Council of Soot
*
Arguing by video call
The following week was simply hell on Earth.
It was a one-and-a-half hour drive to the hospital, so every day, it was a gamble on which sibling would be there for me to deal with.
The first day, it was just Louisa. We curled up on the couch-bed thing in my mother’s hospital room and watched a horrible TV edit of When Harry Met Sally with our mom while Dad went home to shower.
No talking meant no arguing. It was beautiful.
On day two, I arrived to find Jean yelling at a nurse and my dad attempting to calm her down.
“You are poisoning her!” Jean’s screams could be heard throughout the hallways.
My dad sighed and motioned for the nurse to go as he nudged Jean toward a seat. She fought at first but finally curled up in a chair as my dad spoke softly.
“Your mom is already being poisoned, Jean. The cancer is killing everything left in her. The morphine allows the pain to subside so she can sleep.”
Jean didn’t scream. She hugged her knees, her toe-ring bedazzled feet on the seat as she nodded softly, crimson locks draped over her shoulders. She looked like a lost, scared child.
He reached over and rested a hand on her arm. It was the first time I ever remembered him being gentle with her. I wondered how different our lives would’ve been if he had been that way in the first place.
Day three, though, was the hardest.
Matthew had been listed as the executor of the will. It made sense. He was the most responsible. However, he also had a law degree and a license he did not use. He’d worked at an engineering firm after obtaining his license and never pursued a career in law.
He walked in today in a suit, carrying a laptop, a tape recorder, and a tablet.
I shook my head at the pageantry, which he ignored.
My parents made a place for him to sit while my mother ate her lunch in a daze.
She hadn’t said anything to me in the past three days of sitting at her bedside. Yet when Matthew arrived, she came alive.
“You look so sharp, Matthew.” She smiled. “Bree didn’t even bother to put real pants on.”
I looked down at my yoga pants and scoffed. “I’m going to the gym after this.”
They all ignored me as Matthew turned on the video call.
“Is everyone here?”
“Here,” Jason said, a bit robotically.
Matthew frowned at my dad. “Louisa and Jean remembered this meeting, right?”
At that moment, Louisa walked in, trailed by Jean, Aurora, Sol, and my little brother, Eddy.
My dad stood up. “No, we agreed none of the kids would be involved.”
Jean scowled. “Why? Eddy mom’s son too. Why can’t he be here to provide feedback on the will?”
The room went silent. Even my mother fidgeted with her blanket.
Edward was eighteen. He was technically an adult, even if he had another year of school to complete.
We had said no grandchildren because we expected each of us siblings to determine what we wanted as a group, keeping the kids free from the squabbles.
Now, Jean had decided her kids and our brother needed to see it all.
Then Jason interjected with a yell, “Tom and Marisela, get in here now!”
He set his computer farther away as kids with black hair and tanned skin from the summer crowded around him. While all three of them were tanned, his almost-white blond hair made it clear whose genetics were stronger between him and Lily.
Matt rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Right. Whatever.”
He exhaled and turned on the tape recorder. “Matthew Soot attorney for the state of Kansas, recording discussion of the will and distribution of the Estate of Martha Anne Soot, on July 21, 2015.”
Matt opened his folder and pulled out copies of the will, handing the stack to Louisa to give to us. I wanted to chuckle at how formal this was, but my laughter died when I saw my parents’ faces.
Then, I read the will.
I, Martha Anne Soot, leave all of my belongings to my husband, Richard Elijah Soot. Richard can involve the children (Jason Novak, Jean Novak, Louisa Wagner (Soot), Matthew Soot, Brianna Rook (Soot), and Edward Soot) in the distribution. Still, he has full authority and makes the final decision.
Then, there was the high-level list of assets my mother had:
A lone $100k life insurance policy.
When wealthy people die, it’s a production.
Lawyers step in to divest and distribute assets, estates get divided, and grumbling about taxes often occurs, as if losing a little gold somehow ruins the grand legacy they imagined leaving behind.
They hand down homes, cars, bonds—sometimes businesses—transforming grief into a financial strategy. Some even build a trust to protect it all.
However, when poor people die, there’s no parade of wealth to sort through.
Our family home was lost during the 2008 housing crisis when one bank acquired another and failed to process the mortgage payments.
The cars? No one was fighting over the 2001 minivan.
There were no secret savings accounts or investments hidden away.
This wasn’t the endgame you read about in personal finance books or see in games like Ratrace . It was just survival—and now, the scraps of it were being tallied up like they were worth fighting over.
I clenched the paper, feeling ghoulish. Why are we here? To debate with my dad that he should not receive $100k to pay off medical debt, my mother’s funeral costs, and have a portion for him and Eddy to live off of?
Matt’s throat clearing jerked my attention back to him as he held out another paper. “This is the list of all outstanding debts. We own some of them. As your brother, I ask that you consider relieving Mom and Dad of them.”
I was surprised when the paper was handed to me.
I raised a brow and saw in bold print:
Brianna Soot – $5000 check, 08/27/2007
Brianna Soot – $5000 check, 03/30/2008
Brianna Soot – $2000 check, 12/15/2008
I threw confused glances between my parents. My mom looked ashamed of herself as my dad spoke. “Bree, you gave your mother $12k over a year. I assume you took it from your accident settlement.”
Nearly a decade washed over me as the memories returned.
One was the so-called reimbursement for medical costs from my childhood accident. Another was a desperate loan to save the house after the bank merger. The last—
“The $2k was a gift.”
Jean scoffed. I frowned at her. “I didn’t use my whole settlement on the wedding and my college tuition, so I gave it to Mom to buy Christmas gifts and take care of herself.”
“Well, Martha didn’t,” said my dad. “Which is why we left it on here.”
I turned to my mother, who wouldn’t look at me. “What was it spent on?” I asked.
I anticipated tears, a confession, and finally, an understanding of why my parents were in such a bad financial state. Instead, she shook her head and sighed.
“Brianna, just take the damn money.”
My stomach clenched as I looked at her. Her eyes shifted to the blanket, and I leaned back on the couch.
The hours faded with the daylight as my siblings argued over petty things: salt and pepper shakers, art sets, and moth-ridden furniture.
All the while, I held a paper that confirmed a fundamental truth about myself. I was willing to forfeit my livelihood and give up my health and happiness for the sake of my family. Then they couldn’t even tell me what they’d spent it on, and they never asked if I regretted it.