Arthur Nelson Protected His Wyoming Mountain Cabin with a Trust
“He is packing the car now,” I said. “He is heading back to Denver tonight to face his employer.”
“They going to prosecute?” Edwin asked.
“They have to,” I said. “Sixty thousand dollars does not just disappear from a corporate ledger without someone notice.”
Edwin looked out over the dry grass of the pasture across the road. “You did the right thing, Arthur. A man works his whole life to have a place where he can sit in the quiet.”
“It does not feel like a victory,” I said.
“It rarely does when it is family,” Edwin said.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pocketknife, running his thumb over the bone handle.
“You need help stacking that winter wood tomorrow?” Edwin asked.
“The pile is getting low,” I said.
“I will be up around nine,” Edwin said.
I bought the matches and drove back up the county road, the headlights cutting through the growing dusk.
The cabin was completely silent when I walked back through the front door at eight.
