Chapter 17 - WHY DAD HID THE KEY
Dad’s workshop notebook answered more than anyone expected.
Not legally.
Personally.
He started the key notes in May.
Sophronia had discovered he was revising the trust.
She argued.
He wrote:
S. thinks removing her as trustee means I think she is dishonest. It means I think she is my daughter and Dacre is my son, and neither of them should administer the other’s money after I’m gone.
Reasonable.
Then:
Dacre would be worse, just in a different direction. He’d give everything away to avoid paperwork.
I laughed.
Then:
Professional trustee will cost money. Worth every penny if Christmas remains survivable.
That part failed.
Then advancement ledger.
Dad wrote:
S. hates the word advancement because she hears judgment. I use it because money already advanced cannot also be inherited twice.
Accountant to the end.
Then:
I should have documented the repair money better. My fault.
That supported Sophronia’s challenge to the disputed $20,000.
Dad knew ambiguity existed.
Then key.
Sophronia repeatedly asked for executed amendment.
Dad refused to give her original before death because trust remained revocable and he wanted privacy.
He told her attorney could discuss after death.
She kept asking where he stored it.
Dad wrote:
If she knows cabinet key stays in my desk, she will wear a path in the floor around it.
Then July 2:
Put key in Aurelia horse.
Not because Aurelia gets estate.
Because no adult cares about toy except Dacre, and he will not inspect it until Christmas.
Wrong about Sophronia caring.
She searched handmade items.
Still missed the horse.
Then one line:
If I die before Christmas, Miles can drill the cabinet. Key is convenience, not a test.
There.
No treasure hunt.
No dead grandfather manipulating descendants.
Just a stubborn old man hiding a key from an argumentative daughter.
That made me love him more and less at the same time.
He should have given Miles a copy.
He should have avoided this entire mess.
He knew.
His last note:
Need to call Naomi and scan amendment Monday.
May you like
He died Sunday night.
Families are often destroyed by tasks someone planned to finish Monday.
