The Brethren Read Free

quiet. The Whiz was talking money, and everyone was listening.
    “Happens all the time in IPOs. That’s initial public offerings.”
    “We know what an IPO is,” Beech said.
    Spicer certainly did not. Didn’t have many of those back in rural Mississippi.
    The Whiz relaxed, just a little. He could dazzle them for a moment, win this nuisance of a case, then go back to his cave and ignore them.
    “The ValueNow IPO was handled by the investment banking firm of Bakin-Kline, a small outfit in San Francisco. Five million shares were offered. Bakin-Kline basically presold the stock to its preferred customers and friends, so that most big investment firms never had a shot at the stock. Happens all the time.”
    The judges and the inmates, even the court jester, hung on every word.
    He continued. “It’s silly to think that some disbarred yahoo sitting in prison, reading an old copy of Forbes , can somehow buy a thousand dollars’ worth of ValueNow.”
    And at that very moment it did indeed seem very silly. Rook fumed while his club members began quietly blaming him.
    “Did you buy any of it?” asked Beech.
    “Of course not. I couldn’t get near it. And besides, most of the high-tech and online companies are built with funny money. I stay away from them.”
    “What do you prefer?” Beech asked quickly, his curiosity getting the better of him.
    “Value. The long haul. I’m in no hurry. Look, this is a bogus case brought by some boys looking for an easy buck.” He waved toward Rook, who was sinking in his chair. The Whiz sounded perfectly believable and legitimate.
    Rook’s case was built on hearsay, speculation, and the corroboration of Picasso, a notorious liar.
    “You got any witnesses?” Spicer asked.
    “I don’t need any,” the Whiz said, and took his seat.
    Each of the three justices scribbled something on a slip of paper. Deliberations were quick, verdicts instantaneous. Yarber and Beech slid theirs to Spicer, who announced, “By a vote of two to one, we find for the defendant. Case dismissed. Who’s next?”
    The vote was actually unanimous, but every verdict was officially two to one. That allowed each of the three a little wiggle room if later confronted.
    But the Brethren were well regarded around Trumble. Their decisions were quick and as fair as they could make them. In fact, they were remarkably accurate in light of the shaky testimony they often heard. Spicer had presided over small cases for years, in the back of his family’s country store. He could spot a liar at fifty feet. Beech and Yarber had spent their careers in courtrooms, and had no tolerance for lengthy arguments and delays, the usual tactics.
    “That’s all today,” T. Karl reported. “End of docket.”
    “Very well. Court is adjourned until next week.”
    T. Karl jumped to his feet, his curls again vibrating across his shoulders, and declared, “Court’s adjourned. All rise.”
    No one stood, no one moved as the Brethren left the room. Rook and his gang were huddled, no doubt planning their next lawsuit. The Whiz left quickly.
    The assistant warden and the guard eased away without being seen. The weekly docket was one of the better shows at Trumble.

TWO
    T hough he’d served in Congress for fourteen years, Aaron Lake still drove his own car around Washington. He didn’t need or want a chauffeur, or an aide, or a bodyguard. Sometimes an intern would ride with him and take notes, but for the most part Lake enjoyed the tranquillity of sitting in D.C. traffic while listening to classical guitar on the stereo. Many of his friends, especially those who’d achieved the status of a Mr. Chairman or a Mr. Vice Chairman, had larger cars with drivers. Some even had limos.
    Not Lake. It was a waste of time and money and privacy. If he ever sought higher office, he certainly didn’t want the baggage of a chauffeur wrapped around his neck. Besides, he enjoyed being alone. His office was a madhouse. He had fifteen people bouncing off the