The Forgotten One (The Heirs #2)

Chapter Eight

Holy shit.

Max drove down the hill and pulled off to the side of the road to regroup and determine his next move.

Chase had called it.

The media would show up, and when they did, they’d keep coming.

Only Sarah—her name he’d likely remember forever—surprised him.

A tourist looking for Pink’s house he could buy ... but a reporter?

No.

Her wild red hair and glasses perched on that freckled nose would have been complete with a plaid schoolgirl skirt. Not that Max had a thing for that age, but still ... she’d rock a plaid skirt.

And then the glasses fell off her face and he instantly imagined that mop of hair on top of her head in a messy bun, black leather skirt, leaning against a desk, shaking her finger at the naughty schoolboys in her classroom.

Glasses on . . .

Glasses off . . .

Neither look was that of a reporter chasing a story.

And he’d left her on the side of the road.

A move that shouldn’t be nagging at him the way it was.

Didn’t she say she could call an Uber?

Max put his foot on the brake to start the engine to leave ...

Then stopped.

He could follow her when she left ... in the Uber. But what if the Uber went another way?

Max zoomed in on the truck navigation system on his dash and looked for other routes in and out of this part of Beverly Hills.

Beyond the Stone Estate, there was another way around, but it didn’t look easy to get to.

There was, however, another intersection a block up that would likely be an Uber driver’s route.

Max moved to the intersection he’d found.

There was little to no room on the side of the road to park, so he blocked a driveway, turned on his flashers, and waited.

A plan formulated in his head.

Sarah wanted to learn something about him ... well, think again, lady. He had something he wanted to know about her.

The four-way intersection was relatively quiet.

Max didn’t pay attention to the cars beyond the price range of an Uber driver.

Work trucks were out, too.

Ten minutes and a dozen cars later, a Toyota Prius that had seen better days crawled through the intersection with a light in the dash lending a neon glow to the word Uber .

Exactly eight minutes passed, and the driver made his way back down the hill.

Sarah rode in the back seat, her head staring at her lap.

Max followed.

He kept pace with the Prius, and as he’d assumed, Sarah didn’t so much as look up from her lap. At one point, she put her phone up to her ear, completely oblivious to the truck following her.

It helped that she wasn’t the one driving. He couldn’t remember a time that he’d ever noticed the cars around him when he was the passenger.

Once they merged onto the freeway, Max let a couple of cars put a gap between them.

With Northridge as the end point, and the fact that his truck loomed over most of the cars on the road, they were relatively easy to follow.

His mind wandered to the conversation with Chase and the lawyer.

A copy of Aaron Stone’s family trust sat in a box on the passenger seat.

Something Max was entitled to, according to the man’s will.

“Now that we’ve found you, we can start liquidating or dividing your father’s assets. Whichever you prefer,” Stuart pointed out.

“Let’s call him Aaron. The man wasn’t a father to me,” Max reminded him.

Stuart exchanged glances with Chase.

“That’s reasonable. Aaron,” Stuart started again, “was very clear that all the properties, personal belongings, and liquid assets were not to be touched, outside of what was needed to keep everything running, until you were found. Chase and Alex have already added their names to Aaron’s banks and have access to that money. Whenever you’re ready, we’ll do the same for you.”

“How many banks are we talking about?”

“Too many,” Chase said.

“We can either add your name to the accounts or take your portion and put it in your own account. This will buy us time to ease your existence to the world and control the narrative with the board. Adding a name to Aaron’s accounts won’t go unnoticed. People talk.”

“I didn’t have the money yesterday; I don’t need it tomorrow.”

“Who is your accountant?” Stuart asked.

What kind of question was that? “H unfortunately, the names on the boxes were first initials and last names.

Max scanned the boxes twice before finding an S. McNeilly and a T. Lockwood, unit 220. There was another unit with an R. this time, his eyes looked her up and down. Not in a leering way ... her red-flag meter didn’t ping to the top. “You’re right about that.”

His words sounded like a promise.

And for reasons that were beyond her, Sarah was certain that Max Smith kept his promises.