“My name is Whit Coleman,” the man said, opening his briefcase. “Warren asked me to attend today because he suspected this conversation might happen before the funeral food was even cold.” Bethany went completely still. Whit explained that months earlier, while Warren was still competent, he had updated his estate plan and transferred the house into a trust giving me the exclusive right to live there for the rest of my life. Most of the furniture had also been inventoried, with my personal belongings specifically identified. Pink and blue sticky notes did not create ownership rights.
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