Arthur Nelson Protected His Wyoming Mountain Cabin with a Trust
Cornelius looked at the screen, his fingers twitching against his thigh. The wolves in the video were heavy, their shoulders shifting as they pulled at the meat in the gray light of dawn.
“That is a public safety issue,” Cornelius said, his voice dropping its corporate edge. “You cannot live out here with those things.”
“The ranger says they are just passing through,” I said. “But they know where the food is now, Cornelius. I would not want to be out here in the dark with a key that does not fit the lock.”
He looked from the phone screen to the green metal roof of the cabin, then back to the key in his hand.
The front door opened behind me, and Rebecca Marsh stepped out onto the porch, carrying her black briefcase and a single sheet of paper with a red state seal at the top.
“Mr. Vaughn,” Rebecca said, her voice slow and deliberate as she stepped down the stairs. “I am Rebecca Marsh, counsel for the Arthur Nelson Irrevocable Land Trust.”
