Page 69 of Plentywood
“Tell him it’s Benedict Hawthorne,the third,” I stated. “The one in Montana.”
Some shitty classical tune played while I was on hold. Actually, it could have beenHallelujah, and I’d still have been pissed off.
“Young Ben Hawthorne,” Jaime answered. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Cut the shit, Jaime,” I demanded.
“Excuse me?” he asked, acting all offended.
“Do you manage my trust?” I asked. “The one set-up by my grandmother? Not the one my parents established for me.”
“Why, yes, yes I do,” he clarified.
“Good!” I hissed. “And if I wanted to hire a different lawyer to maybe… say… take a look at that trust. That would be within my rights, correct?”
“Well, I’d have to speak with your father about that,” he resisted. “You know, in case he has an issue with such a thing.”
“And you’d do that because his name is on that trust, Jaime? Is that why you wouldneedto speak with my father? You know, just in case I hire that lawyer I mentioned to verifymyrights?” I asked. Jaime Goldberg was silent all of a sudden. “I can’t hear you, Jaime. What was that?” I pushed.
“I simply think it’s wise to involve your father, Ben.”
“And why is it that you refer to my father as, sir, but me by a shortened version of my given name, Mr. Goldberg?”
Again, Jaime was quiet. But this time, I let him hang. I was not going to speak first, no matter what.
After a minute expired, he spoke up. “Well, sir,” he began. “We have always included your father in these discussions. That is how we’ve always done it, so naturally, I assumed you’d want his advice regarding these delicate matters.”
“And by always done it,” I began. “Do you mean, show me some paperwork, never explain said paperwork, and then thrust this paperwork under my nose to sign? Would that be how wealwaysdo it, Mr. Goldberg?”
“Yes. That has been the acceptable procedure in the past,” he defended.
“For whom?” I asked, anger building in my voice. But I didn’t want to lose my cool. Historically, I’m an ineffective advocate for myself when I get emotional. “For whom exactly was this the acceptable procedure, sir?”
“Well, of course, for your father and his wishes, Mr. Hawthorne.”
“I like how that sounds, Mr. Goldberg,” I admitted. “Not the part about meeting my father’s wishes part. Oh, hell no! But you referring to me as Mr. Hawthorne part; that has a nice ring to it.”
“What can I do for you, Mr. Hawthorne?” he asked, sounding far less eager to assist me.
I had done some early-morning research about generational trusts and the various types used to preserve money for large estates. I had my hunches and was about to explain them to Mr. Goldberg once he confirmed a simple detail for me.
“Will you please tell me the specific type of trust that my grandmother set up for me, Mr. Goldberg?” I asked. “I’m sure you know the legal names of such structured trusts.”
“Your father didn’t advise you of that, sir?” he asked, using a slimy delay tactic.
“Please don’t, Mr. Goldberg,” I warned. “I have a list of at least a hundred trust attorneys who would love my business. And when I hire one of them, you can explain how you didn’tdo your fiduciary duty to keep me appraised of my rights as the beneficiary, and to your position as the trustee,” I stated. “So, what is the type of trust my grandmother had you establish?”
“Your trust is a generation-skip trust,” he revealed. “They are designed to skip the usual heir or heirs and bequeath to the next generation.”
“As in, skip Benedict Hawthorne,the second, and leave the estate to his rightful heir?” I asked.
“That would be correct, sir,” he agreed.
“And who is the sole heir?” I inquired. “The heir who is also an only child, Mr. Goldberg?”
“That would be you, sir. But only of course, once you were of legal age, or if the trust hadn’t been written to be accessible at an older age,” he explained.
“Terrific, Mr. Goldberg. And my trust? You know, the one that is solely mine. What is the heir’s necessary age precisely?”
