I lost my best friend a while back. His name was Frank Clark. The people who loved him called him Mr. Orange. He was one of those rare souls who made everyone around him feel important. A successful entrepreneur. A devoted father. A loyal friend.
And then one day — suddenly — Frank was gone.
I loved him. So when his family needed help, I showed up. But what I found when I got there, I wasn't ready for.
Frank had built a full life. Businesses. Investments. Insurance policies. Real estate. Accounts at a dozen different institutions. And none of it was organized. I spent weeks sifting through every piece of his life. I covered an entire pool table — end to end — with stacks of paper, computers, cell phones, and boxes of files. I became a forensic accountant out of necessity, because his family had no idea where anything was.
And here's the part that haunts me. In the middle of all that paper, I found life insurance policies. Policies Frank had taken out specifically to protect his children. He had thought of them. He had provided for them. He just never got it organized in a way anyone could find.
Because I wouldn't stop digging, those policies paid out. His kids got what their dad meant for them to have. But I keep thinking about what would have happened if his family hadn't had someone like me. They would have spent the time they should have been mourning their father — in desperation. Drowning in paperwork. Scrambling.
Instead of grieving, they would have been doing my job. And nobody should have to do that for someone they love.