I stood there staring at the table littered with proof: Dad’s handwriting, notarized deeds, surveys worth millions. For once, Megan’s words hadn’t rattled me. She could scream, threaten, hire lawyers, but the truth sat right here in black and white, and no one, not her, not even Mom, could take it away.
The cabin door had barely shut when the silence settled heavy around me. The roast sat half-eaten on the table, steam fading, the air still thick with the echo of Megan’s threats. I gathered the papers, stacking them neatly back into Dad’s metal box, then slid it beneath the floorboard. It wasn’t fear that drove me to hide it again. It was ritual, proof that I held the line.
The next morning, I brewed coffee strong enough to scrape paint. My phone buzzed with a flood of alerts. Megan’s attorney had filed the contest formally. But Robert Chen’s email followed right after.
No grounds. I’ll crush this before it gets traction.
His calm words steadied me. Still, I knew Megan wouldn’t stop screaming just because the law shut her down.