1. Cord
1
CORD
PREVIOUS JUNE
T hree hundred and sixty-six days after my father’s attorney—a guy we’d nicknamed Six-pack in high school—originally read my father’s will and the conditions set forth in the Roaring Fork Trust, my three brothers, one sister, and I returned to his office.
“I heard you got married,” Six-pack said to my oldest sibling as we took our seats at the conference table.
I could tell by the look on his face that Buck had no desire to make small talk. Neither did I. None of us did.
Last year, shortly after our father died, Six-pack had called us into his office for the reading of our father’s will. What happened next was the last thing my siblings or I would ever have anticipated.
There was a codicil within the Roaring Fork Trust stating the date and amount of the distribution of my inheritance, along with that of my siblings, after Buck successfully carried out two stipulations. If he failed to do one or both, none of us would inherit a penny. The ranch that had been in our family for over one hundred years would be sold, and the proceeds, along with any other assets, would be given to charity.
The first demand was for Buck to maintain full-time residency at the ranch, agreeing not to be away from the property for more than forty-eight consecutive hours. Given he worked in private security and intelligence, this meant Buck had to put his job on hold in order to ensure the rest of us would receive our inheritance.
Second, at the end of the year, the ranch had to be profitable. Roaring Fork had been operating in the red for the last five years. Turning that around in twelve months was next to impossible, but we’d done it.
“Can we get on with it?” I pressed.
“Of course.” Six-pack cleared his throat. “I’ve received the ranch’s financial reports from the accounting firm chosen by the trustee, and it appears you were profitable.”
“It doesn’t appear that way; we were profitable,” Porter muttered.
“Let’s just wrap this thing up,” said Buck, as impatient as I was .
Nothing would make me happier than to put all this behind us and move on with our lives. Truth be told, I never wanted to think about my father or his controlling ways ever again.
“Certainly.” Six-pack sighed, opened the manila envelope in front of him, pulled out a document, turned on the microphone, and looked directly at me.
“The second codicil reads as follows. ‘The Roaring Fork Trust further stipulates that Porter Hayes Wheaton must…’” Six-pack’s eyes scrunched, and his brow furrowed. “Sorry. I misspoke.” He looked at the document more closely. “‘The Roaring Fork Trust further stipulates that Cordero Rooker Wheaton must comply with two stipulations to be named at a later date.’”
A later date? What the fuck did that mean?
While I remained too stunned to react, my two older brothers were angrier than I’d ever seen them. Buck knocked his chair back, stood, and slammed his fist on the table.
“Enough of this goddamn bullshit,” he roared. “I did what the motherfucker required. End this, Richard.”
The attorney didn’t flinch. “I don’t have that power, Buck, and you know it. ”
“Who does? It’s a trust. Someone has to be the executor. Who is it?”
“The Roaring Fork Trust LLC.”
I raised my head. “An LLC is the trustee?”
Six-pack turned to me. “That’s right.”
“Is that legal?” I asked.
“It is, and it’s common, Cord. The trustee can be an individual, a corporate trustee, or a combination of both.”
I was about to ask why my father would do this, but I knew the answer. The bastard had controlled us one way or another all our lives. Why did we think it would end with his death?
“Who are the members of the LLC?” Buck asked.
Six-pack looked him in the eye. “That is confidential.”
“It’s public information. Either you tell me, or I’ll find it on my own.” Buck leaned forward and rested his hands on the table. “If I find out it’s you, I’ll get you disbarred.”
When my brother turned to me, his expression softened. “I’m sorry, Cord.”
I shook my head. “This isn’t your doing. It’s the old man’s. And, Buck? I mean no offense by what I’m about to say. ”
He nodded.
“This isn’t your battle to fight. You did your part. Now, it’s up to me to do mine.”
Buck picked up the chair that had toppled to the floor and took a seat.
I hated that the tactic I used with him was the same I’d employed with our father. I was the only sibling, other than my sister, who was able to diffuse his anger. Most of the time, I’d take the blame for whatever had sent him into a blind rage. I couldn’t explain why, but instead of meting out a punishment, he’d stare me down, then walk away.
Buck’s outburst and reaction to what I’d said, reminded me so much of the old man. No doubt, everyone in the room felt the same—him included.
“I have some questions,” I said to Six-pack.
“I doubt I’ll have answers.”
“Can you excuse us?” I asked, glancing at my brothers and sister, hoping they’d respect my request and leave. Buck and Porter, in particular. As the two oldest, they’d always felt responsible for Flynn, Holt, and me. However, I was a grown-ass man, perfectly capable of handling my own shit .
“You sure?” Porter asked.
“Positive.”
“We’ll be outside,” he said, motioning for the rest to join him.
“As I said, I don’t know anything beyond what’s stated in the codicil.”
I lowered my voice and looked directly at him. “If I don’t fulfill whatever it is, we’ll lose everything, right?”
He nodded once, and his shoulders dropped. “Look, Cord, I wish there was a loophole, but I sure as hell haven’t been able to find one. That highfalutin attorney Buck hired couldn’t either.”
“So, I wait.”
“That’s right.”
“In the meantime, none of us know our fate or the ranch’s.”
“I’m not the trustee.”
I looked into the attorney’s eyes. “I know you’re not.”
“And I don’t know who is other than an LLC.”
“Gotcha.” I pushed my chair back and stood. “I guess you’ll keep in touch.”
Six-pack looked down at the paper he’d read from. “I wish I could say when.”
On the return trip to Roaring Fork Ranch, I tried hard not to stress about what our dad had in store for me. Given what he’d required Buck to do was something my brother swore he never would, I thought about what I might’ve told the bastard I hated. The only thing I could come up with was leaving the ranch.
Out of the five of us, only Porter and I felt that way, mainly because we shared the same dream for it. Originally, Flynn and I had thought about turning the place into a dude ranch. That plan came apart when she fell in love, got married, and had twins.
By that time, Porter had already approached me about starting a roughstock business. His side of it was to contract with rodeos to provide horses for both bareback and saddle bronc riding along with bucking bulls. I was in charge of all the livestock we raised, which included cattle, along with overseeing the maintenance of the property .
Neither of us was interested in providing steers or calves for tie-down roping, team roping, or bulldogging, but another ranch in Gunnison Valley, the Flying R, which the Rice family owned, did. Their participation made it easier for our team to either caravan with them to the bigger events or combine hauling to the smaller ones.
The work Port and I did had played a significant role in the ranch turning a profit in the last year, and we were damned proud of it. If I was required to leave for any reason—or if Porter was—I didn’t know how in the hell we’d be able to stay in the black.