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My Classic Car Collection Became a Family Battlefield, and I Had to Draw Financial Boundaries
And she wasn’t alone.
Two strangers stepped out behind her. A man and a woman dressed in expensive casual clothing, the kind that says they’re used to being comfortable in other people’s spaces.

My wrench froze in my hand.
“You didn’t ask me,” I said, keeping my voice level.
She shrugged like I was being dramatic. “It’s not a big deal. Keith might be interested in buying something when you sell.”

That sentence hit like a slap.
When you’re in a family conflict, you expect arguments. You expect guilt. You do not expect your sister to bring strangers to your garage to preview your belongings as if a sale is already scheduled.
Keith stepped toward the Porsche, hand out as if he could touch it. I moved between him and the car.

“Please don’t touch anything,” I said. “These aren’t for sale. And I didn’t invite anyone here.”
Samantha laughed. “Natalie said you’re really protective of your toys.”
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