Chapter 2 - The Warning from an Old Friend
Arthur Bennett took off his wire-rimmed spectacles, set them deliberately on the polished mahogany surface of Thomas’s desk, and let out a long, weary breath. He had been our family attorney for nearly forty years. He knew the history of every timber in this house, every investment Thomas had ever made, and every dime that had slipped through Richard’s impatient fingers.
"Eleanor," Arthur began, his voice lowered to that solemn octave he reserved for courtroom verdicts, "you know I love you like a sister. And because I do, I must tell you plainly: if you sign this house over to the foundation, Richard will declare war. He will not merely be angry; he will feel robbed. For forty-five years, he has walked this earth believing that by divine right of birth, this estate belongs to him."
"It does not belong to him, Arthur," I said, my voice steady, even if my hands held a slight tremor from the lingering adrenaline of the past three days. "It belonged to Thomas and to me. Thomas spent twenty years building this home, room by room, brick by brick. And Richard spent twenty years mortgaging his own life away while waiting for me to die."
Arthur looked at me under his bushy gray brows. "A man who believes he is entitled to millions does not simply shrug and walk away when he finds out it has been given to strangers. He will claim undue influence. He will hire vultures. He will try to prove you are no longer of sound mind."
"Let him try," I replied, leaning forward in my chair. "I had Dr. Morrison conduct a full cognitive assessment yesterday morning. I scored thirty out of thirty on the Montreal Cognitive Assessment. I had him record the interview. My mind is sharper than Richard’s credit rating."
Arthur let out a dry chuckle, though his eyes remained shadowed with concern. "You always were ten steps ahead of Thomas, weren't you? Very well. If this is truly what you want, we don't just write a simple will. A will can be contested in probate for five years while Richard bleeds your liquid assets dry with legal fees. We need an irrevocable trust. We transfer the deed today to the foundation, reserving a lifetime tenancy for you. The day you draw your last breath, the house is no longer part of your estate. It belongs to the foundation automatically. No probate. No contest. No judge can undo a completed inter vivos gift."
"Do it," I said without hesitation.
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"Eleanor, sleep on it for forty-eight hours," Arthur urged, gathering his papers. "Once this ink dries, you cannot change your mind if Richard comes begging with tears in his eyes."
"I have wiped Richard's tears with checkbooks for thirty years, Arthur," I told him, looking out the grand bay window at the manicured lawns. "All it taught him was that my grief and my love are free currency. Draft the documents. And Arthur—not a single word to anyone until I tell you."
