Page 42 of Get A Fix

“The first thing I did was move my father’s account from being taken care of internally, by his company’s attorneys, and hired an outside firm.”

“So finally, you were insulated.”

“That’s right. There are lawyers and accountants, and only when something comes up, like Hunter wanting to borrow against his youngest son’s trust fund—which can only be used for college when he turns eighteen, or will be turned over to him when he’s twenty-two—then and only then does that question come to me.”

“Then the head lawyer gives you a call, and you say yes or no.”

“Correct.”

“And the firm gets paid by the trust as well, as do you as executor, so really, it’s a machine that spins along, completely self-sustaining.”

“It’s been great since I hired the firm. They’re in Chicago, actually. Jenner, Knox, and Pembroke. Rick Jenner is a managing partner there and takes care of my account.”

“Managing partner, so he must be good.”

“Ever since I signed the contract with him, my siblings no longer call me. They also don’t have my number anymore, but still.”

“New trusts must get made all the time with people having kids.”

“Yes. And some get paid out. In fact, that’s the gift Bitsy is getting, along with me paying for her wedding. Since she’s now turned twenty-two, she will receive access to her trust fund, which her father, Charles, my father’s second-born son, wanted to break, back when she was in high school. He also wanted access to it when she decided not to go to college but become an influencer instead.”

“But that’s not really a gift if everyone who has a trust gets it once they go to college or hit the required age.”

“No, but there’s also a clause pertaining to moral turpitude.”

“You’re kidding. Who defines that?”

“My father did when he set up the trusts in perpetuity.”

“I can’t wait to hear this.”

“The paperwork states that the trust can be held until thirty, or given to his or her parents, if the trustee has any run-ins with the law, shows any unseemly behavior, or could in any way tarnish the Walder name. It’s all very serious.”

“Moral turpitude clause.”

“Yes.”

“She’s an influencer, you said.”

“Yes, so her feed is full of things that could be construed as not adhering to the morals clause.”

“Seriously?”

“You have no idea. Her parents have sent certified letters attesting to how she in no way should receive her inheritance as it will go to drugs and questionable men.”

“Questionable men?”

“I know, right? Like we haven’t all been there.”

I chuckled, and he leaned into me to kiss my temple. “Worst of all, now she’s marrying Orson Phillips, who’s a software engineer, and not Reggie Muehler, whom she dated for three years and who’s now on the partner track with some firm in Boston, where they live.”

“Oh dear God, she’s marrying a software engineer? That is horrible.”

“I know. How very bourgeois.”

“Only rich people, I swear to God. We’d all be lucky to marry a software engineer.”

“Hey,” he warned me. “Watch it. Actors are a good bet too.” When I looked at him, he cracked a huge smile. “The disgust on your face.”