Arthur Nelson Protected His Wyoming Mountain Cabin with a Trust
“I want to apologize for what I said the other night about your career,” he said, his voice flat and level.
“It was unprofessional of me to minimize your labor, and I want us to start fresh, Arthur, for Bula’s sake.”
The apology felt as thin as the paper receipt in my shirt pocket, but I kept my face blank.
I pulled the dusty blue microfiber cloth from my shirt pocket and began cleaning the screen of my phone, keeping my eyes on the fabric.
“People say things they don’t mean when they’re tired,” I said, keeping my tone even.
“Exactly,” Cornelius said, sliding two eggs onto a plate and setting it in front of me with a hard click.
“We need to align our long-term goals for this property so we can maximize its utility for the entire family.”
“The utility is already decided,” I said, picking up my fork.
“Of course, but there are structural efficiencies we can implement to make the transition easier for everyone,” he said, turning back to the sink to rinse his hands.
