Fake Heiress? I'm Actually the Richest!

"Get lost! William loved you so much when he was alive, and you didn't even come to his funeral! The Smith family has no place for someone like you!"

Outside St. Petersburg Cemetery, Charlotte Smith knelt in front of William Smith's grave, covered in mud, her expression numb.

Half an hour ago, she was still in the lab developing medicine to save her grandfather. Just when she was about to get results, she was told that her grandfather had already passed away and the Smith family was holding his funeral.

Charlotte rushed to the funeral without even changing her clothes, only to be ridiculed by everyone in the Smith family.

Charlotte's adoptive father Thomas Smith said to her arrogantly, "We've raised you for eighteen years, we've done more than enough. Now that Stella is back, there's no reason for you to stay here anymore. Go find your biological parents!"

People around started whispering:

"Is she the Smith family's adopted daughter with the terrible reputation? I heard she's been rebellious since childhood, fighting and causing trouble all the time!"

"Exactly! The Smith family was kind enough to adopt her back then, and what happened? As soon as William died, she showed her true colors and didn't even come to the funeral!"

"Her biological parents are homeless in the countryside, so poor they can barely afford food. No wonder she doesn't want to go back."

Charlotte ignored all the gossip and just quietly looked at the photo on the tombstone.

The old man in the photo had a kind smile - he was the only person in the entire Smith family who treated her well.

Three months ago, the Smith family's real daughter came back.

Stella Smith stood in the crowd, her black mourning dress making her look even more delicate and pitiful.

Her eyes were slightly red, and she kept dabbing at the corners with a handkerchief, drawing constant comfort from the ladies beside her.

"Stella, don't be too upset. William wouldn't want to see you like this."

"Exactly, it's not worth making yourself sick over that kind of person."

Stella shook her head, her voice weak: "I don't blame Charlotte. After all, she's not the Smith family's biological daughter..."

Charlotte's adoptive mother Vivian Miller finally couldn't hold back. She walked up to her and grabbed her arm: "What are you still kneeling here for? Get lost!"

Charlotte was pulled off balance but stubbornly remained kneeling, her eyes never leaving the tombstone.

"Let me bow to Grandpa and then I'll leave," she said calmly.

"Grandpa?" Vivian laughed coldly. "That's Stella's grandfather. What does he have to do with you?"

Thomas pulled out a bank card from his suit pocket and casually threw it on the ground: "Isn't it just money you want? There's a hundred thousand dollars here. Take this money, and the Smith family will have nothing more to do with you!"

Charlotte looked down at it but didn't pick it up.

All these years, she had done so much for the Smith family, walking on both sides of the law, only to get a measly hundred thousand dollars in return. How ironic.

"Don't make things difficult for Charlotte. Let me talk to her." Stella stood in front of her, acting like she was protecting her, then leaned in close, her voice low enough that only the two of them could hear: "You know what? Charles proposed to me yesterday."

She raised her hand, showing off the diamond ring on her ring finger, looking smug: "You were supposed to be the one getting engaged to him, but you're just a country girl."

Charlotte glanced at her, her expression cold: "Are you done? If you're done, move aside. Don't disturb me while I bow to Grandpa."

Stella froze for a moment.

Charlotte looked back at William's grave and bowed deeply to the tombstone.

William was gone. The debt of gratitude for raising her all these years was finally paid.

Charlotte stood up, brushed the mud off her knees, pointed at the bank card on the ground, and looked at Thomas and Vivian: "I won't take this hundred thousand dollars."

Vivian lifted her chin: "What, not enough? Country people really are greedy."

Charlotte smiled contemptuously: "Keep the money and buy yourselves something to fix your brains."

"Charlotte Smith! What are you saying?!" Vivian caught the sarcasm in her words and her eyes went wide with anger.

"Sorry, I am Charlotte Brown." Charlotte looked at Stella with a cold stare and sneered, "By the way, that piece of trash and a bitch like you getting engaged - you're perfect for each other."

"You..." Stella's face turned red from the insult, but with so many people around, she couldn't lose her temper. She could only cast a wronged look at her parents.

Thomas frowned: "Charlotte, we know you're unwilling to leave the Smith family, but do you have to be so rude? Where did all those years of upbringing go?"

"Upbringing? Do you people even have that?"

Others might not know, but Charlotte knew all too well - the Smith family looked glamorous on the surface, but they were really just a nest of snakes and rats. If it weren't for her working behind the scenes all these years, they would have been pushed out of high society long ago.

Charlotte stopped paying attention to the Smith family's ugly faces. She brushed the dirt off herself, took one last look at William's grave, then turned and left.

At the cemetery entrance, a beat-up tractor stopped, its body covered in mud spots with several bags of fertilizer piled in the back.

A middle-aged man jumped down from the driver's seat, wearing blue work clothes, his rain boots covered in mud.

He saw Charlotte and smiled warmly: "You must be Charlotte, right? I'm your uncle George. Your parents sent me to pick you up."

Charlotte nodded: "Hello, Uncle George."

This scene happened to be seen by Vivian, whose face showed contempt: "Such a broken-down tractor, I haven't even seen one like that on a farm. The Brown family really are country folk."

Stella covered her mouth and laughed, pretending to advise: "Mom, don't say that. Charlotte will be hurt if she hears you."

George saw the Smith family people and pulled out several bulging sacks from behind the driver's seat: "These are potatoes we grew at home. Your parents told me to bring them to your adoptive parents to thank them for taking care of you all these years..."

He walked toward Thomas, humbly offering the sacks.

Thomas frowned and took a step back with disgust on his face: "No need."

Vivian was even more direct: "What kind of junk are you trying to give the Smith family? Take it away! It's filthy!"

George's hand froze in mid-air, the smile on his face stiffening.

Charlotte walked over and took the sacks: "If they don't want them, forget it."

She glanced at the tractor and raised an eyebrow slightly.

This was no ordinary tractor. If she wasn't mistaken, this should be a handcrafted vintage farming machine from Germany, limited to ten units worldwide.

Despite its plain appearance, its actual price could buy ten of the Bentleys sitting in the Smith family's garage.

It's just that the Smith family were too blind to recognize quality.

But then again, wasn't the Brown family supposed to be very poor? Why could they afford such a luxury farming machine?

And Charlotte had just looked at the potatoes in the sacks - they were all premium genetically modified potatoes that ordinary farming families couldn't afford to grow.

It seemed these questions could only be answered after going to the Brown family.

"George, let's go." Charlotte put the sacks back on the truck and jumped into the passenger seat.

"Okay." George also got on the tractor.

The tractor drove for a long time before finally stopping in a small town full of rice paddies.

George parked the tractor in front of a two-story building and rubbed his hands awkwardly. "Our place is pretty simple. Hope you don't mind."

"I don't," Charlotte said, jumping down from the vehicle and looking around.

Although everything here seemed ordinary, she still noticed the inconspicuous surveillance camera in the corner—a military-grade infrared sensor that you couldn't buy anywhere on the regular market.

The Brown family was quite interesting.

Charlotte thought to herself.

"Charlotte!"

While she was observing, a middle-aged woman wearing a floral apron rushed out of the house and hugged her tightly.

"My daughter, I finally get to see you!"

Charlotte's body stiffened slightly.

Behind the woman stood a refined middle-aged man in a white shirt, his eyes slightly red. "It's good that you're back."

Charlotte nodded. These must be her biological parents, David Brown and Helen Johnson.

Helen pulled Charlotte into the house. The room wasn't large but was kept very clean. An old-fashioned fireplace burned wood, crackling away.

An oil painting hung on the wall—an exquisite vineyard, with delicate brushstrokes and soft colors.

Charlotte took a second look.

If she wasn't mistaken, this painting was an original, popular at many auction houses.

The fact that the Brown family could hang it here showed they weren't as simple as they appeared on the surface.