Mica is already in the kitchen when I come downstairs. The man operates on a schedule that starts at zero-dark-thirty every day of the week. I don’t think he even knows what sleeping in is. When it comes to work, he’s a machine.
He’s got a cup of coffee on the counter in front of him. I try not to notice how hot he looks with his neatly groomed hair and the tattoos crawling up one side of his neck. He’s wearing black dress pants, a black button-up shirt, and his always immaculate Sons cut.
When I say, “Good morning,” he glances up from scrolling on his phone.
“You’re up early.” Sliding his phone back into his pocket, he adds, “I was just texting you a reminder about the appointment this morning,” as he pushes a steaming cup of coffee towards me.
“I know. It’s why I came down early.”
Taking a drink, I sigh because it’s perfectly made. I tease him, “You should have been a barista. You know that, right?”
He snorts a laugh. “Being an accountant is hard enough. The last thing in the world I need is a throng of people screaming at me for a latte every morning. That’s my idea of hell on earth.”
I lean against the counter, and we finish up our coffee in a companionable silence.
“Are you ready to hit the road?” he asks.
“Sure,” I tell him, although I’d like nothing better than another cup of java.
***
The attorney’s office is across town, and we arrive right on time. Gerald Fitch is well prepared for our meeting and lays all the documents out as soon as we sit down. He has them organized into sections with color-coded tabs, which tells me my grandfather’s will is a little more complicated than I thought.
“The estate has cleared probate,” he explains, opening the first folder. “Your marriage certificate has been verified and filed. That triggers the inheritance clause.” He turns a document towards me.
I glance at Mica and see he’s already reviewing the document.
“What’s this about?” I ask.
“I’m sure your uncle told you about the addendum. It’s the clause stipulating you had to be married or thirty years old to inherit. There are some conditions attached to the addendum that you need to be aware of.”
“Can you walk us through it?” Mica asks. “I want to make sure we understand everything.”
Fitch adjusts his glasses. “Ms. Jackson receives immediate operational control of Vulture’s Route and Delivery Service, Vulture’s Custom Choppers, and of course permissionto continue living in the family home. She will draw her regular salary and have full access to the operating accounts, authority to execute contracts, hire and terminate employees, and manage day-to-day business decisions.” He pauses. “What she does not receive immediately is title transfer. Legal ownership of the businesses, the property, and the estate funds transfers exactly three hundred and sixty-five days after marriage.”
I lean forward, shocked by this latest turn of events. “You’re telling me that I have to wait twelve months to get my inheritance?”
“Correct. It’s a two-step process. The addendum created a marital trust holding period. All real estate and other property transfer in full at the one-year mark provided the marriage remains intact and the businesses continue operating properly.” He looks at me over his glasses. “That means there must be no significant revenue decline, no default on existing contracts, and no voluntary dissolution of either business.”
A short silence stretches between the three of us. Always the numbers guy, Mica speaks up, “Define significant decline.”
Fitch turns to page four. “Twenty percent or greater revenue decline over two consecutive quarters.”
“And who determines compliance?” I ask.
Fitch glances at me. “Your uncle, Mrs. Jackson. Until the title transfers, he has been tasked with monitoring the assets. It was your grandfather’s wish.”
For a moment I wonder who Mrs. Jackson is, and then I remember it’s me. I study the document in front of me. It appears to be exactly what he says. My name is all over thedocument, with my maiden name of course. Vulture never saw me getting married to someone he considered a rival, an enemy even. Vulture’s name is listed under ownership history. “I’ll spend the next twelve months running businesses I don’t legally own yet, with my uncle reviewing my numbers every quarter, and a performance clause that could pull the rug out from under me if we fall upon hard times. Is that about the size of it?”
“That clause was for your protection. Your grandfather worried the businesses might fail when he was no longer there to run them himself. If that were to occur, he wanted the business sold while they were still worth something. He didn’t want you left destitute.”
That sounds like something my pragmatic grandfather would worry about. “What happens if the marriage doesn’t last twelve months?” I ask.
“The trust dissolves. The estate goes to probate again under the original will conditions. You would wait until age thirty for title transfer but would be allowed to continue residing in the family home.”
I think about Buck walking off the lot this morning, leaving us short staffed. The refrigerated truck that needs service, which is not going to be cheap. And then there is the Titan Pantry contract that’s up for renewal in a few days. All with that twenty percent clause hanging over our heads.
Fitch slides two pens across the table. “If you’re both prepared to sign, we can execute the operational transfer today. You’ll have account access and signing authority by end of business.”
