December 27th
Best idea ever.
Ainsley
I wake up to the sound of my phone vibrating. I check the clock by the bed and see that it’s six in the morning. And I wonder who the heck it could be.
“Hey,” I say, my voice scratchy.
“I tried calling you quite a few times last night,” Damon’s voice says. “You didn’t answer, and I’ve been a little worried. Especially when Sammy hasn’t answered his phone either.”
“Oh gosh. I’m sorry. I had an early dinner with Sammy and Apollo, and then we played mini golf. I was home at seven, took a bath, got in bed to read, and must’ve fallen asleep.”
“Still,” he says, sounding irritated with me.
Which isn’t really fair since he didn’t call me either. “I assume since you’re calling that you got back to school okay yesterday. But I wouldn’t really know for sure since you didn’t call or text me when you did.”
“We should probably make some rules, guidelines, whatever about that,” he says.
“I wasn’t upset, Damon. I knew you probably went straight to practice and were busy.”
He lets out a sigh. “You’re pregnant, Ainsley. I was just worried when I couldn’t get ahold of anyone.”
“I’m sorry you were worried. I’m fine. I wish there were a way I could make it so when you call, it rings, but for everyone else, it just vibrates.”
He laughs. “There is a way. It’s in your Settings.”
“That would be helpful.”
“Chase had a night when he first got to college and went to a party. He didn’t come home.
Didn’t answer his phone. Dani was worried sick when he still didn’t answer the next morning.
It was early in their relationship, and she was worried he was with someone else, but later, she was just worried if he was okay.
I was worried that you weren’t okay. Anyway, she called his mom, and she got worried. It was a whole thing.”
“That’s a lot of worry,” I chuckle. “Where was he?”
“He’d gotten pretty drunk at the party. Lost his phone. Slept there. After that, we started using an app where we could track each other. At least each other’s phones. If you were on it, last night, I would have been able to at least see that your phone was home. Would you like to join our group?”
“Sure,” I say somewhat tentatively.
“It’s not like people sit there and track each other, but I will admit that I have been known to look at it before I call my little sisters. Just to check if Jennifer’s home or not. If they’re not, I send a text to call me when they can. If they are, I go ahead and call.”
“Were you worried about the baby?” I ask.
“Both of you,” he says. “Things can get crazy fast when you’re pregnant. Jadyn was in a bad car wreck when she was pregnant with Chase, my mom went into labor with me a bit early, and Jennifer’s water broke at the supermarket.”
“I don’t want you to worry, Damon. Text me on how to join. How was practice yesterday?”
“Coach took it easy on us, but told us not to expect that today. Sounds like we’re in for a high-intensity workout. Tomorrow though, we’ll work out, have a short practice, then leave for Dallas.”
“And what happens when you arrive? Like, it’s a bowl game, so are there festivities or anything? A parade in your honor?”
“We were given a schedule and a big list of rules yesterday. I emailed you the schedule so you’d have it.
But basically, we’ll arrive at the hotel and be greeted by an official bowl welcoming committee.
Then we’ll get settled into our rooms, get the lay of the land, have dinner, and then we’re going bowling.
It’s my understanding that we’ll be allowed to go to the main part of the hotel to meet up with family and friends, but no one is allowed on the team floors.
They’ll have a private players’ lounge set up for us to relax and hang out as well as a team meeting and workout space.
Tuesday is Media Day, which is held at another hotel just a few minutes from where you’re staying. ”
“To be honest, I don’t even know where we are staying. Or where you are.”
“The team is at a resort in Grapevine. You’re staying closer to the stadium in Las Colinas.”
“And will we be able to see each other? I know you are there for the game, and that’s your priority, just wasn’t sure if you get any free time.”
“Coach would prefer no free time, to be honest,” he says with a chuckle. “Doesn’t want anyone getting into trouble. But, yes, I’ll go over the schedule on the plane and let you know. Sound good?”
“Anytime I can see you sounds good,” I tell him.
“Agreed. I need to go. Love you, Champ.”
“Love you too,” I say, pulling my sheets up over my head and shutting my eyes the second he hangs up.
I manage to fall back asleep but am awakened again by my phone. This time, it’s my uncle.
“Hey, Uncle Van,” I say.
“Ainsley, Tripp and I would like to talk to you today about your dad. About what he said. Are you free this morning?”
“Sure. What time?”
“In an hour or so work? And if it’s okay with you, we’d like to meet you at your place so we can have the talk in private.”
“At my cottage or the main house?” I ask.
“Your cottage preferably. You’re welcome to invite your mother to join you. But it might be better to chat with just you first.”
“Okay,” I say.
I hop out of bed and get ready, wondering what is such a secret. Is it the fact that my dad wants to sue them? Or could there really be a trust I don’t know about?
Guess I’ll find out soon enough.
I go to the main house, grab a tray of pastries, bring them back, and set them on my table.
Then I sit and wait.
When there’s a knock on my door, I about jump out of my seat.
I answer the door to find both Tripp and Van as well as another guy.
“Ainsley, this is Thomas J. Brannigan, of Brannigan and Brannigan, the firm that has handled the Archibald trust since I was a child. Thomas is the grandson of their founder, and you can call him TJ.”
I shake his hand and say, “It’s nice to meet you, TJ.”
“Ainsley,” he says, “it’s a pleasure.”
“I’ve got some pastries on the table. Would anyone like coffee?” I ask.
My uncles raise their hands, but TJ does not, so while they get settled around the table, I pour them each a cup.
I’m nervous. I don’t know why, but the fact that an attorney is here makes me feel like I’m in trouble.
Once I hand out the coffees and sit down, TJ says, “Your uncles informed me of your father’s visit.
I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty that he has no legal claim against the trust since he already emptied his portion of the trust. If he had left even a little in it, it would have continued to grow, but he chose a lump sum—against all of our recommendations. ”
“That’s good to know,” I say.
“The Archibald Trust was set up by your grandparents to protect their wealth. Their original trust gave their children—Tripp, Van, and Rocky—lump sums at a certain ages. After your father blew through all the money, your grandparents decided to change the structure for future generations.
“They changed it so that each brother’s legacies split their share.
For example, since Tripp has no children, his portion of the trust is fully his.
Van’s share is split evenly among his offspring.
As is your father’s. Because your grandparents loved your father and hoped he would not repeat the same mistakes, they still allowed him to get his second lump sum—which, as I think you know, he also ended up gambling away.
“But what you don’t know is that because Rocky had already proven to be financially reckless, they created an amended trust that bypassed your father and named you as the lead beneficiary.
Your father was correct when he said he knows that there is money in the trust. There is, but what’s left is not his anymore, legally or structurally. ”
“Currently, I am one of the trustees, along with TJ, and help make financial decisions about the trust,” Tripp says. “And I have a difficult decision to make regarding your future. A decision I’ve had to make every year since your eighteenth birthday.”
“What do you mean?”
“All of your cousins have been receiving yearly trust payouts since they turned eighteen. The last-minute scholarship you received was our way of helping you without your father knowing. We just weren’t comfortable with releasing it to you yet.”
“Are you saying I have a trust?” I ask, trying to comprehend.
“Yes. And we didn’t allow you to receive it as planned due to your father’s gambling. And that’s why we’re here. It’s still a concern,” Van says.
“I don’t want it,” I blurt out.
“That’s a little rash,” TJ says.
“Maybe it should skip me too,” I say. “Change it to my kids getting it.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Tripp says. “But I would like you to allow me to continue to protect you. I’d like to hold off until we see if your father actually does try to sue.”
“I think it would be much cheaper if I simply sent him a letter,” TJ offers, “letting him know that his parents changed the structure of the trust due to his fiscal irresponsibility.”
“And if you do that, it would make Ainsley his target,” Tripp counters. “That’s what we’ve been trying to avoid.”
“I don’t know if it will matter that much, to be honest,” I say. “Uncle Tripp, you already told me that he would consider me that just because of what Damon earns.”
“That is true,” Van says. “And I want to add that not telling you about the trust was difficult for us. But as trustees, it’s our job to protect you and the trust.”
“I know you did, and I’m thankful. I always thought … it’s going to be hard for me to wrap my head around this.”
“Just know that if you get married, you’ll need a prenup,” TJ says, handing me a card. “We can help you with that.”
Which causes me to laugh out loud.
“What’s so funny?” Van asks.
“I recently suggested to Damon that when we get married, he’ll need one to protect his assets from me.”
Tripp chuckles. “You will need one to protect your money from him. Sweetheart, when you get your trust, you’ll never have to work a day in your life, but I sincerely hope you still do. You’re quite talented.”
“Really?” I ask, but at the same time, I can’t imagine not working. I love it so much already.
“Payments are made every year in April,” TJ says.
“And how much does everyone get?” I ask.
“It depends,” Uncle Tripp says. “But it’s based off what the trust’s investments earn, but for you, since you are the only heir in the third line, we’re talking low seven figures each year.”
“Holy shit,” I say, then go, “Sorry.”
“You can see why we are worried,” Van says.
“Yeah, I can. What in the world am I supposed to do with it?” I ask.
“We’ll have our financial adviser work with you,” Tripp says. “You can decide how to invest it. You can even put it in a trust for future generations.”
“I actually really love that idea,” I say with a grin, glancing down at my belly and thinking about taking care of Summer that way.
For her to never have to worry about working or paying for college.
But then I stop. What I want is to teach her about finances.
About hard work. To know what it feels like to have to work for what you want, so that when it’s her time, she’ll know how to handle herself.
The guys all leave, and I can’t help it. I text Damon.
Me: I know you are busy, and I’m not sure when you will read this, but I just met with a trust attorney and my uncles.
While my dad did go through all his money, before my grandparents passed, they changed things so that it skipped my dad and started with me.
They didn’t tell me because they were afraid my dad would try to take it.
I might get my first payment this spring.
And I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but it’s a seven-figure payment.
Damon: Does that mean you’re going to be my sugar mama?
Me: I’ll give you all the sugar you want. But apparently, we will need a prenup. For both of us. Craziness!
Damon: Just know that I’m thrilled for you.
Me: And for Summer and our future kids. They will get money from the trust someday too. And don’t laugh—obviously, I want to talk to you about it—but how would you feel about putting all or most of what I get from it into a trust for our kids?
Damon: That’s why I love you. You have the best ideas ever.
Me: Does one of those ideas include me taking you all over the resort when I was drunk?
Damon: That was your best idea ever. I love you.