After dinner, I sat down with my laptop and began drafting a proposal for the foundation. Simple bullet points: land use, community support, funding options. I wasn’t sure how far I’d get, but writing it down made it tangible.
Halfway through, my phone buzzed. An unknown number. Against better judgment, I answered.
“Hannah Whitmore?” a man’s voice asked.
“Yes, this is.”
“This is Summit Realty. Your sister asked us to extend a formal offer on the cabin and surrounding acreage. Seven figures, cash, clean deal.”
I let out a sharp laugh.
“Tell Megan she can keep her cash. This land isn’t for sale.”
“Think carefully,” the man warned. “Offers like this don’t come twice.”
“Neither do sisters who betray you.”
I snapped and hung up.
Anger surged, but it didn’t shake me. It steeled me. Megan was playing her cards fast because she knew time wasn’t on her side.
Later, I stood on the dock under the stars. The water was still, reflecting the moon like glass. I thought of every soldier I’d served with who came home to nothing. Of every woman I’d met who’d been told she was disposable. This land wasn’t just my inheritance. It was my weapon, my shield, my chance to prove them all wrong.