Although science has mastered only the freezing stage of cryonics—and not the far more difficult part of bringing people back—lawyers for wealthy individuals who refuse to accept death have devised a novel legal tool: the “revival trust.” These trusts are designed to preserve a fortune for centuries, ready for the day (if it ever comes) when their client climbs out of a dewar tank and needs spending money.
According to a recent Bloomberg Law report, estate-planning specialists are now routinely drafting these revival trusts for clients who plan to be cryopreserved after legal death. The goal is simple: ensure that, should revival technology ever work, the formerly frozen person isn’t penniless in the year 2225 (or 2525).
“It’s gone from fringe to merely quirky,” says Mark House, an estate attorney who advises clients of the Alcor Life Extension Foundation, the world’s largest cryonics provider, which currently stores 230 human bodies and heads in liquid nitrogen. “Once something moves into the ‘eccentric but plausible’ category, wealthy people suddenly find it fashionable.”
Alcor alone has roughly 1,400 members who have already signed up and are paying for the privilege of being frozen at death. Thousands more worldwide have made similar arrangements. Even without a proven revival method, the cryonics ecosystem is already profitable—and that includes the lawyers who keep the money safe while everyone waits for science to catch up.
These trusts aren’t cheap to maintain indefinitely. Attorneys like House typically require a minimum of $500,000 to fund one, so investment returns can cover centuries of administrative fees without eroding principal. Like traditional dynasty trusts, revival trusts name successor beneficiaries and executors in case the original owner never wakes up.
The biggest legal hurdle? No jurisdiction currently has a procedure for canceling a death certificate if someone thaws out and starts breathing again. Until resurrection becomes legally recognized, a cryopreserved person remains officially dead, which normally triggers distribution of their estate.
The workaround: clients appoint a “trust protector”—an individual, committee, or even an institution—with the authority to decide whether the person has been successfully revived and is therefore entitled to the money.
Definitions of “revival” vary wildly. Florida estate planner Peggy Hoyt told Bloomberg that some clients insist on waking up as exactly the same person, memories 100% intact. Others are fine with a cloned body containing their consciousness. A few say they don’t even need a physical body—as long as their mind is running on a computer, they want their fortune transferred to the cloud.
For people already committed to the idea, these are details worth planning for.
“I’m trying hard to find a workable solution,” says Steve LeBel, a retired Michigan hospital executive who is shopping for the right trust structure. “Otherwise I’ll be lying there for 200 years with my fingers crossed, hoping there’s still something left to pay for the revival when it finally happens.”
Exactly what society, law, or money will look like two centuries from now is impossible to predict. The ultra-wealthy betting on cryonics are clearly banking on waking up to a world where their carefully preserved fortunes still buy the best of whatever comes next.
Bloomberg