“I can trust you, right, Mr. Latch?”
“Of course. I’m your lawyer, duty bound to keep everything confidential.” Simon noticed a slight flutter in his intestines, as if some truly wonderful and unexpected facts might be in the works. He’d had a few surprises in the past eighteen years as a pseudo estate lawyer, but nothing significant.
“Well, you see Mr. Latch –”
“Please call me Simon.”
“Simon, what a nice name. You see, Simon, Harry worked for almost forty years as a district sales rep for Coca-Cola. I think that’s what killed him. He got his blood sugar up, had a stroke at sixty-nine, never recovered. We always had plenty of Coke, the real thing, not diet, in the fridge and he drank too many, at least in my opinion. Anyway, he qualified for stock options, a few at a time, and he bought every share of Coke he could get his hands on. Never sold a share, just enjoyed watching it pile up. And boy did it. Then about thirty years ago, he began selling Coke products to Wal-Mart and became fascinated with the company. It was selling a lot of soft drinks. Harry began buying stock in Wal-Mart and he never sold a share. When he died suddenly, he was wondering what to do with all that stock. He didn’t want to leave it to his boys, because they were nothing but trouble. Still are. And here’s the thing, Simon, the boys don’t know about the stock. Harry never told them, never told anyone but me. He thought it was funny that we lived quietly in our modest little home and no one knew we were worth millions.”
Reprinted with permission of Doubleday. Copyright 2025 by John Grisham.