The Chamber by John Grisham Page A

don’t think so. There are no cowards at Kravitz & Bane, Adam. We have survived and prospered in the rough and tumble world of Chicago law. We’re known as the meanest bastards in town. We have the thickest skins. Don’t worry about the firm.”
    “So you’ll agree to it.”
    Goodman placed his napkin on the table and took another sip of coffee. “Oh, it’s a wonderful idea, assuming your gramps will agree to it. If you can sign him up, or re-sign him I should say, then we’re back in business. You’ll be the front man. We can feed you what you need from up here. I’ll always be in your shadow. It’ll work. Then, they’ll kill him and you’ll never get over it. I’ve watched three of my clients die, Mr. Hall, including one in Mississippi. You’ll never be the same.”
    Adam nodded and smiled and looked at the pedestrians on the sidewalk.
    Goodman continued. “We’ll be around to support you when they kill him. You won’t have to bear it alone.”
    “It’s not hopeless, is it?”
    “Almost. We’ll talk strategy later. First, I’ll meet with Daniel Rosen. He’ll probably want a long conference with you. Second, you’ll have to see Sam and have a little reunion, so to speak. That’s the hard part. Third, if he agrees to it, then we’ll get to work.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Don’t thank me, Adam. I doubt if we’ll be on speaking terms when this is over.”
    “Thanks anyway.”

      Five      
    T he meeting was organized quickly. E. Garner Goodman made the first phone call, and within an hour the necessary participants had been summoned. Within four hours they were present in a small, seldom used conference room next to Daniel Rosen’s office. It was Rosen’s turf, and this disturbed Adam more than a little.
    By legend, Daniel Rosen was a monster, though two heart attacks had knocked off some of the edge and mellowed him a bit. For thirty years he had been a ruthless litigator, the meanest, nastiest, and without a doubt one of the most effective courtroom brawlers in Chicago. Before the heart attacks, he was known for his brutal work schedule—ninety-hour weeks, midnight orgies of work with clerks and paralegals digging and fetching. Several wives had left him. As many as four secretaries at a time labored furiously to keep pace. Daniel Rosen had been the heart and soul of Kravitz & Bane, but no longer. His doctor restricted him to fifty hours a week, in the office, and prohibited any trial work.
    Now, Rosen, at the age of sixty-five and getting heavy, had been unanimously selected by his beloved colleagues to graze the gentler pastures of law office management. He had the responsibility of overseeing the rather cumbersome bureaucracy that ran Kravitz & Bane. It was an honor, the other partners had explained feebly when they bestowed it upon him.
    So far the honor had been a disaster. Banished fromthe battlefield he desperately loved and needed, Rosen went about the business of managing the firm in a manner very similar to the preparation of an expensive lawsuit. He cross-examined secretaries and clerks over the most trivial of matters. He confronted other partners and harangued them for hours over vague issues of firm policy. Confined to the prison of his office, he called for young associates to come visit him, then picked fights to gauge their mettle under pressure.
    He deliberately took the seat directly across the small conference table from Adam, and held a thin file as if it possessed a deadly secret. E. Garner Goodman sat low in the seat next to Adam, twiddling his bow tie and scratching his beard. When he telephoned Rosen with Adam’s request, and broke the news of Adam’s lineage, Rosen had reacted with predictable foolishness.
    Emmitt Wycoff stood at one end of the room with a matchbox-sized cellular phone stuck to his ear. He was almost fifty, looked much older, and lived each day in a fixed state of panic and telephones.
    Rosen carefully opened the file in front of Adam and