The rain had not stopped. It fell in a steady, miserable drizzle over the Brooklyn Cemetery.

Charlotte stood at the edge of the open grave. She wore a simple black dress, the collar pulled up to hide the scratch marks on her neck.

She held a single white rose. She stared at the polished wood of the casket at the bottom of the pit, her face completely numb.

She dropped the rose. It landed softly on the wood.

The small group of mourners began to walk away, heading toward their cars.

Charlotte turned to leave. As she stepped onto the paved path, a man in a cheap gray suit stepped directly in front of her, blocking her way.

"Charlotte Guthrie?" the man asked.

Charlotte stopped. "Yes."

The man pulled a thick manila envelope from his briefcase and shoved it against her chest. "You've been served."

He turned and walked away quickly.

Charlotte frowned. She ripped the top of the envelope open and pulled out a stack of legal documents.

A loud, obnoxious laugh echoed across the wet grass.

Vernon Guthrie walked out from behind a large marble headstone. He was holding a large black umbrella. Brenda and Ricky walked closely behind him, their faces twisted into smug smiles. As usual, Harper was nowhere to be seen, likely avoiding the rain.

"I told you I'd make you pay," Vernon sneered, pointing at the papers in her hand. "That's a court order. I've filed a lawsuit to freeze all of my mother's assets. You are being sued for elder abuse and illegal seizure of property."

Brenda crossed her arms. "You're going to spit out every penny you stole from us, you ungrateful brat."

Charlotte looked down at the subpoena.

Slowly, she lifted her head. There was no panic in her eyes. There was no fear. Instead, a cold, mocking light danced in her pupils.

She shoved the subpoena into her black leather purse.

She reached deep into the bag and pulled out an old, slightly yellowed folder sealed with a notary stamp.

"Did you ever actually check the county records, Vernon?" Charlotte asked, her voice cutting through the sound of the rain.

Vernon's smug smile faltered. "What are you talking about?"

Charlotte unwound the string on the folder. She pulled out a thick piece of parchment paper-a Property Deed.

She stepped forward and shoved the paper directly into Vernon's face.

"Read the name at the bottom," Charlotte commanded.

Vernon grabbed the paper. His eyes scanned the text. His hands began to shake violently.

The document clearly stated that the Brooklyn apartment building had been legally gifted and transferred. The date on the stamp was exactly ten years ago, the day Charlotte turned eighteen.

The owner listed on the deed was Charlotte Guthrie.

"She owned nothing when she died," Charlotte said, her voice dripping with ice. "That building has been mine for a decade. Your lawsuit is a joke. A judge will throw it out in the preliminary hearing."

Brenda peeked over Vernon's shoulder. When she saw the date, she let out a piercing shriek. "That crazy old bitch! She gave it all to you? !"

Ricky stomped his foot in the mud. "Where is my house, Dad? You promised me a house!"

Charlotte stepped closer to Vernon, invading his space.

"If you don't drop this suit by tomorrow," Charlotte warned, "I will counter-sue you for malicious prosecution. I will drain whatever money you have left in legal fees."

Vernon's face turned purple. He raised his heavy black umbrella, gripping it like a baseball bat, ready to strike her.

Charlotte didn't flinch. She pointed a finger toward the stone pillars at the cemetery entrance.

"Look up," she said coldly. "Security cameras. Hit me, and you go straight to jail."

Vernon's chest heaved. He ground his teeth together so hard they squeaked. Slowly, his arms dropped to his sides.

Charlotte snatched the deed out of his trembling hands. She slid it back into the folder.

She turned her back on them and walked away, leaving her parents standing in the mud, completely defeated.

Fifty yards away, parked under the shade of a massive oak tree, sat a black Maybach.

Daxton sat in the back seat. The tinted window was rolled down just an inch. He had watched the entire confrontation. He saw the way she didn't back down, the way she crushed her father with a single piece of paper.

He reached up and adjusted his silver cufflink. A rare, genuine smirk touched his lips.

He pressed a button on the intercom to the front seat.

"Call the county clerk," Daxton ordered his assistant. "Find the case number for the lawsuit filed against Charlotte Guthrie. I want it handled."

Vernon kicked the metal trash can in the living room. It crashed against the wall, spilling garbage across the cheap carpet.

He held the court dismissal notice in his hand, tearing it into tiny pieces and throwing them onto the floor.

"She beat us!" Vernon roared. "She had the deed the whole time!"

Brenda sat on the worn-out sofa, burying her face in her hands. "The credit card bills are due next week. Ricky's private school tuition is late. What are we going to do?"

Sitting at the vanity mirror in the corner of the room was Harper, Charlotte's younger sister.

Harper was carefully applying a coat of bright red lipstick. She looked at her parents through the reflection in the mirror and rolled her eyes.

"You two are idiots," Harper said smoothly. She turned around in her chair. "You went after the wrong target. Charlotte is a dead end."

Vernon glared at her. "What's your brilliant plan, then?"

Harper smiled, a cunning glint in her eyes. "Charlotte lost her fiancé. Bradly Medina left her at the altar. The Medina family is rich. They owe us for the public humiliation. We sue them for emotional distress, or... we ask for a settlement to keep it quiet."

Vernon's eyes lit up. The greed returned to his face instantly.

"I'll go talk to Bradly," Harper volunteered, standing up and smoothing her skirt. "But I need to look the part. I need cash for a new dress and a blowout."

Vernon didn't hesitate. He pulled out his wallet and handed her three hundred-dollar bills.

Harper snatched the money. She turned back to the mirror, a wicked smile spreading across her lips. She wasn't going to ask Bradly for money. She was going to take Charlotte's place in his bed.

Across town, in the Brooklyn apartment, Charlotte was packing.

She folded Eleanor's knitted blankets and placed them carefully into a cardboard box. She picked up a silver picture frame from the nightstand. It held a photo of Eleanor smiling in a garden.

Charlotte traced the edge of the frame with her thumb. Her tears had dried up. Her eyes were clear and focused.

Her phone buzzed on the bed. It was a text from Jorja.

What's the plan, boss?

Charlotte typed back immediately: I'm listing this apartment for rent. I'm moving to Manhattan to find a new job.

Jorja sent a thumbs-up emoji. Don't forget you still have to go to Medina Group tomorrow. You emailed your boss, but HR needs you to sign the formal exit papers in person and clear out your personal locker.

Charlotte stared at the screen. Medina Group. Bradly's territory.

She locked her phone. She walked over to her closet and pushed aside her casual clothes. She pulled out a sharp, tailored black blazer and a matching pencil skirt. She hung them on the door.

The next morning, the sun was bright.

Charlotte stood in front of her bathroom mirror. She applied a coat of dark, aggressive red lipstick. It felt like war paint.

She slipped into the black suit and stepped into a pair of black stiletto heels. She looked at her reflection. She didn't look like a heartbroken victim. She looked like a weapon.

She took the subway to the Financial District.

She stood outside the towering glass skyscraper of the Medina Group. She took a deep breath, pushed through the revolving doors, and walked straight to the elevators.

When she stepped onto the HR floor, whispers erupted in the cubicles. Employees stared at her, expecting to see a crying mess.

Charlotte ignored them. Her heels clicked sharply against the marble floor.

She walked into the HR manager's office, dropped her badge on the desk, and slid the exit paperwork forward.

The manager looked at her nervously, stamped the papers quickly, and handed her the carbon copy.

Charlotte put the paper in her leather tote bag. She felt a massive weight lift off her shoulders. She was finally free.

She walked back to the elevator bank and pressed the down button.

She waited, staring at the metal doors.

A soft ding echoed through the lobby. The elevator doors slid open.

Charlotte stepped forward, but her feet instantly froze.