He finished with him in less than an hour.
Geena was the last witness of the week. Four days after her father's death, she and her husband Cody had signed a contract to purchase a home for $3.8 million. When Nate assaulted her with this information right after she was sworn, she began to stutter and stammer and look at her lawyer, Ms. Langhorne, who was equally surprised. Her client had not told her about the contract.
“How did you plan to pay for the home?” Nate asked.
The answer was obvious but she couldn't confess it. “We have money,” she said defensively, and this opened a door that Nate went barging through.
“Let's talk about your money,” he said with a smile. “You're thirty years old. Nine years ago you received five million dollars, didn't you?”
“I did.”
“How much of it is left?”
She struggled with the answer for a long time. The answer was not so simple. Cody had made a lot of money. They had invested some, spent a lot, it was all co-mingled, so you couldn't just look at their balance sheet and say there was X amount left from the five million. Nate gave her the rope, and she slowly hung herself.
“How much money do you and your husband have today in your checking accounts?” he asked.
“I'd have to look.”
“Guess, please. Just give me an estimate.”
“Sixty thousand dollars.”
“How much real estate do you own?”
“Just our home.”
“What is the value of your home?”
“I'd have to get it appraised.”
“Guess, please. Just a ballpark figure.”
“Three hundred thousand.”
“And how much is your mortgage?”
“Two hundred thousand.”
“What is the approximate value of your portfolio?”
She scribbled some notes and closed her eyes. “Approximately two hundred thousand dollars.”
“Any other significant assets?”
“Not really.”
Nate did his own calculations. “So in nine years, your five million dollars has been reduced to something in the range of three hundred to four hundred thousand dollars. Am I correct?”
“Surely not. I mean, it seems so low.”
“So tell us again how you were going to pay for this new home?”
“Through Cody's work.”
“What about your dead father's estate? Ever think about that?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Now you've been sued by the seller of the house, haven't you?”
“Yes, and we've countersued. There are a lot of issues.”
She was shifty and dishonest, glib and quick with the half-truth. Nate thought she might be the most dangerous Phelan yet. They walked through Cody's ventures, and it was quickly apparent where the money had gone. He'd lost a million gambling on copper futures in 1992. He'd put half a million into “Snow-Packed Chickens,” and lost it all. An indoor worm farm in Georgia took six hundred thousand dollars when a heat wave cooked the bait.
They were two immature kids living a pampered life with someone else's money, and dreaming of the big score.
Near the end of her deposition, with Nate still feeding her all the rope she wanted, she testified with a straight face that her involvement in the will contest had nothing to do with money. She loved her father deeply, and he loved her, and if he'd had his right mind he would have taken care of his children in his will. To give it all to a stranger was strong evidence of his illness. She was there fighting to protect the reputation of her father.