“She’s joining,” my father says. “Your mother wanted a word with her first.”
“Mom is here?”
He shakes his head and then reaches up to smooth his silver hair — what’s left of it. His bald spot gets bigger every time I see him. “She called.”
“Still sticking to that whole ‘will never step foot in Vermont again’ oath,” Colin mutters and Aunt Hilda looks visibly pained.
My grandfather may have willed a good sum of his wealth to create a charity, but he was not charitable with his own family. He and my mother had a falling out when I was ten and my beloved grandmother died. Grandma Bette was the glue that held our family together and when she died, he also disowned my uncle Matt, his only son, for “his immoral life choices.” This is why the trustees to oversee this charity do not include two of his three children. Aunt Hilda is the only one of his children he kept a relationship with, so here we are. And despite not talking to my mom for over a decade, he always kept in contact with my dad. I thought it was just to keep tabs on Colin and me, but it turns out the two were actual friends.
The rest of the will is more or less settled, but there’s been some haggling over the house he owned when he died. It’s the only thing he left to my mother and my uncle. And Uncle Matt, being the “immoral” heathen he was, chose to stay in Costa Rica where he taught yoga at a resort with my aunt Lori who was ten years older than him and had two kids older than me, and let my mom handle it. That was likely what she was discussing on the phone with Iris, who has just marched into the boardroom, in her long green skirt, powder pink sweater, and green crocs. She’s followed by Peter Landry, a new addition to her firm, who will be taking over our business completely once she feels he’s ready to handle the blood bath. “Sorry! Sorry! But Donna and Mike, as you all probably know, have accepted an offer on Mr. McDaniels’ home.”
“I didn’t know,” Aunt Hilda says sharply, and her eyes scan our faces with a scowl.
I lift my hands. “First I’m hearing of it.”
Iris clears her throat and sits at the head of the table, with Peter taking the chair to her left. They both place laptops on the conference table and open them. Jeremy walks in with a pitcher of water and some glasses. He also offers everyone coffee and when I ask for one with sugar but no milk, he catches my eye and mouths the word ‘bourbon?’ I smirk but shake my head.
“So, with the house settled, all we have left to settle with the family part of the will is Chase’s trust,” Aunt Hilda says as she crosses her arms and leans back in her seat, her pale eyes narrowing on me. “If all the requirements are met.”
“Well, the non-negotiable requirement would be his age,” Iris says, opening a folder and then her laptop. “And that happens in…”
“Seven months, fourteen days, and roughly eleven hours,” I respond and grin when all eyes in the room turn to me.
“As I’ve said before, this morality clause is… well, vague enough that I would have a hard time holding it up in court,” Iris says, and she levels her keen brown eyes on me.
“But I will take it to court if it means upholding Ned’s wishes,” Dad warns.
“Yes. You’ve made that abundantly clear,” Amy snaps.
Peter looks at all of us like we’re the Manson Family but then quickly refocuses on his laptop screen. Poor guy.
I think he’s still horrified that for Colin, Amy, and me to receive our inheritances, Grandpa Ned said we needed to prove a strong moral character and be living a life that would uphold his religious and ethical values.
“Well, we can discuss that in seven months, fourteen days, and eleven hours,” Iris tells everyone. “For now, we’re here to concentrate on the charity. You’ve all decided what we’ll do with the first year’s budget?”
And that’s when the inevitable happens. We all start throwing out our ideas, talking over each other. Our words are all muddled and Iris looks positively horrified, but she shouldn’t. She’s been working with us for months so this shouldn’t surprise her. She lifts both hands and raises her voice. “Okay! One at a time!”
Jeremy wanders back in and quickly places down all the coffees. “I wish I had said yes to the bourbon,” I mumble, and he pats my shoulder sympathetically.
“I think we need a scholarship, obviously,” Dad says, talking over Aunt Hilda who was trying to explain her idea. “Ned was a fan of education. A scholarship for a political science student at the local school, also his alma mater, is perfect.”
“Something that directly benefits this city would be better,” Aunt Hilda interrupts. “I mean, there’s a billion scholarships. But what about a community center, where people can come and take programs or put on cultural events that benefit the locals.”
“I was thinking of something to do with farming,” Amy says. “After all, that’s the backbone of Vermont, and the industry as a whole is struggling.”
Dad and my brother roll their eyes. Aunt Hilda just frowns, like being reminded that Vermont is predominantly a working class, agricultural state is somehow inconvenient. Peter looks over his laptop at me. “Chase? What do you think?”
“I like the community center idea, but Burlington already has one of those. I volunteer there once a week,” I tell him, and I guess my family too, since I doubt they know. “And the farming idea definitely has potential. I know there’s a lot of need. I’d like to investigate that further. But I was thinking I’d like some kind of youth program that grants funds and guidance to young entrepreneurs. Not all kids want to go to college and not all can. There’s a lot that could be learned to help young ambitious people with great ideas, but no resources to get their businesses off the ground. My company already offers free seminars on marketing and public relations, but a lot more could be done. Grants, loans, partnerships.”
No one says anything at first, and the only person smiling is Iris so I know, when my family does speak, it’s not going to be positive. My brother sets the tone. “Is this just a way for you to access Granddad’s cash before your inheritance kicks in? Because that’s what it sounds like.”
“I knew you’d say something stupid like that,” I reply, and he scowls back at me.
“Well, I mean, none ofourideas involved the money going to us,” Amy says, and Colin gives her a thankful look.
“I’m sorry but doesn’t your husband’s family own one of the largest dairy farms in Vermont?” I snap and instantly regret it.
“I never said they would take a hand-out!” Amy barks.
