The Law of Nines

Alex picked up the pen. He scanned the first and second pages that were stapled together. They had to do entirely with identifying the parties involved in the rest of the paperwork. It took two pages to say that he was Alex Rahl and that the Daggett Trust was the Daggett Trust.

Alex started signing his name.

Mike Fenton lifted away each page after Alex had signed it. He scanned the next page, really only looking for anything that stood out as odd. Everything looked like what he imagined normal deed transfers would look like. With people wanting to run guns through a gateway to another world, the legal technicalities of the land where the gateway sat didn’t seem overwhelmingly important, but Alex scanned them anyway just in case.

But then he started coming to pages having to do with the Daggett Trust. Those pages had nine signatures on them—the nine trustees. Each page awaited Alex’s signature.

“What’s this?” Alex said, frowning at the trustee agreements.

“In essence, it puts you in charge of the Daggett Trust, making you the lead trustee to the land involved in the Daggett Trust—all of it.”

Alex looked up. “What do you mean, all of it?”

“Well,” Mike said, “the part you inherit, and all the rest of the land associated with it—all the land controlled by the Daggett Trust. It all belongs together. This puts you in charge of all of the land as a single entity.”

Alex stared at him. “All of it.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“And how much land is that?”

“Altogether? Nearly sixty-five thousand acres.”

Alex was still staring at the man. “And what do you mean that it puts me in charge of the land?”

Mike Fenton folded his fingers together on the table. “Well, for all practical purposes, it all becomes yours once you take title to the key piece. You become the lead trustee. For all practical purposes, this makes you the Daggett Trust. You have to uphold all of the deed stipulations, of course, but it’s all yours.”

“Deed stipulations. You mean like how I can’t build on the land?”

“Well, actually, as lead trustee you can build a place for yourself on the land, seeing as how the property is your responsibility and you will be overseeing it all.”

“And I can’t sell my portion except to the trust.”

“Right.”

“But you said that this, in essence, makes me the trust.”

“That’s right.”

“So, if I wanted to sell—but believe me, I don’t—where would the money come from?”

“Well, let me show you . . .” Mike said as he started shuffling through the file folders.

One of the women, the older, boxy-shaped one, leaned in to help. When Alex looked up at her she smiled.

“I’m Mildred—the accountant for the Daggett Trust. I’m the one who takes care of this aspect of the trust. I’ll be at your disposal, of course, to help with everything.”

“You will find Mildred indispensable,” Mike said.

Alex didn’t want to have to find an accountant indispensable. He simply wanted to keep Radell Cain from using the gateway to take technology to Jax’s world.

Mildred quickly found the file and pulled it out, opening it before Alex.

“Here it is,” he said. “This is the financial area of the trust. Over the entire time that the trust has existed, its funds have been invested in only the most stable, safe areas. None of the trustees throughout the history of the Daggett Trust has ever taken any risks with it, so it’s grown quite slowly, but steadily.”

“So how much is in there?”

She pointed to one of the lines of figures. “A little over sixty-three million dollars.”

Alex blinked. “Sixty-three million?”

Mike nodded. “Yes, that sounds about right—not including the accrued-five-year-interest account. Most of it is in numbered overseas accounts. You aren’t allowed to touch the principal, of course. That’s one of the stipulations. But as the lead trustee you are entitled to use any and all the interest it earns. After expenses, of course.”

Mike scratched his nose as he flipped through the papers. “Let’s see . . . last year, for example, after trust expenses, that was about nine hundred thousand dollars—but interest rates last year were at a record low. It’s usually higher. You are also entitled to any unused interest from the last five years—that’s the accrued-interest account I mentioned—so altogether you actually could draw just a little over five million, if you wanted to.”

Alex was still staring at the man. “You mean to say that I could take all that interest, nine hundred thousand dollars—and all the rest of five million if I wanted—and spend it all on lobster dinners?”

Everyone chuckled.

“Yes, if you want,” Mike said. “Any money you don’t take out simply stays in the accrued-interest account. Any you don’t draw down from that portion within the five-year limit is rolled back into the trust account as it reaches that five-year maturity. It then becomes part of the principal. Once it flows back into the main trust account after five years, you then aren’t allowed to touch it for personal use. Of course, it will earn additional interest, along with all the rest, which you can draw out.”