“Do you want to leave matters as a simple will, or do you want the main assets moved into trust?”
“Trust.”
He nodded.
That led to an hour of conversation I should have had years earlier. Revocable living trust. Updated will. Successor trustee. Specific bequests. No-contest language where appropriate. A letter of intent. Removal of Garrett from every role that required judgment on my behalf.
Francis did not ask for the gossip, but I eventually gave him enough of the story that he understood this was not some passing fit of injured pride.
“It was one text,” I said at last, “but it wasn’t about the text.”
“It never is,” he said.
I looked down at my hands.
“I don’t want my money deciding who gets to mistreat me,” I said. “Not while I’m alive, and not after I’m gone.”
He leaned back.
“That,” he said, “is one of the clearest reasons for an estate plan I’ve heard in years.”
By the time I left his office, I had a legal to-do list, a follow-up appointment, and a strange new sensation inside me. It was not vengeance. I want that clear. If it had been vengeance, it would have burned hot and quick. This was cooler than that. More durable.
It felt like self-respect.