Page 16 of Rory Rides Her Fake Fiancé
“Oh yeah,” I say. “Grew up on that mountain. Used to bus us over right after school.”
Our food comes, and Uncle Robert tells me about skiing out west, places like Steamboat Springs and Whistler. He’s dismissive of skiing here, which, like, fine, we’re not deep snow and powder, but it’s beautiful in its own way. And when you grow up out here, you’re used to it. If we traded places, we’d both probably be out on our asses—I’ve never skied in powder before, but no one complains about that. Put a Colorado skier on our slopes and they become whiny little babies about the ice.
It’s a nice chat, but I can’t help but wonder why we’re here.
Our plates get cleared, and I decide enough bullshitting. “Uncle Robert, why are you here? Not that I’m not enjoying our chat, but . . .”
He grins. “You’re wondering why the hell I drove all the way here just to take you out to lunch?”
“Well . . . yeah.”
Uncle Robert leans forward, folding his hands together. “As I’m sure you know, I’m not close with your mom. She’s . . . complicated.”
I nod. That’s putting it mildly.
“She and your grandmother barely talked. That wasn’t your grandma’s choice, but that’s the way it played out. So I wanted to talk to you personally and give you a heads-up.”
I brace myself.
“The bad news is that your grandmother passed away with a fairly comfortable portfolio.”
What a rich-person thing to say. Portfolio. Also, that doesn’t sound like bad news, but I wait for the other shoe to drop.
“Your mother and I inherit the money fifty-fifty, but there are stipulations. I’m both the executor of Ada’s estate and the trustee of the trusts.”
I stare at him.
“I’m responsible for stewarding the money your mother inherits and making sure she follows the requirements of the will. She’s not going to be happy about that.”
I have a guess on what the will stipulates, and saying Mom won’t be happy is probably an understatement. “What happens if Mom doesn’t follow the rules?”
“If five years pass, the trust falls equally to you and your brother, with the same stipulations.”
“Okay. So . . .”
“Unless your mother and brother significantly clean up their act, you stand to inherit a good bit of money in five years, and then double it in ten.”
That stuns me. I knew Grandma was richer than we were, but a “good bit of money” coming from Uncle Robert sounds like maybe a lot?
“A word of advice, son?” he continues.
“Yeah, sure.” I gesture for him to go on.
“Don’t count on the money.”
My face falls.
“Not because I don’t think you’re going to get it,” he adds. “Although . . .” He shrugs. “You never know. People have gotten clean for a lot worse reasons. But I’m just saying, the general advice is that you don’t plan your finances around having an inheritance. It’s a good way to ensure that if you don’t get it, you’re screwed, and if you do get it, you’ve already earmarked it for too much and it gets away from you. Have you read any financial literacy books?”
I shake my head. I just chuck money into a savings account.
“I’ll send you some of my favorites.” He claps a hand on my shoulder. “I have faith that you’re a smart man and you’ll learn.”
I don’t know what gave him that idea. I am my mother’s son after all.
“There’s one more thing.”
More? I’ve just learned that I might have an inheritance from my grandmother. That’s a lot to process, even if it’s down the road and maybe . . . if Mom has to stay clean, I think it’s ninety-five percent likely to happen. Those odds are pretty fucking good.
