The foundation appealed. They lost. They appealed again. They lost again. By the time the case was final, I was twenty-six years old and I had spent three years of my life fighting for a principle that no one in my family understood.
The board was forced to restructure. The aesthetic clause was gone. The trust was opened to all descendants, regardless of appearance. I was given a seat on the board, as was my right as a direct descendant.
My uncle Richard resigned in protest. He moved to Florida and was never heard from again. Clara stopped speaking to me for a year. My mother called me every week, crying, telling me she was proud of me and terrified for me in equal measure.
And I sat on the board of a 2.3 billion dollar foundation and tried to figure out what to do with my life.
The fi
