The estate as the eldest son

The phone call came at 6:47 on a Tuesday evening, and I was halfway through cooking sausages. Mum said the funeral director needed the death certificate by Friday. She also said, in the same breath and in the same flat tone, that Dad had named me as executor. The sausages started to burn. I turned the heat down with one hand and held the phone with the other, and I noticed my shoulder had already tightened, the way it does when a load you weren't expecting lands on it.

I was the eldest son. I was the one who lived closest. I was the one Dad had always called "the responsible one", which is a compliment that doubles as a sentence.

What being executor actually means

The role sounds ceremonial. Three weeks in you discover it isn't.

Executor in Australia means you are the legal personal representative of the deceased. You are the one who applies for probate (in most states, where the estate's gross value is over a threshold the bank or share registry sets). You are the one who collects the assets, pays the debts, files the final tax return, and distributes what's left according to the will. You are not a friend doing a favour. You are an officer of the court with a duty of care to the beneficiaries, which includes your siblings, which is where it gets interesting.

The duties, in plain language:

• Locating the will and confirming it's the latest valid version
• Arranging the funeral and paying for it from estate funds where possible
• Applying to the Supreme Court of your state for a Grant of Probate
• Notifying banks, super funds, the ATO, share registries, the land titles office
• Securing the house (locks, insurance, mail redirection) so it doesn't sit empty and uninsured
• Valuing the assets at date of death, not what they were worth when Dad bought them in 1987
• Paying outstanding debts, including credit cards, utilities, the last quarter's rates
• Lodging a final personal tax return and (if the estate earns income) an estate tax return
• Distributing the residue to beneficiaries and getting a release signed before you do

I learned the list the way most people learn it. One late night at a time, with a bank's bereavement team telling me they needed a certified copy of probate before they would release the $4,200 in Dad's everyday account. The bank that had been thrilled to lend Dad money for a caravan in 2014 was now suspicious that I might be impersonating my own father.

The 12 to 18 month timeline nobody warns you about

The will reading scene from films does not exist. There is no reading. There is a lawyer's email two weeks after the funeral that says "I attach the will for your reference" and then a 14-month silence punctuated by forms.

A typical Australian estate runs 12 to 18 months from death to final distribution. The fast bits and the slow bits, in rough order:

• Weeks 1 to 6: death certificate arrives, funeral settled, will located, executor decides whether to engage a solicitor (you should, unless the estate is small and uncomplicated)
• Months 2 to 4: probate application lodged, granted, and the bank finally releases funds
• Months 4 to 9: assets collected, the house sold or transferred, super payouts negotiated (super does not automatically form part of the estate, which surprised me)
• Months 9 to 12: tax returns lodged, debts cleared, interim distributions if appropriate
• Months 12 to 18: final distribution, signed releases, executor's job formally complete

The timeline assumes nothing is contested. The minute someone contests, add another year. Family Provision claims in NSW must be lodged within 12 months of death, and the executor cannot safely distribute until that window closes, which is why your sister who needs the money for school fees is going to be told to wait, and is going to be cross with you specifically about it.

Slow down. Map first. Move later. There is a fork on the bench and you do not have to pick it up tonight.

The sibling dynamics nobody tells you to expect

The role of executor in a family is structurally awkward. You are simultaneously a beneficiary (probably) and the person controlling the timing of when the other beneficiaries get paid. Your siblings do not see you as a court-appointed officer. They see you as the brother who used to nick their Easter eggs.

Three patterns turn up almost without fail.

First, the resentment of the role itself. "Why does he get to decide?" The answer is that Dad decided, not you. The will named you because someone had to be named. It is not a vote of confidence so much as a pragmatic appointment, often based on geography. Say so. Repeatedly. In writing.

Second, the accusation of moving too slow. By month seven your siblings will be asking when the money is coming. By month nine they will be asking pointed questions. By month twelve, if you have not communicated proactively, someone will use the phrase "what is he hiding?". Send a quarterly update email. A short one. "Probate granted in March. House on market in May. Settlement July. Tax return lodged September. Expect interim distribution in November." Boring beats dramatic.

Third, the accusation of moving too fast. The same family that pressured you to hurry will, the day after distribution, ring up to ask why the antique sideboard went to the auction house instead of being offered to them first. The fix is to circulate a written list of household contents before any of it leaves the house, with a deadline for siblings to claim items, and to keep the email chain.

The sibling who lives furthest away is usually the loudest in the group chat. Geography produces a discount on the executor work and a premium on the executor scrutiny. Notice this without resenting it. They are grieving too, and the fastest way to feel useful from another state is to type.

You are not paid for this. (Mostly.)

Here is the part of the conversation that gets squirrelly. Executors in Australia can apply for commission. Typical ranges I have seen quoted are 0.5% to 1% on capital and 2% to 4% on income, subject to court approval if beneficiaries do not consent in writing. On a $1.2M estate, that is a real number. It is also, in almost every family I have watched go through this, the wrong hill to die on.

The reason: the moment you charge commission, your siblings reframe the entire 14 months. The hours you put in on a Saturday afternoon stop being a brother's contribution and start being a billable. Every decision you made starts being audited as if you were a paid professional, because now you are.

If the estate is large and the work is genuinely complex (a business to wind up, multiple properties across states, contested claims), commission is reasonable and the right move is to disclose it openly at the start, in writing, before you do the work. Get the beneficiaries to consent in writing. Then take it.

If the estate is straightforward and you are a beneficiary anyway, the maths usually says: take your share, claim direct out-of-pocket expenses (the certified copies, the parking at the lawyer's office, the locksmith for the empty house), and leave commission alone. The peace of the family Christmas in 2027 is worth more than 0.75% of the residue.

The HONEST cost of executor work is rarely in the dollars. It is in the months when the rest of your life waits. The unwritten rule: this job will eat one weekend a month for a year, and you should price that in to your own diary before someone else does.

Closing

Executor is a role you accept once and learn on the run. The estate will sort itself out in 12 to 18 months whether you panic or not. Slow down. Map first. Move later.