Not really understanding, I try to clarify. “So it’s not mine?”
“Itisyours. It’sallyours. You’re the only beneficiary of the trust, which means you’re the only one who—”
“Benefits from it.”
“Yes.”
“So, then, the trustee...”
“So, every trust is different. But based on the terms of this one, I—well, the trustee is in charge of things like distributing the money in the account to you based on your needs, selling any stocks, buying other stock, etcetera.”
“So, if I wanted money…”
“Technically, it would have to be approved by the trustee. For a period of three months. Then, the trustee, at their discretion, can turn over the trust to you in its entirety. Or, if there are any extenuating circumstances, they might extend their period of trusteeship.”
I frown. “Why did he…? I mean… I don’t really understand the need for the trust. Why didn’t he just leave it to me?”
He sighs and closes the folder. “How much do you know about sitting on a board of directors of a company worth over £1 billion? How much do you know about The Hamilton Group? Or having assets worth hundreds of millions of pounds?”
I let out a laugh, but it sounds empty. “Literally nothing. Barely know how many zeroes are in a million. I don’t know what it’s like to have any money of any amount, really.”
A flicker of anger ripples across his forehead, but he tamps it down. “Well, I imagine your father was just giving you a bit of a grace period to learn a few things before he had it signed over to you.”
“And he picked you. Why you? Why not Alex or his lawyer? They could do it, right?”
This time the emotion that crosses his face is harder to read. “Well, er”—he thinks for a moment, like he’s choosing his words carefully—“Alex is now, joint with you, the largest shareholder in Hamilton. And CEO. It would be a conflict of interest for him to manage your shares. And I guess your father—”
“Trusted you.”
He doesn’t reply, but he gets up and shoves his hands into his pockets, then wanders over to the window and stares out onto the dimly lit patio. “Maybe.”
“And are you… going to accept?”
Still staring outside, he pauses and then asks, “Do you want me to?”
“I don’t know what kind of choice I have. The terms of the trust require that the trustee sign off on my taking control of my trust eventually, right?”
“You do have a choice when it comes to me being the trustee, Luna. If you say no, if you don’t want me to do it, I’ll refuse. No questions asked.”
“Why wouldn’t I want you?”
He taps his palm gently on the window, which I’m already picking up on as a habit of his when he’s thinking of the right way to word something. “Because you and I, we do have a history…”
Our history.
Hardly my finest hour.
Trust my bad decisions to come back to bite me on the ass. “I guess we do. But aren’t you the one who just told me to forget it?”
He runs his hands through his hair, suddenly looking tired, and wanders over to the other side of the room. With a quiet sigh, he shoves his hands into his pockets again and leans against the bedpost, his long legs crossing at the ankles. “If that’s what you want.”
“I don’t know what I want. I guess… I want to respect his decisions. And he wanted you for a reason.”
“But he’s not the one here now, is he? He had every chance to talk to me before he died. He could have made sure I agreed to be your trustee, but he didn’t.”
His voice tightens with controlled frustration, but I hear it. I wonder if he’s even cried over my father’s death.
“So, I’m giving you the choice, Luna. I will do it. For him and for you. But only if you want me to.” He wraps his hands around the bedpost, squeezing. “But I’m telling you now, I’m not going to be easy on you. Three months from now, I’m not signing over your father’s company to you if you’re not ready. You’re going to be informed and educated about the company and about what it means to be a millionaire. I don’t want to hear about you being found dead on some yacht from a coke overdose.”
