Too Late For Regret: My Billionaire Savior

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."