Arthur Nelson Protected His Wyoming Mountain Cabin with a Trust
I walked back to the first camera and checked the display screen. The cellular signal light blinked green on the newly installed trail camera.
By nine o’clock the next morning, Rebecca Marsh sat at my kitchen table with a heavy black leather briefcase and a manila folder that had three blue tabs along the side. Beside her sat a young woman named Sarah, who had a silver notary seal shaped like a heavy hand press.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my blue microfiber cloth, laying it flat on the table next to my yellow legal pad.
On the top sheet of the pad, I had written out every date from the Denver bank records in my clear, square block lettering. The first date was three days before I left Colorado, and the last was the morning Cornelius had tried to freeze my secondary account.
“This is the final irrevocable land trust,” Rebecca said, aligning the edge of the folder with the yellow legal pad. “Once you sign, Arthur, you do not own this land anymore. The trust does.”
