I hung up before she could respond. I paced the living room, anger pumping hot in my veins. Every call, every move Megan made was calculated to corner me. She had Mom on her side. She had money. And now she had her company sniffing around like they already owned the deed.
But she didn’t have me. And she didn’t have Dad’s letter.
That night, I pulled the metal box out again, laying the documents across the table. Mineral surveys, legal deeds, contracts waiting to be finalized. Megan could play dirty, but this was proof. Hard evidence. If she wanted a fight, she was about to get one, and I wasn’t walking away.
The wind picked up outside, rattling the shutters. I locked the door and loaded the old hunting rifle Dad had left in the closet. Not because I planned to use it, but because it reminded me of something the army drilled into me over and over: You don’t leave yourself exposed.
When the house was quiet again, I stood at the window, looking out at the dark tree line. Somewhere out there, Megan’s people were circling, but I wasn’t going anywhere.