Arthur Nelson Protected His Wyoming Mountain Cabin with a Trust
“Arthur, I pulled the filings from the Denver county clerk’s database late yesterday,” she said, her voice slow and deliberate.
She opened the top folder and slid a single sheet of paper across the desk toward me. It was a copy of a registered general power of attorney, stamped with a public notary seal from Colorado.
I picked up the paper, my thumb resting on the cold corner. My name was printed in neat block letters at the top, listing my old Denver address and the street number of my previous home.
“This was filed four weeks ago,” Rebecca said, her gaze resting on my hands. “Just before you moved your primary accounts to our local branch in Cody.”
“I signed pension papers at their kitchen table,” I said. “Cornelius had a stack of retirement forms for my union benefits. He told me it was routine paperwork to clear up the regional transition.”
“Look at the second page,” she said.
