Arthur Nelson Protected His Wyoming Mountain Cabin with a Trust
“You look like you just spent eight hours shoveling wet concrete, Arthur,” Edwin said, his voice gravelly and slow.
“Rebecca Marsh says the trust is the only way to keep the cabin out of Cornelius’s hands,” I said.
“And what does she want for the paperwork?”
“Five thousand dollars,” I said. “Expedited.”
Edwin took the toothpick out of his mouth and looked down at his boots. “That is a steep climb for a retired carpenter.”
“It takes most of my emergency reserve,” I said. “The money I set aside for the septic tank upgrade and the well pump.”
Edwin reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small leather checkbook. “I have forty-eight hundred sitting in a savings account that hasn’t seen the light of day since my wife passed. You take it, Arthur. You pay me back when the snow melts.”
“I cannot take your savings, Edwin,” I said.
