“Thank you,” I reply as I step back around my desk to sit. Odin moves to my side, lowers his haunches to the floor, and keeps his eyes pinned on Stone. He’s never acted this way with anyone, and the only thing I can assume is that the negative impression Stone made earlier this week has lasted.
Settling into one of the chairs, Stone gives Odin another wary glance.
Ready for this meeting, I pick up a sheaf of papers I’d prepared—the contents of the trust, the will, as well as a listing of all assets—and hand them across the desk. Stone leans forward and takes them.
“I thought we’d go through the trust first, and I’ll explain it as we go along.” I pick up an identical copy of what I just handed him, prepared to translate the legalese into layman’s terms.
“Let’s not,” Stone says, settling the documents on his lap. “How about you give me the short version instead?”
“Um, okay,” I reply with uncertainty. I mean… I don’t have to make sure he understands this stuff. He’s not my client. Neither was Brooks, for that matter. I’m merely the trustee, which is technically a position not meant to interpret the trust or give advice about it.
So, I boil it down for him in practical terms. “Your brother put all his assets into this trust so that when he died, it would not have to go through probate within the courts. This includes not only personal and real property, but life insurance, checking and savings accounts, and his IRAs. The rough value of everything, including the fair market value of the two homes, is close to twelve million dollars. He has named you the sole beneficiary of the trust, but with specific bequeaths in his will for your parents.”
“Which are…?” he prompts.
“He would like them to receive five hundred thousand dollars to do with as they wish, along with a small stipend of a thousand dollars a year to each parent on their birthdays until their deaths. The remainder goes to you. There is more than enough in the liquid assets to make that transfer as soon as we can move money into your accounts.”
Stone frowns as his elbow goes to the armrest. He rubs at his stubbled jaw, gaze moving out the window as he ponders. When he looks back to me, he says, “In the grand scheme of his net worth, my parents aren’t getting much. That doesn’t seem like something Brooks would do… cut them out like that.”
“With all due respect,” I say softly, “it’s exactly something your brother would have done.”
Stone’s scowl deepens. “With all due respect to you, how would you know? You’re just his attorney.”
“I’m not his attorney.” I lean back in my chair, cross one leg over the other, and reach an arm out to scratch Odin’s neck. “He asked a personal favor of me to be the trustee. My job is to get everything distributed and then close it down.”
“But that’s what an attorney does,” he insists.
“Some do, yes. But in this instance, Brooks asked this of me personally, outside of my scope as an attorney. You don’t have to be an attorney to be a trustee. In fact, it’s a pain in the ass to do all this, especially dealing with wily family members. But I wouldn’t ever deny him this favor.”
A pang of grief hits me. I loved Brooks—he was one of my best friends—and I wouldn’t have ever thought to refuse this assignment, even if he didn’t have the guts to ask me to do it while he was alive.
“So, essentially, Brooks left me everything but five hundred thousand and a small yearly stipend to my parents.”
“Correct.”
“Your letter implied he left me some personal items that you had to give me.” His voice is almost apprehensive, as if said personal items might be a rattlesnake poised to strike.
I nod. “It’s best if we go to his condo as that’s where the personal items are. I need to show you the unit, too, so you can determine if you want to live there or sell it.”
“I don’t want to live there.” His denial is too swift to give it merit, but I don’t argue. I’m going to let him make his own decisions. As of now, I’ve pretty much accomplished what Brooks really wanted me to do.
Or, at least once we get to the condo, I’ll pretty much have fulfilled my obligation. What Stone does with it is up to him.
“Up for taking a walk?” I ask, rising from my desk. “It’s about three blocks from here.”
Stone nods as he stands. “Bonita told me we’d be walking there.”
“I like walking in the snow. So does Odin.”
I grab my dog’s collar and leash off a hook on the wall, and Odin prances happily, knowing a walk is on the horizon.
“What type of dog is that?” Stone asks, his tone grumpy and telling me he hasn’t forgotten Odin’s disdain for him.
“A Bernese Mountain Dog. We’ve always had them in our family, but Odin is the first one I’ve had all to myself. He’s three years old.”
I fasten Odin’s collar and clip on the leash, turning toward Stone and bringing my dog to heel on my left.
“Are they all so vicious?” Stone asks, glaring suspiciously at Odin.
“He’s not vicious at all, and neither is the breed. He’s a gentle giant.”
“With big fangs and a deep growl,” Stone reminds me.
“Only toward jerks who storm into his space uninvited.”
I receive a dismissive snort, and Stone steps back, giving me room to precede him out of my office. He’s sending the clear message he’s not about to let the dog walk behind him, not trusting me or Odin.
Which is fine.
In the lobby, I stop a moment at Bonita’s desk as she has the documents for the lawsuit we’ll be filing. Odin sits obediently while I give a quick flourishing signature where necessary. As I push them back across the desk, she hands me the keys to Brooks’s condo. I’ve had her keep them in our small safe built into the credenza behind her chair.
Stone never took off his coat, but I take a moment to grab my heavy parka hanging from the coatrack and slip on my gloves.
Once we’re outside, Odin goes back on my left and Stone walks on my right. The snow has lightened some, but it’s still coming down and completely covers the sidewalk. The sky is gray and overcast, but there’s little wind blowing.
As would be expected of a mountain dog, Odin is in his element. He’d lie outside in the snow for hours if I let him. He walks obediently at my side, head down and nose plowing through the powder. He pauses once to pee on a trash can, but for the most part, we keep a solid pace as we head west from my office.
“This is a nice area of Pittsburgh,” Stone says offhandedly.
“It’s called Allegheny West.” We stroll along, not many people out in the snow, but traffic is steady. “It used to be the premier neighborhood for the wealthy elite back in the late nineteenth century. It went into disrepair between the two World Wars, and then about fifty years ago, a huge restoration project started. I love the Victorian architecture here.”
Stone doesn’t reply, and we’re silent again until we hang a right three blocks down and then walk another half block to Brooks’s building.
“This is modern,” Stone says as he takes it in.
“It’s a converted warehouse, definitely not Victorian.” I give him a moment to check out the red-brick exterior with black trim on the windows and doors. “It’s a smaller warehouse that was converted into five luxury condo units—the first floor, double-car garages for each home and the second and third floors, the living spaces. Above each garage unit is a balcony that exits off the main living room for each condo, so if you’re friendly with your neighbors, it’s nice to sit outside and talk over an evening cocktail or morning coffee. You have outdoor space on the roof as well.