It really is not about the money. My dad worked two and three jobs his whole life and ended up with a relatively small estate to distribute among his eight kids and his stepdaughter. He died first. Then his wife died. My brother took her into his home and his beautiful, loving family helped her die a better death than tied screaming to a hospital bed, which is where she was.
Now the estate is being settled and due to a technicality, an error in his wife's will, all of the proceeds are being given to the stepdaughter, even though my dad and his wife's wills stated that all proceeds will be shared among all of the children. We are all asked to sign a paper that we relinquish all claims to the estate and accept a token amount from the stepdaughter.
I can't bring myself to sign it. Mostly I feel like it is a disrespect of my dad and his whole life and an unethical act. I feel like if I sign this paper and accept this insulting amount of money, I am going against his wishes and it's just plain wrong. Please believe me that the amount of money is so small as to be negligible, even if we got the full amount that the will instructed. So it really is not about the money. I know people often say that and it really IS about the money. But the money feels more symbolic to me than anything.
I don't know what to do. Is it Buddhism that says when you don't know what to do, do nothing? I try to live an ethical life with my actions in line with my beliefs. (Although I don't have the guts to be a tax resistor.)
This resistance to relinquishing the claim feels like it comes from a very deep place inside, a big no to being reasonable. I have no interest at all in suing or going to court or hiring a lawyer. I just do not want to sign a paper that feels wrong to me. I don't even know if it will hold up the distribution process or what. I don't care. I guess I should care because some of my sisters are in extremely bad financial positions and the small amount would be a big amount to them.
This whole thing feels like a mocking twist of fate -- the Cinderella story gone south. The selfish stepsister gets the prince and fortune. The good sisters and brothers get sent out in a blizzard with no bread crumbs to lead them home. The bad guys win. I have mixed up many folkloric themes but you get my drift.
I love your column and appreciate any thoughts you can share with me, Cary. Thank you very much for your work.
Sister Left Out in the Cold
Dear Sister Left Out in the Cold,
When an "error in the will" or a "technicality" causes one heir to benefit to the exclusion of all the others, doesn't it make you wonder what actually happened? Do you feel satisfied with the explanation that it was just a "technicality," an "error in the will"? I don't think I would feel satisfied with such an explanation. So I do think you should see a lawyer -- not to fight this necessarily, just to get a clear understanding of what happened.
Did someone fail to file something by a deadline? Was some language the wrong language? Was something mistyped? Was something misfiled? What exactly was this "technicality"?
In my book, there's another word for "technicalities." That word is "law." "Technicalities" are what the law is made of: specific, detailed, exacting requirements. Lawyers are supposed to take care of all these "technicalities" so that the wishes of the dead are honored.
When these requirements are not carried out, and that failure creates an unfair advantage for one party to the detriment of the others, that doesn't really sound like a "technicality" to me. It sounds more like a "screwing."
Isn't that really what's going on here? A screwing?
Isn't that really why you're upset? There was a shared understanding and a clear intent, as spelled out in two people's wills, about what should happen. Then an entirely different thing happened. It wasn't supposed to happen. But it benefits one party to the detriment of all the others.
And you're being very polite about this.
As heirs, I guess we're supposed to honor the dead with our piety and humility and acceptance. That's what's underneath this, at least in part, emotionally speaking, isn't it?
But do we really honor the dead by letting a "technicality" corrupt what they wished for?
If everyone agrees that this "technicality" is unfair, that the estate was supposed to be distributed equally, then perhaps you draw up a document stating that the stepdaughter promises, upon the settling of the estate, to distribute the proceeds to all the children, as is the intent as understood by all of you. If she's willing to do this, then maybe you know that it's mainly fate that seems bent on screwing you. Whereas if she clings to the notion that this "error," this "technicality," is what rules, then perhaps you come to understand that it was not a technicality at all.
At the very least, you deserve to know what happened.
It may be something truly random and innocent, the fault of no one. But then what we're talking about is incompetence. You're being screwed by fate and incompetence. OK, at least you know. So what's worse, to be screwed by somebody who knows he's screwing you, or to be screwed by incompetence itself, by somebody who doesn't even know he's screwing you -- by somebody who, in turn, is no doubt being royally screwed by somebody else and hasn't even felt it yet?
I can't decide. It's so hard to pick. Maybe it depends on how good-looking he is.
Damn. I'm getting worked up now, too.
I'm getting worked up because words like "technicality" and "error in the will" are the costumery of scoundrels. I'm getting worked up because the law can be a beautiful instrument for justice and should not be used for obfuscation or to justify the unjustifiable. I'm getting worked up because we ought always, as citizens, be alert to the manifold and dazzling ways that people will use the law to blind us, to confuse us, to frighten us into submission, to remind us of our subservience before the masters of the law, to remind us that we are not really free citizens in the face of the law but servants from whom only obedience is expected, and that as children of parents we ought to be only meek and grateful for whatever passes to us, and never question the law or the lawyers and their "technicalities" and "errors."
I'm getting worked up because use of the law to hide the truth reminds us that torture, in one universe, is what those who want to carry it out say it is, and that legality, for those who want to break the law, is whatever they say it is, and that what's right, despite the manifestly stated wishes of all involved, is what the lawyers say is right, because they are in command of all the "technicalities."
It stinks. You're getting screwed and it stinks and you deserve to see the face of whoever or whatever is screwing you. Whether that face be the face of fateful incompetence, of greed, of selfishness, of covertly hostile maneuvering, of brilliant cunning, or of accident, of bureaucratic bungling, of unconscious wishes surfacing as error, whatever: You deserve to see the face of whatever is screwing you.
So find a good lawyer, one who is on your side, show the lawyer the facts, and don't leave the office until you yourself understand what happened.
Then at least you know. Knowledge is power, and knowledge is healing. At least, by knowing the facts, we reconcile ourselves to the world of scoundrels and bungling and simple, blasted fate.
Makes a great gift. Can be personalized for the giftee of your choice. Signed first editions on sale now.
What? You want more advice?
- Read more Cary Tennis in the Since You Asked directory.
- See what others are saying and/or join the conversation in the Table Talk forum.
- Ask for advice. Letter writers: Please think carefully! By sending a letter to firstname.lastname@example.org, you are giving Salon permission to publish it. Once you submit it, it may not be possible to rescind it. So be sure. If you are not sure, sleep on it. You can always send tomorrow. Ready? OK, Submit your letter for publication.
- Or, just make a comment to Cary Tennis not for publication.
- Or, send a letter to Salon's editors not for publication.