Arthur Nelson Protected His Wyoming Mountain Cabin with a Trust
“You might,” I said. “But you will not lose this cabin, because it is no longer mine to give him.”
She stood up slowly, her sneakers squeaking on the damp wood of the porch, and looked toward the driveway where Cornelius’s large black SUV was parked under the trees.
The gravel crunched under a heavy tread at exactly two in the afternoon, and I walked back out to the porch with my phone in my hand.
Cornelius was walking toward the front door, his smart watch glowing green on his wrist, holding a single brass key between his thumb and forefinger.
“I am going inside to get my winter coat, Arthur,” Cornelius said, his voice flat and commanding. “And then we are going to sit down and sign those joint deed papers.”
“That key will not work, Cornelius,” I said.
He stopped at the bottom of the steps, his face hardening as he looked up at me. He thrust the key toward the lock.
