Arthur Nelson Protected His Wyoming Mountain Cabin with a Trust
“I bought this land with cash,” I said. “Every square inch of it is mine.”
“That is a very simple way of looking at a complex market,” Cornelius said.
He checked his watch again, his thumb brushing the digital face.
“We do not have time for simple views,” he said.
I picked up the paper, folded it once down the middle, and laid it back on his laptop keyboard.
“No,” I said.
The sun had moved behind the western ridge by four, leaving the porch in cool shadow.
Bula came out through the front door, wearing a thick wool sweater that looked too large for her shoulders.
She stood near the wooden railing, looking out toward the clearing where the lodgepole pines met the meadow.
“He is only trying to protect us, Dad,” Bula said.
“By taking my house?” I asked.
“It is not taking,” she said, her words coming fast and breathless. “It is just sharing the title so he can show the bank we have hard collateral.”
