My Kids Demanded A $600k “early Inheritance” Three Weeks After Their Mother’s Funeral. They Have No Idea She Left Me A Secret “freedom Folder” To Escape Them. Should I Tell Them I’ve Already Sold The House?

The Circle of Vultures

Three weeks after my wife Charlotte’s funeral, my oldest son Marcus called a family meeting at my house. This was the house where I’d raised him and his siblings for 37 years, the house he now apparently thought was his to discuss.

I stood at my kitchen window watching him pull up in his BMW, followed by my middle son Derek’s Tesla, and finally my daughter Lauren’s Lexus. All were expensive cars, and all were financed, I suspected.

Charlotte used to say our children had champagne tastes on beer budgets, and she’d spent the last decade of her life quietly fixing their mistakes. I was about to find out just how much she’d protected me from.

Let me back up. I’m Robert Hayes, I’m 68 years old, and I recently retired from 39 years as a petroleum engineer.

My wife Charlotte passed away from pancreatic cancer on October 3rd. We’d been married 42 years.

We have three children: Marcus, 41, who works in corporate real estate; Derek, 38, who calls himself an entrepreneur but has yet to have a successful business; and Lauren, 35, who’s a marketing director at a tech startup.

We also have four grandchildren. Marcus has two daughters, Sophia and Emma; Lauren has twin boys, Tyler and Ethan, who are seven.

The day after Charlotte’s funeral, I found a folder in her desk drawer labeled “For Robert, Open Alone.” Inside was a letter, several legal documents, and a USB drive.

The letter began: “My dearest Robert, if you’re reading this, I’m gone and I suspect the children are already circling. I need you to know I’ve been preparing for this day for 5 years.”

Charlotte, it turned out, had been far more strategic than I’d ever imagined and far more worried about our children than she’d let on. Marcus was the first through the door, not bothering to knock.

He’d kept his key, apparently, even though both he and his wife Jennifer owned a house in Bellevue worth over a million dollars.

“Dad,” he said, gripping my shoulder in what I’m sure he thought was a comforting gesture, “we need to talk about your situation.”

My situation? I’d been a widower for 3 weeks and already I had a situation.

Derek came in next, all nervous energy, checking his phone every 30 seconds. Lauren was last, and at least she hugged me first, though I could feel the tension in her body.

“Please sit down,” I said, gesturing to the living room where we’d opened Christmas presents for 40 years, where Charlotte and I had hosted countless family dinners. The room still smelled faintly of her lavender perfume.

The Business of Retirement

Marcus didn’t waste time. He pulled out his laptop.

“Dad, Jennifer and I have been doing some analysis. This house is way too big for you now. The property taxes alone are killing you. Plus the maintenance, utilities, yard work,” he said.

He turned the screen toward me. He’d made a spreadsheet.

“We’re looking at probably 35,000 a year just to keep this place running.”

“I can afford it,” I said quietly.

“Can you though?”

Derek leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees in a posture I recognized from when he used to ask us for money as a teenager. He was 48 now; the posture hadn’t changed.

“Dad, we know Mom’s medical bills were astronomical even with insurance. You must have taken a serious hit.”

I said nothing. Charlotte’s letter had warned me this was coming.

Lauren spoke up, her voice softer than her brothers’ but no less calculating.

“Dad, we’ve been talking and we think the smart thing would be to sell this house. You could move into a nice senior community. Something manageable, one level, no stairs, maybe a little patio for your tomatoes.”

“My tomatoes,” I repeated.

“Yes,” she said.

She seemed encouraged by my response.

“You’d have so much less stress. No more worrying about the roof or the furnace or anything. They have activities coordinators, Dad. Social opportunities. Mom would have wanted you to be around people.”

Marcus pulled up another page on his laptop.

“Here’s what we’re thinking. The house should sell for around 2 million, maybe 2.2 if we get lucky. After fees and taxes, you’d walk away with close to 1.8 million. That’s enough to buy a really nice place at Green Valley Estates and still have plenty left over for your retirement.”

“Green Valley Estates,” I said, recognizing the name of the senior living facility where my mother had spent her last years.

It was nice enough if you liked living in a glorified hospital where dinner was served at 4:30 and someone checked on you every 4 hours to make sure you hadn’t died.

“It’s actually really nice, Dad,” Lauren added quickly.

“Aaron and I looked at it last week. They have a gym, a pool, organized trips.”

“You looked at it last week,” I said slowly.

“My wife has been dead for less than a month and you already toured retirement homes for me.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. Derek cleared his throat.

“Dad, we’re just trying to help. We’re worried about you. This house has too many memories; maybe a fresh start would be good.”

“And the money?” I asked.

“Where would the extra million point go? I assume you’ve thought about that too.”

Marcus had the grace to look slightly embarrassed.

“Well, we thought, I mean, it would still be your money obviously, but we could set up a trust. Derek and I could manage the investments for you. Make sure you don’t outlive your savings.”

“I see,” I said.

I sat back in Charlotte’s favorite chair, the one she’d curled up in every evening to read.

“And what would you charge for this service, managing my money?”

“Dad, come on,” Derek said.

“We’re family. We wouldn’t charge you, but I mean, if you wanted to help us out a little, that would be appreciated. Marcus and Jennifer are looking at private schools for the girls. I’m trying to get a new business off the ground. Lauren and Aaron have been talking about buying a bigger place.”

There it was: the real agenda.

“How much?” I asked.

They looked at each other. Marcus spoke carefully.

“We were thinking maybe you could give each of us 200,000 as an early inheritance. You’re going to leave us the money eventually anyway, right? This way we could use it now when it would actually make a difference in our lives.”

Six hundred thousand dollars. This was more than half of what they expected me to get from selling my home.