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“The distribution of proceeds of the estate will be reevaluated one year—defined as three hundred and sixty-five days—from the reading of this document. For the duration, the estate’s assets will be held within the Roaring Fork Trust.
“That trust stipulates that my oldest son, Roscoe Buchtold Wheaton, Junior, must maintain full-time residency at Roaring Fork Ranch, defined as not being absent from the property for a period longer than forty-eight consecutive hours.”
“What the hell?” I muttered under my breath.
“Let me finish,” said Six-pack.
“If, at the end of the year, one of two things happen, either Roscoe Buchtold Wheaton, Jr., does not maintain full-time residency as stipulated above, or, after an audit by the accounting firm named in Addendum C of this document, reports show that the ranch fails to earn a profit, then the proceeds of the estate will be distributed at the discretion of the trustee, in their entirety, to include proceeds from the sale of the Roaring Fork Ranch, to local charities including, but not limited to, the Miracles of Hope Children’s Charity of Crested Butte, Colorado.”
The old saying of being able to hear a pin drop sure as hell fit the current situation.
Six-pack cleared his throat as though he had more to say. I held up my hand.
“Hang on. Is this legal?” I asked.
“It is.”
“When was this will drafted? Was he even lucid?” The last time I saw my father, he’d been in and out of consciousness to the point where I wasn’t sure he knew I was there.
Six-pack turned back to the first page. “Twelve years ago.”
I shook my head. Right after I’d left for college. Or right before. Figures the old bastard was already planning how to get me back to the ranch and keep me there.
I looked around the room at my brothers and sister. Their comments about how happy they were that I was here made a lot more sense. Had they known about our dad’s plan to hijack my life? As angry as the idea they did made me, I had no intention of asking in front of Six-pack.
“If you’re finished, I’ll go on,” he said.
I pushed my chair back from the table and stood. “I’ve heard enough.”
Six-pack stood too. “There’s more I need to go over with you.”
I walked out. When I said I’d heard enough, I meant it. Whatever the rest of the bullshit stipulations were, I didn’t care.
“Are you okay?” Holt asked when he came outside with Cord a few minutes later.
“We’ll talk when we get back to the ranch.”
“That was fucked up,” said Porter, storming past us. I’d ask which part, but more than not wanting to have a discussion in front of Six-pack, I didn’t want to have one out on the street.
“Sorry,” murmured Flynn.
I put my arm around my baby sister’s shoulders. “We’ll talk once we’re home.”
Her eyes met mine. “You said ‘home.’”
“Don’t make too much of that.”
Everyone but Porter and I appeared to be walking on eggshells. I was pissed at our dad, but it seemed like my brother was mad at me.
“Where are you going?” Port asked when I walked through the front door and down the hallway.
“Taking a piss. Is that something the old man is monitoring? Does someone have to log every time I take a shit too?”
“Don’t be an asshole.”
“Yep, that’s right. I’m the asshole.”
Before returning to where I knew my siblings waited, I went into my childhood room and sat down on the bed. Never had I wanted to grab my bag, walk out the front door of this house, and not look back more than I did right now. The audacity of what my father had done was something I couldn’t see a road to forgiving. Not that it mattered. He was dead, and yet, he still wanted to control my life from beyond the grave. Why? He had three other sons and a daughter who could run the Roaring Fork without my help.
