“Ms. Dalton. Mr. Nash,” he said, nodding to each of us. His voice was calm, practiced. “I’m Henry Wilson. I handled yourfather’s estate planning prior to his incarceration and have been retained to oversee probate now that he’s passed.”
“Nice to meet you,” Mara said.
“You as well. I’m a big fan of your husband’s films,” Wilson said. “And you’re always wonderful in them. My wife loves you.”
“How kind. Thank you.” Mara ducked her head modestly.
“You ready to get started?” Wilson asked.
“Yep. Let’s get it over with,” I said.
Wilson sat, opened the folder, and slid a single page toward us. “I’ll keep this as straightforward as possible. Most of the estate was liquidated years ago—real property, business holdings, personal assets. Those funds were used to satisfy legal fees, settlements, and restitution. What remains is held in two irrevocable trusts, established before Mr. Hale’s conviction.”
Mara’s fingers tightened around her cup as she glanced over at me.
“Each trust names one of you as sole beneficiary,” Wilson continued. “The value of each is approximately twenty million dollars.”
Mara gasped. “Are you kidding me?”
“No, Ms. Dalton,” Wilson said, without a smile. “I’m not kidding. I never joke about money.”
“Twenty million? For each of us?” I asked, as if he hadn’t stated it clearly enough.
Twenty million dollars.
I thought about Madison and her too-small shoes. And there was Robbie’s college education coming up, not to mention the STEM summer program.
“I had no idea he had anything in place for us,” Mara said. “I figured it would be small, given all the legal expenses and payouts to victims.”
“He was wise to set this up years ago,” Wilson said. “It couldn’t be touched until his death.”
“When did he do it?” I asked.
“It was right before your mother’s death,” Wilson said. “They came to see me together. She was very sick, but she was adamant that the money be protected from whatever other financial complexities arose. She wanted to make sure you two were set up, regardless of what happened after her death.”
“He never said anything about it to us,” Mara said.
“I see,” Wilson said.
Mara let out a slow breath. “What about the body. How does all that work?”
Wilson nodded. “The remains will be released to next of kin. There were no instructions in the will regarding burial or memorial services, except his request for a cremation. That decision falls to you.”
We were quiet for a moment. The city continued on outside the windows, horns honking and the low hum of vehicles’ engines.
“We don’t want a funeral,” Mara said finally. Her voice was steady, but her hands were not.
“We’re not putting him next to our mother,” I said. “We’ll agree to his request for cremation.”
“That can be arranged. The ashes will be yours to do with as you please.” Wilson made a note. “There are also personal effects—letters, photographs, a few items that weren’t seized. You can decide later what you’d like to do with those.” He closed the folder. “I know this is a great deal to absorb. But my office will take care of everything. We’ll just need signatures on some paperwork. Would you like to do that now?”
Mara and I looked at each other.
“Could we have until tomorrow to decide?” I asked.
“Decide?” Wilson asked, looking appalled at the idea. “If you disclaim, the trust language directs the funds to your father’s alma mater.”
“His alma mater,” Mara repeated. “But that’s absurd. It was an honorary degree they gave him. In exchange for a donation, I might add.”
