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their slow countdown. He had sent Patricia and Khloe to the cafeteria so we could speak alone.
“Maya,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “you have to be the executor. You have to control the trust.”
“But Mom—”
“Your mother has no concept of reality. If I leave it to her, she and Khloe will be destitute in two years. They will eat the seed corn, Maya.continue reading …
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