That afternoon, Jack came by with his usual timing, like he could smell trouble from two cabins away. He found me pacing the porch.
“Let me guess,” he said. “Your sister’s lawyering up faster than I thought.”
He leaned against the railing.
“That’s how bullies operate. Come in hard, loud, make you think they’re bigger than they are.”
“I’m not folding.”
“Good,” he said. “But watch your six. People like Megan don’t fight clean.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Two days later, a reporter from a local paper showed up at the driveway.
“Captain Whitmore,” she asked, notebook in hand. “We heard there’s a family dispute over the Whitmore estate. Your sister claims you’re refusing to share valuable property. Care to comment?”
I clenched my jaw.
Megan was already spinning this in the press.
“No comment,” I said, walking past her.
She scribbled anyway, probably thrilled to have been brushed off. By evening, the article was online.
Family rift over Whitmore cabin. Sister says soldier unfairly controls assets.
The comment section was full of strangers debating my character like they knew me. Some praised my service. Others sided with Megan, parroting her lines about fairness.