The road was completely clear. She kept her foot on the accelerator, gaining speed. The speedometer on her 1998 Olds 88 slowly moved to the right pinning at 120 miles per hour. With tears streaming down her face, she guided the car to the left carefully aiming the left half of the car at the huge cement bridge abuttment. She kept reminding herself that she was doing this for her kids and grandkids, she knew the grief of her death would be salved by the millions they would not be paying the government in taxes. This was Estate planning at its coldest and cruelest.

The impact was sudden, the front of the car crumpled like a tin can under the foot of an NFL defensive lineman. The engine block flew into the drivers area of the car and the steering wheel column collapsed into her chest cavity. Everything went black before her.

Bea started down the last stretch and unfortunately, there was a truck in the right lane going about 40 miles per hour. Granny shook her head. Maybe this was a sign she shouldn’t do it. So she exited the highway, and looped back to the last exit and started down the road again. This time there was a school bus in the right lane taking kids home from a field trip to Washington. She looped around one more time. If she didn’t have an opening this time, she’d scrap the plan. She came down the ramp and started accelerating.

That night Granny Bea looked at the newspaper and Congress was getting set to meet to discuss reinstating the estate tax for 2010. She knew that she would have to act quickly or possibly lose the tax benefits. The next day she went out scouting for bridge abutments or overpass columns that did not have guardrails or jersey barriers. Finally, she found one on the Interstate. She went home and thought. She stared for hours at the newspaper article about the estate tax. She stared at the pictures of her children and grandchildren. She cried some. Finally after about four hours of intense thought, she steeled herself and set out to the garage. She started the car and headed out onto the Interstate. She recalled an article that said that the crash would likely be fatal at 90 mph. But she had to be in the right lane in order to get to the barrier, so in order to get to that speed and not hit anyone or get stopped would be a real challenge. She left a 2 a.m. figuring the roads would be clear at that hour.

Little Jaimie her granddaughter came in and interrupted her thoughts. “Grams can I have a cookie?”. “Of course, sweetie, here you go”. Jaimie was 6, if Beatrice died she’d miss her school plays, athletics, dances, proms, graduations, wedding, and many other occasions. She tried to picture that child at each stage of her life. How hard this was going to be.

Ben came in, the baby, he was four, he hugged her leg and said, “I love you gwammy”. Her heart really broke and she started crying. Ben not knowing why she was crying asked, “Did you get a boo boo gwammy?” “No, child, I just am sad today that’s all.” Ben smiled, “Don’t be sad, cause I love you!” Tears welled up in her eyes again. “Here you go Ben here’s a cookie, now run outside and play.”

Going back to the carnage of 2010 since now it is apparent that there will be no tax bill.

Beatrice Gooding was a wonderful granny. She cooked lots of great cookies for her children and grandchildren. She sewed things for her career minded daughter=s kids and watched them when they needed watching. Beatrice was also worth $300 Million. She had inherited that sum from her second husband Frederick Johnston an inventor. He had invested pens that wrote upside down and then parlayed his patent money in real estate. Beatrice was worried. She could think of the wonderful things that her children and grandchildren could do with her money, if only she would die in the year 2010. But her doctor told her that she was in perfect health and could look forward to many long years. She didn=t want to see the government take her money to use on those awful inplements of war. She remembered reading that single car accidents could not be ruled a suicide. But did she have the courage to do it.