I’m an Heiress!

When I’m having an especially bad day, I do what most people do: wistfully wish for a windfall that would allow me to retire. Who knows? Maybe there’s an unknown relative floating around out there who’ll die and leave me a fortune, or maybe I’ll actually buy a lottery ticket and it’ll be a winner. Not bloody likely, I know, but I can dream.

So imagine my surprise when, mixed in with my mail last Saturday, I found a large packet from a life insurance company. I almost tossed it into the recycling bin without opening it, but a second glance revealed that it had been mailed first class; a pitch to purchase life insurance was unlikely to have come via first class mail. Curious, I ripped it open and discovered that the New York Life Insurance Company was looking for my father’s heirs. He had purchased a life insurance policy that had never paid out—even when my stepmom died ten years ago.

Hallelujah, my ship had come in! Visions of paying off my mortgage and vacations abroad danced in my head. So I settled into my favorite chair to read the letter and see what kind of fortune was in store for my brother and me. But before I even finished the first paragraph, reality began to intrude. This was my father we were talking about, a man who lived life with gusto but never saved a dime in his entire life. It was hard to imagine that he would have spent the money to buy an insurance policy large enough to provide a benefit that would be considered extravagant by any measure.

Unfortunately, the letter didn’t reveal the amount of the policy’s benefit, and since it was Saturday, I couldn’t call to get any details. So I called my brother instead to let him know that there might be some bucks coming our way. We agreed that it probably wasn’t enough to land us in the lap of luxury, but even a few thousand would be nice.

First thing Monday morning I called New York Life. According to the letter, I had to establish my brother’s and my legitimacy as heirs by supplying a mountain of paperwork, most of which would involve fees to procure. The woman I talked to confirmed that this was the case, and she added a few other documents that the letter didn’t even mention.

As the fees began to mount, I asked her if the payout would be worth the effort and the fees.

“I can’t reveal the exact amount,” she said, “but if you name a figure, I can tell you if it’s higher or lower.”

Okay, now we were getting somewhere. “Is it higher than ten thousand?” I asked.

She laughed. Loudly. “No, it’s much, much lower than that.”

“Is it higher than one thousand?”

She chuckled again, and said, “No, you’re still too high.” My dream vacation sprouted wings and flew away.

“How about five hundred?”

“No.”

Utterly deflated, I still had to smile. That sounded more like my father. I did some quick addition and realized that the fees to secure certified copies of death certificates, gather notarized statements, and take care of court filings would undoubtedly exceed the tiny benefit, not to mention the time involved in gathering all the documents.

I thanked her for the information and told her I wouldn’t be pursuing it any further.

She laughed and said, “I understand completely.”

Just like that the dream was dead. I called my brother and we had a good laugh, figuring that our father probably bought a small policy when he married our stepmom, decades ago. At the time, it might have been enough to cremate him and give her a few extra bucks to tide her over, and I’m sure it was a generous gesture on his part. Sadly, time and inflation had rendered it virtually worthless.

So once again I’m back to the daily grind. I don’t have many bad days, thank goodness, but it would still be nice to have a windfall. How bad is my luck that my one chance turned out to be a net loss?

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