Free Will
Are you reading this because you want to? Or did you arrive here by a series of events that were beyond your control? We like to think that we are masters of our own destiny. Even when we are pummelled by outside forces that we have no control over, most of us believe that by making the correct decisions we can shape our own future. But can we? Is free will an illusion?
It’s generally agreed that many of the decisions that we make stem from our unconscious and are, in a sense, inevitable. When we are driving a car, we don’t have to think about the mechanical process of depressing the clutch, changing gear, and releasing the clutch again. It doesn’t enter our consciousness because, with repetition, it becomes hard-wired. Most of us will have driven to a destination and arrived there with no recollection of the journey, or set off on a Sunday morning to buy bread and found ourselves halfway to work before we realised the error.
Like when Zenzele was winding his way home listening to Aubrey Masango tear into a caller and a pothole happened. Zenzele swerved left and missed the pothole, but hit the kerb. Considering the Glenmorangies, an indifferent bottle of merlot, and the glass of Remi that preceded, it’s surprising that Zenzele saw the pothole at all, never mind missing it. Okay, so, the kerb. But the swerve wasn’t conscious. Zenzele’s addled brain would not have had time to recognise, evaluate and decide. It was only half an hour later while sitting on the same kerb and waiting for the tow truck to arrive that Zenzele actually saw the pothole for the first time and flickers of recognition entered his consciousness. It was around then that he started thinking of his mortality.
So, when an email arrived the next morning from his bank offering to draw up a will for free, it triggered something in the dark recesses of Zenzele’s brain. His subconscious had already made a decision and was waiting for him to catch up so that it could send a signal to his finger to click the “reply” icon.
The bank called with a carefully rehearsed spiel and Zenzele made an appointment to see them the following day. He was feeling so good about himself for getting something for nothing that he didn’t know that he didn’t know that he’d been conned. The bank told him that getting a will drawn up by an attorney could cost anywhere from R500 to R1,500. Zenzele thought that free was better. He signed a will leaving everything to his wife Nonhlanhla and their three-year-old daughter.
In return for drawing up the will, the bank insisted Zenzele appoint them as the executor, which seemed fair.
The next Thursday, Zenzele left the office early when the lights went out and the building’s generator ran out of diesel. He was cruising down Katherine Avenue, chilling to Mafikizolo when a dog ran into the road. Before Zenzele could begin to evaluate the importance of his life compared to the dog’s, he swerved and hit the BMW coming in the opposite direction. He left an estate worth a little over R3m.
When Nonhlanhla got the money the day before her daughter’s fifth birthday, she was alarmed to see the deductions. There was a list of charges that included an executor’s fee of R120,750. When she phoned the bank, they told her that the standard executor’s fee was 4.025%. They didn’t tell her that it was the maximum that they were allowed to charge and that the fee was negotiable.
If Zenzele had gone to a lawyer, and paid R1,500 for drawing up his will, he might have been able to negotiate an executor’s fee of as little as 2% on an estate of his size. That would still have earned the executor R60,000, but saved Nonhlanhla R60,750. But Zenzele hadn’t read any articles on the pitfalls of drawing up a will. It was only thanks to the pothole that he had a will at all.
The driver of the BMW was on her way to the ATM to draw the last R1,000 of her overdraft. She wasn’t paying attention to the road because there was hardly any traffic and her mind was grappling with her finances, and what she would do when the money was spent. She didn’t notice Zenzele coming in the opposite direction, or the dog. Her last memory was the airbag. She was still breathing when the ambulance arrived at the ER, but she died the next morning. She left her husband the house, which was in her name. It was valued at R2m, but Covid. She’d paid the mortgage on time for fifteen years, but was forced to close her restaurant in April when lockdown was announced. UIF was late paying the staff, and after the second month, they began calling every day begging for their salaries. So she took out an access bond. After paying salaries, rent, car instalments, her husband’s medical aid and golf club fees for six months, there was nothing left. Her husband was a pilot and had been furloughed without pay, so her credit cards were maxed too, and her bank account was R49,000 overdrawn. The only thing of value in her estate was the house.
Her will was with Zenzele’s bank. Even though the house was mortgaged for R1.9m, they charged 4.025% of the gross value of the house, which was R80,500. The cost of transferring the property into her husband’s name was R29,000, so he ended up owing the bank R9,500. If she’d negotiated the fee down to 2%, the executor’s fee would have been R40,000, leaving her husband with R31,000.
Down the road in Sandhurst, Tlali was enjoying his morning éclair. He knew it was bad for him, that it would nudge his cholesterol into the danger zone, and that its sweetness was one of the reasons that his stomach drooped over the top of his belt. When he felt a tightening in his chest, he guessed what was coming, but for reasons he couldn’t fully explain, he didn’t reach for his mobile, but took one last bite of the éclair. Before he could swallow it, the pain snaked down his arm and grew to a crescendo.
Tlali’s house was valued at R23m and his weekend getaway on the canal in St. Francis another R8.5m. When they were added to the offshore portfolio, his estate was valued at R87m. Tlali had also saved money by getting a free will with the bank.
Tlali had investments to the value of R40 million that continued to grow in value for the two years that it took to wind up his estate. Because of rand weakness, the offshore investments grew by 20% during that time, increasing the value of the estate by R8m. The bank hadn’t told him that, in addition to the 4.025% fee, they were also entitled to a 6% commission on any money earned by the estate while it was being wound up. Tlali’s widow was shocked to learn that the executor’s fees would cost her almost R4m.
It is essential to have a will. If you already have one and if you got it for free, take the time to find out what the terms are and how much the executor is going to earn. It’s still possible to call the executor back to the table and renegotiate the fee. If they don’t want to negotiate, find a good lawyer, who will charge you for drawing up the will. They will probably agree to a smaller percentage in return for acting as your executor.
Even if free will is an illusion, even if our actions are dependent on our past and leave us only with the impression of choice, this article has become part of your past and should bury itself in your subconscious. And research has shown that unconscious decisions are often the best.
A free will is possibly the most expensive thing that you could leave your heirs. Most of us who care about what happens to our loved ones after we are gone have only our assets and our memories to leave them. Some taxes and expenses are inevitable, but do you really want to willingly leave part of your estate to a stranger?
