Small Business Law & Estate Planning Attorney ~ I Help People and Businesses Protect their Legacies through Planning

I help families and small business owners protect their legacy and avoid costly legal pitfalls with clear, customized estate planning and business law solutions.

Many of my clients feel overwhelmed at the thought of “getting their affairs in order.” The legal jargon, the complexity, the time commitment; it all feels intimidating. I get it. That’s why I focus on making legal planning simple, efficient, and tailored to your real needs, not a stack of unnecessary documents you don’t understand.

Whether you're looking to create your first will, update your estate plan, or ensure your business is legally secure, I work with you at your pace to develop a plan that works for your life, not the law firm's billable hours.

One client put it this way:

“Andrew is a fantastic attorney. He was empathetic, deliberate, and professional—always quick to respond and extremely knowledgeable. He helped us navigate a stressful situation with clarity and confidence.”

I founded my firm to bring a more personal, transparent approach to legal services. No pressure. No sales pitch. Just smart, practical advice that protects what matters most to you—your family, your business, and your future.

Ready to take the next step? Schedule a Legal Strategy Session or download free planning tools at www.AndrewMAyers.com.

Andrew Ayers

My client's kids found a shoebox in the closet. Inside? 40 years of marriage in receipts.

Her husband died on a Tuesday. By Thursday, their three adult children were excavating his home office like archaeologists at a dig site.

They expected to find bank statements. Maybe some old photos.

What they found was a paper trail of secrets.

(𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘶𝘵. 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘐'𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦.)

Mystic Lake Casino receipts from 2003. A credit card Mom didn't know existed. Withdrawal slips from an account no one knew about. A letter from a collections agency dated six months before their 35th anniversary party.

The oldest daughter called me in tears. "Did Mom know about any of this?"

She didn't. Forty years of marriage, and she was learning about her husband's financial life for the first time—from her children.

𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗔𝗱𝘂𝗹𝘁 𝗖𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗿𝗲𝗻 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗪𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗕𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗹 𝗔𝗿𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗲𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗴𝗶𝘀𝘁𝘀:

→ The secret account that funded a gambling habit
→ Debts paid off quietly, never mentioned at dinner
→ Life insurance policies with beneficiaries who aren't family
→ Business loans co-signed decades ago, still outstanding
→ Storage units full of purchases that were "on sale"

The grief of losing a parent is hard enough. Discovering who they really were while sorting through their closet? That's a different kind of loss.

These kids weren't just settling an estate. They were rewriting their understanding of their parents' marriage.

Every receipt was a sentence in a story Mom never got to read.

The families who avoid this? They have the uncomfortable conversations while everyone's still alive. They share the passwords, the account numbers, the truths that feel too awkward to mention.

Your kids shouldn't learn your financial history from a shoebox.

Tell them now. Or let them find out later.

One conversation is hard. The other is devastating.

Lawyer for Estate Planning & Small Business Law | Legal Protection for Families, Founders & Futures

Dylan's $500M problem.

Bob Dylan is 83 years old. His estate is worth roughly $500 million. He's sold his song catalog to Universal for $400 million. His masters to Sony for $200 million. He's got a compound in Malibu, a castle in Scotland, and the kind of wealth that should make estate planning simple.

It won't be.

(𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴.)

Dylan has six children from two marriages. One daughter he kept secret for years. Kids ranging from their late 30s to early 60s. Some famous. Some not. Some who grew up with him. Some who didn't.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗙𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹𝘆 𝗗𝘆𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗰𝘀 𝗠𝗶𝗻𝗲𝗳𝗶𝗲𝗹𝗱:

→ Six kids from different eras of his life
→ A daughter whose existence wasn't public until 2001
→ Multiple ex-wives with their own expectations
→ Decades of complicated relationships
→ A father who's notoriously private about money

The best estate attorneys in the world can draft airtight documents. Trusts. LLCs. Dynasty planning. Tax strategies that would make your head spin.

But no document can prevent a sibling from feeling slighted. No trust can stop resentment that's been building for forty years. No LLC can fix the kid who visited every week feeling cheated by the kid who showed up twice a decade.

Dylan wrote "Blood on the Tracks" about his divorce. His estate might write the sequel.

The families who avoid this? They have the hard conversations while everyone's still alive. They explain the "why" behind the plan. They address the elephants in the room before the elephants start hiring attorneys.

$500 million can buy a lot of things.

Family peace isn't one of them.

That takes planning. And talking. And the kind of honesty that makes everyone uncomfortable.

Even living legends aren't exempt from family dynamics.

Especially living legends.

I paid a lot of money for law school. The most important lesson wasn't in any textbook.

It was in the coffee shop conversations. The study group debates that went off-topic. The professor who met with us for drinks to talk about the actual practice of law.

(𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘐 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘶𝘭𝘦 𝘈𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘤𝘦.)

The relationships I built in those three years? I use them every week.

The classmate who became a tax attorney. The professor who still answers my questions fifteen years later. The study partner who now sends me referrals because she knows how I work with families.

𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗟𝗮𝘄 𝗦𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗹 𝗔𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗧𝗮𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗠𝗲:

→ Cases fade. Connections compound.
→ The person sitting next to you in Torts might be the one you call when a client needs help outside your practice area.
→ Professors aren't just grading your exams. They're watching how you think, how you treat people, how you show up.

I could have studied alone. Kept my head down. Focused purely on grades.

Some of my classmates did exactly that. They're fine lawyers.

But the ones who invested in relationships? They practice law differently. More collaboratively. More genuinely.

The bar exams tested what I memorized.

The real practice of law tests who I know and who trusts me.

That money bought me a degree.

The conversations outside the classroom? Those built a career.

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After hundreds of estate plans, here's the question that makes couples go silent.

"If you both die tomorrow, who raises your kids?"

Most couples have an answer. They'll say Mom's sister, or Dad's brother, or their best friends from college.

Then I ask the follow-up:

"Why don't you agree?"

That's when the room gets quiet.

(𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘶𝘭𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘥.)

She wants her sister because they share the same parenting values. He thinks his brother is more financially stable. She doesn't trust his brother's wife. He's never said that out loud, but he doesn't fully trust hers either.

Suddenly we're not talking about guardianship anymore. We're talking about everything they've avoided discussing for years.

𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗤𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗥𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗮𝗹𝘀:

→ How you each define "good parenting"
→ Which in-laws you actually trust (and which you don't)
→ Old resentments about how you were each raised
→ Financial anxieties neither of you has named
→ The unspoken hierarchy of whose family "wins"

Here's what most people don't know: you don't have to agree. Minnesota law lets each spouse name a different guardian. Whoever survives longer, their choice prevails.

But that's not really the point.

The point is that this question forces couples to have the conversation they've been avoiding. About values. About trust. About what really matters when everything else is stripped away.

The silence in my conference room isn't uncomfortable. It's necessary.

Because the couples who sit with that silence? They leave with more than an estate plan.

They leave understanding each other better than when they walked in.

"Dad, we need to talk about your second family."

My client thought she was settling her father's estate. Instead, she was meeting her half-brother for the first time.

He was 34. She was 41. They shared a father neither of them really knew.

(𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘶𝘵. 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘐'𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦.)

Dad died at 72. Heart attack. The will was straightforward: everything to his three kids.

Except there were four.

The paperwork told the story Dad never did. Child support records from 1991. A life insurance policy with a beneficiary no one recognized. A letter from an attorney in another state asking about "the minor child's share."

His daughter sat across from me, holding a manila folder. 

𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗕𝗹𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗙𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹𝘆 𝗦𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁𝘀 𝗟𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝗟𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗣𝗿𝗼𝗯𝗮𝘁𝗲:

→ Half-siblings discovering each other through legal notices
→ Spouses learning the truth from court documents
→ Children from different eras competing for acknowledgment
→ Decades of silence ending in a conference room with attorneys present
→ Grief mixed with betrayal mixed with confusion

The half-brother didn't want money. He wanted answers. He wanted to know why Dad sent birthday cards until he was 12, then stopped. Why he'd been erased from the family story.

The daughter wanted to grieve her father. Instead, she was rewriting her understanding of who he was.

They're not fighting over the estate. They're fighting over something harder: the truth about a man they both called Dad.

The families who avoid this? They have the impossible conversations while everyone's still alive. They tell the stories that feel too shameful to mention. They introduce the siblings before the funeral forces it.

Your kids shouldn't meet each other for the first time in a probate attorney's office.

Tell them now. Or let the paperwork tell them later.

One conversation is brutal. The other is devastating.

Her Husband's Will Was Perfect. His Power of Attorney? Written in 1998.

"Richard" built a manufacturing business over 40 years. $3.2M in assets. Updated his will every five years like clockwork.

His Power of Attorney? Signed during the Clinton administration.

When the stroke hit last March, his new wife "Linda" discovered the nightmare hiding in their filing cabinet.

(𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 "𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳" 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦. 𝘏𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘵.)

The 1998 POA named his brother as the agent. His brother died in 2019.

It didn't include digital asset authority. His online banking? Locked.

It referenced "checking and savings accounts." His brokerage accounts? Inaccessible.

It predated every cybersecurity protocol his bank now requires.

Richard couldn't sign. Linda couldn't act. The mortgage was due in 12 days.

𝗣𝗢𝗔 𝗥𝗲𝗱 𝗙𝗹𝗮𝗴𝘀 𝗖𝗵𝗲𝗰𝗸𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁:

☐ Signed more than 5 years ago
☐ Backup agent is deceased, estranged, or unavailable
☐ No digital asset or online banking language
☐ No HIPAA authorization attached
☐ References account types that no longer exist
☐ Your bank has never seen or approved it
☐ Doesn't include business authority provisions
☐ Missing real estate transaction powers

Check two or more? Your POA is a liability, not protection.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗣𝗢𝗔 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝗖𝗵𝗲𝗰𝗸:

• Banks reject old POAs constantly (they're terrified of liability)
• Digital assets didn't exist when some POAs were signed
• Named agents die, divorce, or disappear
• State laws change, making old documents questionable
• Medical facilities want current HIPAA releases

Richard's will would have distributed his assets perfectly (but thankfully hasn't needed to yet as he recovers from his stroke).

His POA couldn't pay the electric bill.

The most dangerous estate planning document isn't the one you don't have.

It's the one you think is working.

It's a new year. Pull your POA. Check the date. Check the names. Check the language.

Because your family shouldn't need a judge's permission to keep the lights on.

Estate Planning Attorneys Understand This Instantly

When the widow shows up with a piece of paper she thinks is a valid will.

You know the one. Handwritten. "Give everything to Tommy." Signed with her husband's nickname. No witnesses. No date. Found stuck in the back of the filing cabinet.

You smile. You nod. You get her a coffee from the office Keurig machine.

Inside? You're calculating probate timelines.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝗶𝘁𝘂𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗧𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗠𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝗨𝘀 𝗦𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺 𝗜𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆:

1. "We found Dad's will in his email drafts."
Unsigned. Unsent. To himself. From 2019. But it says exactly what they want it to say, so surely it counts?

2. "Mom updated her beneficiaries. She told us at Thanksgiving."
No paperwork. No forms. Just a verbal announcement over turkey that her IRA now goes to the grandkids. The ex-wife from 1987 is still on the actual form.

3. "He recorded a video on his phone explaining everything."
TikTok-length. Filmed in his truck. Complete with background music and a filter that makes him look 20 years younger. "This is my last will and testament, y'all."

4. "They had a handshake agreement about the business."
Two brothers. Forty years of partnership. $2M in equipment. Zero documentation. Now one's dead, and the surviving brother is explaining their "understanding" to the widow's attorney.

You sit there. Professional smile locked in place. Already mentally drafting the retainer agreement for the litigation that's coming.

Because you've seen the napkin wills. The text message "promises." The screenshot of a Notes app that someone swears is legally binding.

(𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘭 𝘯𝘢𝘱𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘪𝘧 𝘪𝘵 "𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘴," 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐'𝘮 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵.)

The general public thinks estate planning is about death.

We know it's about preventing families from destroying each other over a Post-It note.

If you know, you know.

New Side Project: If you've got photos of actual client "estate plans" (redacted, of course) – napkin wills, email screenshots, sticky notes – drop them in the comments. Let's build the unofficial museum of documents that made us die inside.

70% of their business comes from referrals!!! 

At last week's INC Group meeting, Donato Bataglia from Ispiri Design-Build-Renovate explained how they got there.

It wasn't marketing. It wasn't a sales funnel. It was obsessing over what "winning" actually looks like for their clients.

(𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘐 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.)

Ispiri started in 2007 when Donato's cousin, Jason (a Northwest Airlines pilot), was told his layoff would last four years after 9/11. Instead of waiting, he started a remodeling company with a simple premise: construction doesn't have to be chaos.

Jason brought a pilot's mindset to an industry known for missed deadlines and disappearing contractors. Checks and balances. Clear handoffs. Documented processes.

𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 "𝗪𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴" 𝗟𝗼𝗼𝗸𝘀 𝗟𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗖𝗹𝗶𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘀:

→ No regrets about the project
→ Feeling understood, respected, and heard
→ Comfortable at every step
→ Satisfied they got their money's worth
→ A space that mirrors their style and story
→ Becoming the house where their kids and friends want to hang out

That last one stuck with me. They're not just building kitchens. They're building the place where Thanksgiving happens for the next twenty years.

The proof? 13 of their 44 jobs last year were repeat clients coming back for more work. They've won the Guildmaster Award (97%+ client satisfaction) almost every year since they started tracking it.

The construction industry has a reputation problem. Ispiri decided to solve it by defining exactly what their clients should feel when the project ends, then engineering every touchpoint to deliver it.

Most businesses focus on what they do. The ones that build referral machines focus on how their clients feel.

If you're in the Twin Cities area and are interested in learning more about our INC Group, shoot me or Tony Rubin a DM.

My New Year's Gift: 12 Estate Planning Disasters You Can Fix in Under 10 Minutes

While everyone's making resolutions they'll abandon by February, here's something that actually matters. Twelve fixes. Ten minutes or less each. Your family's financial future is protected before the year gets away from you.

(𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯'𝘵.)

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝟭𝟮 𝗙𝗶𝘅𝗲𝘀:

1. 𝘜𝘱𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 401(𝘬) 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘳𝘺 (3 minutes)
Still listing your ex from 2016? Your will doesn't override this. The form wins. Every time.

2. 𝘊𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘳𝘺 (5 minutes)
Your deceased parent is still listed? That payout may end up in probate, not with your spouse.

3. 𝘈𝘥𝘥 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 (2 minutes per account)
Primary dies first? Without a backup, welcome to 18 months of court.

4. 𝘙𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘸 𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 (8 minutes)
That business partner who left? Still has signing authority. That ex-spouse? Might still access joint accounts.

5. 𝘈𝘥𝘥 𝘛𝘖𝘋/𝘗𝘖𝘋 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘴 (5 minutes online)
Transfer-on-death designations skip probate entirely. Free. Takes one form.

6. 𝘚𝘦𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘺 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴 (4 minutes)
Your spouse as emergency contact. 48-hour waiting period. They get everything if something happens.

7. 𝘈𝘥𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 (10 minutes)
Crypto wallets. Domain names. That PayPal balance. If it's not documented, it's gone.

8. 𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘐𝘙𝘈 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥 "𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦" (3 minutes)
Congratulations, you just turned tax-deferred into immediately taxable.

9. 𝘜𝘱𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘏𝘐𝘗𝘈𝘈 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘻𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 (5 minutes)
Your spouse can't always get medical information without this. Hospitals don't want to run your marriage certificate past their legal department.

10. 𝘙𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘸 𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘯𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 (5 minutes)
That sister you named 8 years ago? Still the right choice? Still capable? Still willing?

11. 𝘊𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 (2 minutes)
Banks may reject POAs older than 3-5 years. Doesn't matter if it's "still valid." They don't care.

12. 𝘚𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘹𝘦𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘵𝘦𝘹𝘵 (1 minute)
"Hey, you're still my executor. Documents are [location]. Just wanted you to know."

Total time: Under 2 hours spread across the week.

Total cost: $0.

Total protection: Priceless.

Pick one. Do it today. Because the most expensive New Year's resolution isn't the gym membership you won't use.

It's the 3-minute fix you didn't make that costs your family everything.

Happy New Year. Now go update your beneficiaries.

You and your spouse don't have to agree on who should raise your kids.

Most couples don't know this.

You can each name a different guardian in your will. Whoever lives longer, their choice prevails.

(𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘦.)

Here's the thing: if you have kids under 18 and you haven't named a guardian, a probate court judge will decide who raises them. Unless you hang out with your local probate judge on the weekends, this is someone who's never met your family, who doesn't know your values, your concerns, or why your brother-in-law absolutely should not be in charge.

𝗛𝗼𝘄 𝘁𝗼 𝗖𝗵𝗼𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗥𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗚𝘂𝗮𝗿𝗱𝗶𝗮𝗻:

→ 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘶𝘦𝘴. Do they parent the way you'd want your kids raised? Education, discipline, faith, these matter.

→ 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺. Emotionally and financially. You can fund their care through life insurance or a trust, but they need to be able to manage it.

→ 𝘙𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘴. Familiarity helps. A stranger on paper is still a stranger.

→ 𝘈𝘨𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩. Grandparents may be loving, but can they keep up with a 6-year-old for the next 12 years?

→ 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴. Ask them first. Surprises are great for birthdays. Not for guardianship.

→ 𝘓𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. Moving across the country during grief is hard on everyone. Closer is usually better.

Name an alternate, too. Plans change. People change.

The conversation with your spouse might be uncomfortable. You might not agree. The good news is, the law accounts for it.

What it doesn't account for is silence.

If you haven't named a guardian, your kids' future is in the hands of a judge who's never met them.

Don't let that happen. Get it done.

A LinkedIn message from a college classmate turned into a referral partnership.

Jeff Becker and I lived in the same freshman dorm at St. John's. Different floors. Different majors. We probably passed each other a hundred times without ever having a real conversation.

Twenty-five years later, we reconnected.

(𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘐 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦. 𝘞𝘦'𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 "𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘭𝘦𝘵'𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘵" 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.)

We spent thirty minutes on Zoom talking about Tommy Hall, the Wolf Bros show at the Palace Theater, and whether we had any classes together. We couldn't remember a single one.

Then we got to the real stuff.

He works with clients nationwide on financial planning. I do estate planning. His clients need wills and trusts. My clients need financial advisors.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗔𝗹𝘂𝗺𝗻𝗶 𝗡𝗲𝘁𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗔𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗸𝘀:

→ Shared history builds trust faster than cold outreach ever could
→ You don't need to have been close in college. You just need to have been there.
→ The person you barely knew at 19 might be exactly who you need to know at 49

A thirty-minute call. Two decades of dormant connection. Now we're building something useful for both our clients.

That LinkedIn message I almost ignored? Glad I didn't.

The alumni network isn't about nostalgia. It's about finding people who share your foundation and building something new on top of it.

Go Johnnies.

A 19-Year-Old Inherited $400K. Here's Why That Was The Worst Thing That Could Happen

Grandpa built that money over 40 years. Careful investments. Frugal living. A legacy meant to launch his grandson's future.

The trust had no age restrictions. Just "distribute to grandson upon my death."

Grandson was 19. Sophomore in college. Never managed more than a part-time paycheck.

(𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘱𝘢 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘱.)

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝗽𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗦𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗲:

Month 1: $45,000 BMW. Cash.
Month 3: $28,000 "investing" in a friend's clothing brand. Gone.
Month 5: Spring break in Miami. VIP tables. Hotel suites. $12,000 weekend.
Month 8: Dropped out of college. "I don't need a degree anymore."
Month 14: Loaned $35,000 to a girlfriend. She left. So did the money.

By month 18? $340,000 gone. What remained went to credit card debt he'd racked up living like the money would never end.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗙𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹𝘆 𝗙𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘁:

His parents watched it happen. Powerless. The money was legally his.

Thanksgiving dinner? Silent. Christmas? Separate houses.

Grandpa's legacy didn't launch a future. It destroyed a family.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗢𝗻𝗲 𝗖𝗹𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗧𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗪𝗼𝘶𝗹𝗱'𝘃𝗲 𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗱 𝗘𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴:

An age-restriction provision. Simple language:

• 1/3 at age 25
• 1/3 at age 30
• Final 1/3 at age 35

Or distributions tied to milestones: college graduation, first home purchase, matching funds for retirement accounts.

Cost to add this clause? Maybe $200 in attorney time.

Cost of skipping it? $400,000. A college degree. A family.

𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗧𝗿𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗖𝗮𝗻 𝗜𝗻𝗰𝗹𝘂𝗱𝗲:

→ Staggered distribution ages (not just 18 or 21)
→ Milestone-based releases (education, home, business)
→ Discretionary trustee powers for emergencies
→ Spendthrift provisions preventing creditors and bad decisions
→ Incentive clauses rewarding responsibility

A couple of years ago, I worked with a client who was the "Gallant" to this 19-year old's "Goofus" (Highlights magazine anyone?!?)

My client inherited millions at age 18 through his father's insurance policy. His first move? Talking to his financial advisor, who recommended he talk to me and set up a trust to help manage the money. 

We got it all set up and funded before he started college in the fall, and he's now got a system in place to protect that insurance money.

Because the most expensive trust provision isn't the one you add.

It's the one you leave out.

Because a 19-year-old with $400,000 isn't inheriting wealth.

They're inheriting a test they haven't studied for.

And most of them fail.

Review your trust provisions. Today. Before your generosity becomes someone else's cautionary tale.

A Living Will Isn't About Dying. It's About Controlling Who Decides When You Can't.

Mom was in the ICU. Couldn't speak. Couldn't write. Couldn't blink twice for yes.

Her husband wanted to keep fighting. Her daughter wanted to let go. Both claimed they knew what she would have wanted.

Neither had proof.

(𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭. 𝘈 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭, 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵.)

𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗮 𝗟𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗪𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗔𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗗𝗼𝗲𝘀:

It speaks when you can't.

• Ventilator decisions? Documented.
• Feeding tube preferences? Clear.
• Pain management vs. consciousness? Your call, not theirs.
• Resuscitation wishes? In writing.

𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗛𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗻𝘀 𝗪𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗢𝗻𝗲:

Your family fights in hospital hallways. Doctors make decisions based on liability, not your values. Courts get involved. Lawyers bill by the hour while you're on life support.

The people who love you most become adversaries.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝟯𝟬-𝗠𝗶𝗻𝘂𝘁𝗲 𝗙𝗶𝘅:

1. Get a living will (also called an advance directive)
2. Name a healthcare proxy who actually knows your wishes
3. Have the uncomfortable conversation with them
4. Give copies to your doctor, your proxy, and your family

The most expensive healthcare decision isn't the treatment.

It's the family relationship destroyed because nobody knew what you wanted.

Your regular will distributes your stuff.

Your living will protects your dignity.

And your family's sanity.

Don't make them guess.

My 2025 Content Journey: Castles, Shields, and Keeping Your Family Out of Court

I had a little fun with AI over the weekend, and it created the image below.

2025's theme? Protection.

Not the "buy more insurance" kind. The "your family won't end up in court fighting over a Post-It note" kind.

𝗘𝘀𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗣𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴
Wills, trusts, and why your filing cabinet probably contains a ticking time bomb. (Spoiler: that document from 2008 isn't protecting anyone.)

𝗗𝗶𝗴𝗶𝘁𝗮𝗹 𝗔𝘀𝘀𝗲𝘁𝘀
Your crypto wallet, PayPal balance, and that domain portfolio you forgot about. If your family can't access it, it doesn't exist.

𝗟𝗟𝗖 𝗣𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻
Because filing paperwork with the state isn't the same as actually being protected. (The DIY LLC dream is alive and well... until someone sues you.)

𝗗𝗶𝘀𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗣𝗿𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻
The broken partnerships, napkin wills, and "handshake agreements" that keep me employed. I'd rather you not need me for those.

(𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘹. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺.)

The Grateful Dead wrote a song about everything that can go wrong in estate planning.

They just didn't know it.

"Me and My Uncle" is a murder ballad about a nephew and his uncle stealing gold in the Old West. Gunfights. Double-crosses. Shallow desert graves.

It's also a masterclass in what NOT to do with your wealth transfer strategy.

(𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴. 𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘢𝘸𝘺𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦.)

𝗘𝘀𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗣𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗟𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗙𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗮 𝗠𝘂𝗿𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗕𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗮𝗱:

𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘦.
If the inheritance depends on surviving a gunfight in New Mexico, the plan is too fragile.

𝘑𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦.
If you and a relative are "in this together," spell it out in writing—preferably before anyone gets shot.

𝘓𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴.
Assets buried in the desert are hard to probate, hard to value, and easy to lose. Vaults beat shallow graves.

𝘊𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩-𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘧𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘨𝘺.
High risk, low documentation, terrible tax consequences.

The song ends with the narrator riding off alone, gold in his saddlebags, uncle dead in the dust.

No witnesses. No paperwork. No plan.

Just a story that's been sung at Dead shows for 60 years as a cautionary tale.

Your favorite songs are full of planning disasters hiding in plain sight. The drama that makes great music? It's the same chaos that keeps estate attorneys employed.

If your estate plan relies on trust, memory, and a revolver, it needs revision.

Preferably before the next verse.

(𝘒𝘶𝘥𝘰𝘴 𝘵𝘰 Ernie Svenson 😎  𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘉𝘰𝘣 𝘞𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘥...)

I help lawyers make ChatGPT their best legal assistant —by using it effectively & responsibly.

It's 2026. That contract you downloaded from the internet? It's not protecting you.

It's protecting whoever wrote it.

I see this constantly. Business owners grab a template, swap in their company name, and assume they're covered. The document looks official. It has legal language. It must work, right?

(𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘐 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘭. 𝘓𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘭 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘱. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.)

Here's what that template is probably missing:

𝗦𝗰𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗸
Vague deliverables lead to scope creep. Scope creep leads to disputes. Disputes lead to my inbox.

𝗣𝗮𝘆𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗧𝗲𝗿𝗺𝘀
When is payment due? What happens if it's late? If your contract doesn't spell this out, you're chasing invoices with no leverage.

𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗳𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆
Your client list, your pricing strategy, your proprietary process. Without an NDA clause, none of it is protected.

𝗗𝗶𝘀𝗽𝘂𝘁𝗲 𝗥𝗲𝘀𝗼𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻
Mediation? Arbitration? Courtroom battle? If you don't decide now, a judge will decide for you later. And it'll cost more.

𝗧𝗲𝗿𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗖𝗹𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲
How do you get out if things go sideways? Without clear exit terms, you're stuck in a bad deal with no escape hatch.

The template might be free. The problems it creates won't be.

Every clause you skip is a decision you're letting someone else make for you (a judge, an arbitrator, or the other party's attorney).

Your contracts should work for your business. Not against it.

Review what you're actually signing. Or have someone who does this for a living take a look before you need them to fix it.

Three daughters, no sons. All hell breaks loose.

Jason Bernloehr and I talked about this over coffee this week. He's been doing this for years, and he's seen how smoothly an elder care situation will go based on family structure alone.

(𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘦. 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘐'𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦.)

An ideal scenario? One daughter, one son. The daughter takes charge. Done.

A nightmare? Three sisters. No brothers. Parents who never talked about money.

I asked why. He laughed.

Everyone has opinions. No one has authority. And nobody wants to be the one who "put Mom in a home."

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗙𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹𝘆 𝗗𝘆𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗰𝘀 𝗠𝗶𝗻𝗲𝗳𝗶𝗲𝗹𝗱:

→ Blended families where the kids don't like the new stepmom (but Dad loves her)
→ The "reliable" sibling who lives closest and resents it
→ The sibling who shows up with spreadsheets calculating their "sacrifice points"
→ Parents who fight like cats and dogs but have been married 55 years
→ The father-in-law whose finances are a mystery to everyone, including his wife

I see it from the legal side. He sees it from the caregiving side. Same patterns. Same chaos.

The families who do well? They had the uncomfortable conversations before the crisis hit.

The ones who don't? They're communicating through attorneys. Or worse, through silence.

Your family structure isn't destiny. But it is a warning sign.

If you've got a complicated family tree, you need a clearer plan. Not less of one.

And if you've got parents who could use some quality in-home care in the Twin Cities? Reach out to Jason and get that conversation started...

Your Dog Can't Call a Lawyer. Plan Accordingly.

We plan for our kids. We plan for our spouses. We even plan for our businesses.

But our pets? They're "just animals." At least that's how the law sees them.

Property. Like your couch.

(𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘥? 𝘓𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘳.)

Here's what happens when you pass away without a plan for your pets:

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗙𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝟰𝟴 𝗛𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀:

Your family is grieving. Overwhelmed. Making funeral arrangements. Handling immediate crises.

Your dog needs to be fed. Your cat's litter box is overflowing. Someone needs to take them.

But who?

Your sister has allergies. Your brother lives in a no-pets apartment. Your adult kids are three states away.

Nobody was asked. Nobody was prepared. Nobody knows what food they eat or which vet they see.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗡𝗲𝘅𝘁 𝗙𝗲𝘄 𝗪𝗲𝗲𝗸𝘀:

Whoever grabbed your pet "temporarily" is now stuck. They didn't sign up for this. They can't afford the vet bills. They don't have time for daily walks.

The "temporary" solution becomes permanent neglect.

Or worse: a one-way trip to the shelter.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆:

→ Pets end up with people who aren't equipped to care for them
→ Diet, medical needs, and routines get ignored
→ Senior pets with special needs? Almost impossible to rehome
→ Your 12-year-old golden retriever could spend his final months in a concrete kennel

You wouldn't leave your kids' future to chance. Your pets deserve the same consideration.

A pet trust takes about 15 minutes to discuss with your attorney. It names a caregiver. It funds their care. It gives instructions.

Your pet can't advocate for themselves. That's your job.

And that job doesn't end when you're gone.

Bob Weir Died This Weekend. It Hit Me Harder Than I Expected.

If you've been around me long enough, you know the Grateful Dead isn't just background music in my life. It's woven into the fabric. That feeling when Jerry's guitar would slide into a solo and the world would just... slow down.

The band was never about perfection. It was about being present. Alive. Messy, real, communal.

And Bob, his rhythm guitar and that voice, he held it all together.

(𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘶𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵.)

When someone like Bob passes, you don't just think about the music. You think about time. About how short and fragile it really is. About the people who shaped you, and what you've done to make sure the things that matter will still matter when you're gone.

That's legacy.

It's not just about what's in a will. It's about the stories, the lessons, the quiet ways you impacted someone else's life.

The Dead taught me that. Bob taught me that.

Thanks for letting me share a piece of my heart this week.

I've got "Standing on the Moon" on heavy rotation.

And to Bob... thanks for the ride.

I always love hearing the Grateful Dead's version of "Peggy-O." It's 500 years old. And it still doesn't have a clear owner.

The song started as a Scottish ballad. Then it became Irish. Then English. Then American folk. Then Jerry Garcia got his hands on it.

Each generation changed the melody. Rewrote the lyrics. Made it their own.

No documentation. No clear lineage. Just transformation after transformation.

(𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘥'𝘴 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴. 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘦.)

Folk songs evolve because there's no plan. No instructions. No structure to preserve the original intent.

Estates work the same way.

Without a trust, your legacy passes through probate, through courts, through family arguments. Each handoff changes it. Erodes it. Transforms it into something you never intended.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗗𝗶𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗕𝗲𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗙𝗼𝗹𝗸 𝗦𝗼𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗧𝗿𝘂𝘀𝘁𝘀:

I had a client last year who did it right. Both parents passed within eighteen months of each other. Three adult kids. A house, investments, and a small business.

No probate. No court hearings. No siblings fighting over who gets what.

The trust spelled out everything. Who gets the house. How the business transfers. When distributions happen.

The kids grieved their parents. They didn't grieve through attorneys.

That's what proper planning looks like. Not a folk song passed down through centuries of reinterpretation. A clear, documented transfer of exactly what the parents intended.

"Peggy-O" is beautiful because it evolved organically over 500 years.

Your estate shouldn't work that way.

The families who plan? They preserve what matters.

The ones who don't? They leave behind a melody that changes with every generation until nobody remembers the original.

Your legacy deserves more than oral tradition and good intentions.

Write it down. Put it in a trust. Make sure it stays yours.

Since 2015, I've been obsessed with mastering video on the internet. I've seen it transform countless businesses, reshape culture, and become dominant form of media.

I've build my own YouTube channel to amass over 30 million views while educating people on economics and geopolitics.

I'd love to help you use video to accomplish your goals.

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