The Golden Death Pact
“I have to be honest with you, Claire, no matter how carefully I manage your money, you and John are going to outlive your savings within the next few years.”
Claire’s eyes burned with tears as she sat motionless, trying to process the information her financial adviser was giving her. She was having trouble accepting what he was saying. How could it be? She and John had saved for years for their retirement. They were looking forward to a long and happy life together.
She turned to Mike. “What exactly do you mean?”
“Look,” Mike said, turning his computer in Claire’s direction. “You and John have about $273,000 saved in your combined retirement accounts. Your money hasn’t grown in a long time. The markets have been in a slump for years, and the interest rates are at their lowest. I’m sorry, Claire, it’s not just you. Nobody has been making money lately.”
Claire looked Mike in the eyes and pleaded, “Tell me we’ll be okay. You can figure out a budget. Right?”
Mike sighed deeply as he pulled a chart out of his folder. He handed it to Claire. “It’s just not enough. With the development of the diabetes-busting drug Quidapess and the improvement in statins, the average lifespan has increased to one hundred and eight years. Some people are even living into their one hundred and twenties. You and John will potentially need income for the next thirty-eight years.” He took a breath. “Look at what’s happening with Social Security. The system is strained to the max. Benefits were cut in half in 2035, and now, just a year later, they’re about to be cut again. If you don’t have enough savings, you’re in deep trouble.”
Claire put her hands over her face and whispered, “What are we supposed to do? John was recently laid off, and I’ve been unemployed for a while. Nobody will hire us at our age. I’m getting really scared.”
Mike scribbled a few things on his notepad and turned to face Claire. “Well,” he said, “you do have a few options. You have two extra bedrooms in your house. You could rent them out to boarders.”
Claire’s eyes flew open. “No,” she stammered, “not going to happen.”
“You could sell your house, pay off your mortgage, and move in with your children. Or you could ask your children for money.”
“That’s a hard no,” barked Claire. “John and I would never burden our children like that. Besides, they need to save for their own retirement.”
Mike steepled his fingers and spent the next few minutes deep in thought. He then opened his desk drawer, took out a large envelope, and handed it to Claire.
With his voice beginning to quiver, Mike said, “I’m not recommending this, and please know I have no vested interest. I’m just presenting this as an option for you and John to not have to live in poverty.”
Claire furrowed her brows, confused as to why Mike was getting anxious. She pulled the stack of papers out of the envelope and read the title page of the document: Medicare Gold for Special Seniors. She was immediately intrigued. As she continued reading what appeared to be a government-issued contract, her hands flew over her mouth.
“Are you kidding me, Mike? This is a death pact!” she bellowed. Her jaw began to clench as she continued. “Explain this to me in plain English. It’s written in legalese, but it looks to me like a death pact with the government. Please tell me I’m not right.”
Mike put his head down. “Well, technically, I guess it is, but don’t write it off until you hear all the details. If you sign this contract, for the next twelve years you’ll never have to worry about money again. All you’ll have to think about is how to live your best life.”
Claire took her purse off the back of her chair and took out two ibuprofen tablets. Her head was beginning to pound, and she knew she would need a clear mind to fully understand the contract. She swallowed the tablets with a glass of water, handed Mike the empty glass, and ordered him to continue.
“I’m going to break it down for you,” Mike said. “Step one: You sign a contract agreeing to end your life the day after your eighty-second birthday. Two witnesses and a notary will be present. Step two: Uncle Sam tacks a large monthly stipend onto your Social Security payments, and you stop worrying about money. Step three: You and John go on a nice vacation or buy gifts for the grandkids or do whatever you want with the money.”
Claire sat in stunned silence, hanging on to Mike’s every word. “Go on. The document is twenty pages long. It must say a lot more than that?”
“Yes, it does,” Mike continued. “Step four: You move into government-subsidized housing. It’s not mandatory, but if you’re interested, you would live in a luxury building with a doorman, a gym, a pool, and many other amenities. It’s quite nice.”
Claire raised her eyebrows to indicate she wanted to hear more.
“Step five,” Mike said, “and the best part, you would receive Medicare Gold. Each and every one of your medical expenses would be met, including prescription drugs, dental care, hearing aids, and loads of other things. You’d never have to worry about medical bills again.”
“What about John?” Claire asked. “Would he have to sign it too?”
“Well,” said Mike, “if John signs the contract as well, he’ll receive the same benefits as you. If not, he could move into the luxury apartment with you, but he would lose all his Social Security and Medicare benefits. He would be at your mercy for medical and living expenses. You’d have to pay out of your pocket for everything for him.”
“And what happens if we take the subsidy, and then on our eighty-second birthdays, we change our minds?”
Mike said, “Well, Claire, you’d be convicted of fraud against the government. You’d spend the rest of your life in prison.”
For the next two hours, Claire and Mike worked together to calculate how long her savings would last with every different kind of budget. In the best-case scenario, Claire and John would run out of money in five years.
Claire began to whimper, “John and I are both seventy years old. If we’re going to live past a hundred, we’ll be living in poverty for so many years.” She picked up the contract again. “Twelve great years,” she muttered under her breath, “or thirty horrible ones. Twelve years of traveling and enjoying life, or thirty years of living in poverty.”
She smiled momentarily as she pictured herself and John taking Caribbean cruises and European vacations and not having to stress about medical bills. John was scheduled to have a hip replacement soon, and they had been worrying about their co-pays. Her smile quickly turned to a frown when she pictured herself and John living in a one-room apartment and having to take money from their kids.
“How do they do it, Mike?” she asked.
Mike knew exactly what she meant. She didn’t have to spell it out. He whispered, “They give you a pill. It’s entirely painless. Afterward, they’ll pay all your funeral expenses. There’ll be no financial burden for your children.”
Claire shook her head as she picked up the envelope full of papers. “Okay, Mike, I understand. Let me speak to John, and I’ll get back to you.”
“Take all the time you need,” he said, “but just remember, the sooner you sign the contract, the more money you’ll receive.”
Claire stood up and groaned in pain. She had been sitting for over two hours, and every part of her was stiff. As she stretched out her aching body, she mumbled to herself, “Who the heck wants to live to be one hundred and eight years old, anyway?”
Lost in her thoughts, she silently put on her jacket and walked to the door. She turned to face Mike and waved goodbye. “We’ll talk soon.”
As she began walking to her car, she pulled out her phone and called her husband.
“John,” she said, “let’s meet at the diner for lunch. We have a lot to talk about. Oh, and make an appointment with Bill. We’re going to need some documents notarized.”