“Okay, that’s close enough. The home is usually the biggest asset in a person’s estate.”
“Not in my case,” she said sharply, as if mildly offended.
He kept scribbling and absorbed the first hint that this little will might not be so simple. “Do you own other real estate? A vacation home? Rental properties?”
“Oh no. Harry didn’t like real estate. Said it was too much trouble.”
Then what, please, did Harry like? “I see. Do you have other investments?”
She took a deep breath and suddenly looked worried. “I can trust you, right, Mr. Latch?”
“Of course. I’m your lawyer, duty bound to keep everything confidential.” Simon noticed a slight flutter in his intestines, as if some truly wonderful and unexpected facts might be in the works. He’d had a few surprises in the past eighteen years as a pseudo estate lawyer, but nothing significant.
“Well, you see Mr. Latch—”
“Please call me Simon.”
“Simon, what a nice name. You see, Simon, Harry worked for almost forty years as a district sales rep for Coca-Cola. I think that’s what killed him. He got his blood sugar up, had a stroke at sixty-nine, never recovered. We always had plenty of Coke, the real thing, not diet, in the fridge and he drank too many, at least in my opinion. Anyway, he qualified for stock options, a few at a time, and he bought every share of Coke he could get his hands on. Never sold a share, just enjoyed watching it pile up. And boy did it. Then about thirty years ago, he began selling Coke products to Wal-Mart and became fascinated with the company. It was selling a lot of soft drinks. Harry began buying stock in Wal-Mart and he never sold a share. When he died suddenly, he was wondering what to do with all that stock. He didn’t want to leave it to his boys, because they were nothing but trouble. Still are. And here’s the thing, Simon, the boys don’t know about the stock. Harry never told them, never told anyone but me. He thought it was funny that we lived quietly in our modest little home and no one knew we were worth millions.”
Millions? Simon managed to keep scribbling on his yellow legal pad but his handwriting, illegible on a good day, quickly deteriorated into nothing more than chicken scratch. At that moment, he could not remember a single will he had ever drafted for a person worth a million dollars, excluding the real estate.
He maintained a lawyerly frown as if thoroughly unfazed. “What, uh, did he do with all that stock?”
“He left it to me, along with everything else. What’s it called — ‘the marital deduction’?”
“Yes, that’s it. You can leave everything to your spouse free of estate taxes. Harry must have been a smart man.”
“Funny thing, he never claimed to be smart. He was quite modest, worked hard, paid his debts, saved his money, bought his stocks, then left it all to me. He wanted to do something to help his sons, and, frankly, he tried everything. But if they had known about his portfolio they would have driven him crazy. So, he never told them. Then he died suddenly.”
It was rare for a client seeking a simple will to throw around words like “portfolio” and “marital deduction.” Simon’s radar went up another notch or two.
“What’s the value of the portfolio?”
She actually put a hand over her mouth as if she couldn’t say. Then she rubbed her eyes and looked frightened. She lowered her voice and said, “And all of this is strictly confidential, right?”
“We’ve already established that, Ms. Barnett. If you want me to draft a proper will, then I have to know what’s in the estate. A simple will may not be what you need.” He could almost feel the new document growing thicker by the moment. And the retainer was growing too, now up to $5,000.
“If people only knew. My friends, Harry’s boys. No one knows, Simon.”
Simon flashed a comforting smile, as if to say, You can tell me anything. Instead, he said, “These walls are made of steel, Ms. Barnett. Nothing leaks through. I’m ethically bound to keep all your secrets.”
Fortified, she gritted her teeth and said, “As of last week, the stocks were worth slightly more than sixteen million. The market goes up and down, you know?”
Simon scribbled down the number while managing to keep a solemn poker face, as if this was nothing out of the ordinary.
She leaned in closer and asked, “That’s a lot, right?”
“It is.”
“Is it pretty unusual?”
“I’d say yes. I rarely get a client with this type of net worth.” Rarely? How about never?
“And I don’t know what to do with it all?”
Oh, the questions. And the suggestions.
“Uh, well, how much of the estate is in Coke stock?”
“About ten million. About six or so in Wal-Mart.”
“And the dividends?”
“Well, as you know, Wal-Mart doesn’t pay squat for dividends, pennies per share. But Coke, well that’s a different story. It’s paid four percent a year forever.”
“Four percent of ten million annually?”
“Thereabouts. It’s a bit over four hundred thousand a year. And it just piles up, you know? I don’t know what to do with it. Can you help me, Simon?”
“I’m sure we’ll think of something, but this will not be just a simple will, Ms. Barnett. This will take some time.”
“Could you please call me Netty? It’s my old nickname, but only a few people use it. If you’re Simon, then I’m Netty.”
He gave her the sappiest smile yet and said, “Of course,” as they grew closer. “I guess with that type of income you must have substantial cash in the bank.”
“Yes, I do.”
A pause. “Okay, how much cash?”
“Almost four million.”
“And it’s in, well, what type of accounts?”
“Checking, savings, and certificates of deposit. But the bank’s not here. Harry wouldn’t dare bank with the locals. He was always afraid prying eyes would see our accounts and, well, you know how people love to gossip. So he banked with East Federal in Atlanta, one of the biggest.”
“Atlanta?”
“Yes, we lived there for years. Coke’s headquarters, you know?”
“Of course.” Simon had no idea where Coke was headquartered. He scribbled away as his mind spun in circles. He flipped the pages of his legal pad and started on a blank one. He wrote down the number $10,000, followed by “Retainer.”
“Just curious, Netty, in your last will, who did you leave your assets to? The stocks and bank accounts?”
She sighed as if it might be too painful to talk about. “Well, Simon, that’s one reason I’m here. I don’t like my current will. I signed it weeks ago and I haven’t had a good night’s sleep ever since.”
“Who drafted it?”
“A lawyer across the street. Wally Thackerman. You know him?”
“Oh, sure. I know all the lawyers in town.”
“Do you trust him? Is he a good guy?”
“Yes, no, sort of, maybe. Wally is nice enough, but I wouldn’t call him a friend. Do I trust him? I’m not sure. Why? Do you trust him?”
“I did, but now I don’t know. You see, Simon, I wasn’t sure who to put in my will. Who gets the stocks and the money, you know?”
“Uh-huh.”
“So Wally convinced me to leave it all to him, in trust. When I pass, he’ll sell the stock, put the cash in a trust of some sort, I really never understood it, and then he would have the authority to give the money to my favorite charities.”
“And what are your favorite charities?”
“I don’t have any.”
“None?”
“No. You see, Harry didn’t believe in giving money away. He had the attitude that no one gave him money when he was broke and hungry, as a kid, so why should people expect him to give them something? I wouldn’t say he was stingy, but maybe he was. Whatever, we just never got in the habit of giving.”