The Summons John Grisham Novels & Stories

Every word had scraped my throat raw. But the phone call? That was something else entirely. I reached across the nightstand with a clumsy hand, the phone vibrating angrily against the wood. For a moment I considered letting it ring out, burying myself back under the sheets, but instinct made me answer. “Stella Harrington?” The voice was crisp, official. No warmth. No hesitation. “Yes.” “You’ve been summoned to a hearing regarding unresolved inheritance claims. Courthouse, downtown. Noon.” No explanation. No names. Just a summons, dropped like a stone into my morning.

And I want to know why my father believes he has the right to tell my tale without asking. "Okay. Then that is what we will do. "We?" "Grace, if your father is correct about Santos, then we were both duped by someone we trusted. If he's incorrect, he's spreading misinformation about a federal agent who saved our lives. Either way, this affects both of us. That evening, they drove to the major bookstore downtown, where Patricia had stated that advance copies were available for media inspection. The book was titled "Justice Delayed: A Prosecutor's Memoir," and Richard Patterson's portrait on the back cover depicted a man Grace scarcely recognized……... .older, grayer, and wearing the kind of sa

Just when I was about feeling bad that Jason Black could not give me all of his attention as needed, a call came in on my phone; it was Medley, who told me she would like us to meet with her family doctor, Professor Grisham, an orthopedist. I immediately agreed, and so, she asked me to wait for her at the base while she and her new driver, Jason Black, who also looked like a bodyguard, would come over to pick me up. Meanwhile, at the station, her superior officer called upon Jessica Strauss. He asked her ‘I hope you ain’t digging up the Black Jackson’s bones and carcasses, that case is a top federal case?....’ ‘Andwho made it federal,’ Strauss immediately interrupted.

Damon's POV The summons arrived before noon. The legal secretary delivered it in person, refused coffee, and waited for my signature to confirm receipt. The message was brief but final. Reconcile fully before the next board session or lose my structured inheritance and every tie to the family trust. I read it twice, because the tone carried her old precision and control disguised as care.

Shane said, his face relaxing, “since you're already in a mess, I'll bring this to you myself.” Shane pushed his right hand into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. “This is a court summons for you.” Zhao's eyes almost popped out and Shane didn't react. Not one emotion showed on his face. “I wanted to bring it to you myself so I could see you look like this.” Then Shane stood up and adjusted his suit. He offered his hand to me and I took it. We walked out of the office and the company with the guards following us sideways and behind.

“I suggest you follow protocol.” She huffed. “Petty Officer Helen Korte, ID L-25809-90. I’m here to deliver an official summons. Now, are you, Lucy Graves?” I glanced at David who seemed to be eyeing her suspiciously, but he met my gaze and nodded. “Yes.” She threw the paper at me and walked off grumbling. “I’m reporting you for misconduct.” She turned around and hissed at David. I looked down at the paper then looked at David.

Quinn asked as he ripped the flap open. “First thing this morning. I grabbed it soon as it was dropped off. I figured you’d rather get it from me than from Sheriff Turnbull.” Pause. “Unless you plan on shooting the messenger?” “Not hardly. Ain’t your fault and my gun is in my truck.” Quinn didn’t know squat about legal procedure, but he had a pretty good idea what kind of papers were inside the envelope. The rag fell to the ground as he scanned the document. A Summons and Complaint, filed by Ginger A. Paulson, Attorney-at-Law, on behalf of Libby Adams McKay, Complaint. Dated…Tuesday morning.

Expression carved from stone. “This is what he wanted,” she said quietly. “Yes.” “Are we in trouble?” He didn’t answer immediately. He walked over, took her phone gently, and turned it off. “Not the way he thinks.” That wasn’t reassurance. That was strategy. And she knew the difference now. By noon, a federal summons arrived. Not an arrest. Not an indictment. A request for testimony. Lewis read it once. Then handed it to his legal counsel. “It’s happening faster than expected,” his attorney said quietly.

I walked straight to it and pushed open the door. Damian’s office was exactly what I had expected: cold, polished, and utterly impersonal. The dark leather chair behind the desk was empty. I almost sighed in relief. But then I saw the documents stacked neatly on his desk, the summons I had just received resting on top. He hadn’t even bothered to look over it yet. I slammed the summons onto the desk, my breath coming fast. “You don’t get to take her from me, Damian,” I said, my voice a sharp edge of fury. “You have no right.”

Of how easily I could turn and let his arms close around me again, even knowing what those arms have cost me. Adrian’s phone vibrates on the desk. Once. Twice. A third time—sharp and insistent. He glances at the screen, and I watch the last traces of color drain from his face. “What is it?” I ask quietly. He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he picks up the phone with a hand that isn’t quite steady. His thumb scrolls once. Then he goes very still. “A summons,” he says at last, voice low and rough. “From the court. Preliminary proceedings on Margaret Lawson’s appeal.”