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My Classic Car Collection Became a Family Battlefield, and I Had to Draw Financial Boundaries

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Ezoic

Over time, the collection grew. A Mercedes-Benz 300SL Gullwing. A 1988 Ferrari 328 GTS. A 1963 Corvette Stingray with the split rear window. A 1964 Aston Martin DB5. A rare 1981 BMW M1. A 1989 Lamborghini Countach. A first-generation 1992 Dodge Viper RT/10.

Altogether, the cars were valuable on paper, but that wasn’t the point. Their real value to me was personal. Each one was a chapter. A memory. Proof that I kept my promise to the sixteen-year-old girl in the rusty Taurus.

I joined a classic car club and met people who understood. We hosted charity shows. We raised scholarship money for women entering STEM careers. I did as much maintenance as I could myself because it centered me, the same way it did when I was young.

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Those cars were not toys.

They were my life, made tangible.

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To understand what happened next, you need to understand my sister, Natalie.

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