The Forgotten One (The Heirs #2)

Chapter Thirty-Six

Christmas morning, Max wore his Uncle Max T-shirt that matched similar shirts on everyone in the room. The Morrisons were a big family with a lot of unexpected realities. Jack, Gaylord’s oldest son, and his wife, Jessie, had three children. The oldest son, Danny, was in his first year of college, and the others were a good ten years younger. Jessie had been a single mom when she and Jack met. Jack adopted Danny as his own the week they were married.

Katie, Gaylord’s daughter, and her husband, Dean, also had three children. The first daughter was Dean’s biological child, and the other two were adopted. And while those were the facts, none of it mattered.

The entire clan was a big room full of smiles, laughter, and love.

And Max was a part of it.

Just like the children, Max was brought in like one of the family. It didn’t matter that he was the son conceived from a torrid affair. None of that was his doing or fault, and there wasn’t a person in the room who damned him for it.

Once the gifts were open and the wrapping paper was being burned in a firepit outside, Max separated from the party to get ready for his flight to Sarah.

He was shrugging into his coat when a knock sounded on his bedroom door.

“Come in.”

The door opened, and both Chase and Alex stood in the doorway with equally stoic expressions.

The hair on Max’s nape instantly stood on end. “What happened?”

Alex glanced at Chase and walked in first.

She held something in her hand. “I think you need to see this.”

It was a screenshot from an article distributed by the tabloid Sarah worked for.

The headline . . .

Maximillian Smith’s Criminal Record Unveiled

Max backstepped until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, reading a literal page out of his past.

It was all there.

His arrest record, including information about the two times he’d been expelled from school for fighting prior to ending up in juvenile hall. It talked about his runaway attempt and had a quote from a person who claimed to be his friend back in the day: “Coke was his drug of choice.” Murmurs that Max had threatened a board member at Stone Enterprises, but no one’s name was used. In short, the article was two-thirds truth and one-third bullshit.

But the part that sucker punched him was the name at the bottom of the article.

From the desk of Sarah McNeilly.

He sat staring at the article for several seconds in silence.

“Max?”

He put a hand in the air, silencing Alex.

Something wasn’t right.

Only Max couldn’t tell if it was the hole trying to open in his chest that Sarah would actually do this or his denial that she could.

And how did she know any of this? Who told her?

“This doesn’t sound like Sarah,” Alex came right out and said.

“‘From the desk of,’” Max repeated what he’d read.

“How much of that article is the truth?” Chase asked.

Max looked at his brother. “Everything but the coke. I’ve never heard of the guy that’s quoted.”

“We knew the record could be leaked,” Chase said.

“The problem is, Sarah is the only reporter you’ve spoken to. People will read this and believe it.” Alex sat on the bed beside Max.

“What is this going to do to the market value?”

Alex sighed. “I’ve never been more happy for Christmas to fall on a Friday. We have until Monday to do some damage control. Maybe we can avoid a big hit.”

“It’s still going to hit,” Max said.

She nodded. “We’ll handle it.”

Max shook his head. “No. I’ll handle it. Can you get ahold of Ms. Kelly?”

“Probably.”

“Have her alert the media that I’m getting off a plane in four hours, and if they want a sound bite, I plan on talking.”

“And saying what?” Alex asked.

“The truth.”

Sarah’s phone started ringing at five minutes after six in the morning.

At first, she didn’t know what the noise was. She reached to turn off her alarm, only to wake just enough to realize it was her phone. “Hello?”

“Sarah . . . are you awake?”

“No. Who is this?”

“It’s Kiev.”

What the hell was Kiev doing calling her at o-dark-hundred? “Is the sky falling?” she asked.

“It might be. Did you write this article on your boyfriend?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The special edition that came out this morning.”

Sarah pushed up into a sitting position, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and turned on her bedroom light. “I didn’t write anything for a Christmas Day edition.”

Kiev blew out a breath. “Well, someone did, and they used your name.”

“What?” She shook her head in a desperate attempt to wake up. “What does it say?”

“Just log in and read it for yourself.”

Sarah stumbled out of bed, grabbed her glasses, and walked into the living room to wake up her computer. It took a few seconds to get on the landing page for the magazine.

There was a picture of Max shoving the cameraman’s equipment aside after she’d been hit outside the mansion.

And then she started reading.

Two sentences in, and she was wide awake. “Holy shit.”

“Did you write this?” Kiev asked again. “You seemed so into this guy at the Christmas party.”

“Hell no, I didn’t—”

She saw her name at the bottom of the article and repeated it aloud. “‘From the desk of’ ... I never have that on my articles.”

“Is any of this true?”

Sarah squeezed her eyes shut. Who would do this?

Patrick.

“No comment.”

Kiev understood. “Damn. Keep me in the loop, okay? If someone was willing to do this to you, they’ll do it to any of us.”

“Thanks, Kiev.”

“I’m sorry, Sarah. If there’s anything I can do.”

Sarah hung up with Kiev and immediately dialed Max.

It went directly to voicemail. “Hey, hon. We need to talk as soon as you get this. Please call me.”

She didn’t want to tell him anything in a message in case he hadn’t seen the article.

By now he was likely on his way to the airport or already in the air.

Sarah hustled back to her room and started shoving her limbs into her clothes.

Teri walked around the corner, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Someone threw Max under the bus in my magazine and used my name to do it.”

“What?”

Sarah grabbed her purse. “Read the paper. You’ll understand.”

Thirty minutes later she was using a keycard to get into the offices of the magazine. It was Christmas Day, one of the only times the entire staff was away.

She started at her desk, opening and closing drawers, tossing work she was currently researching. It wasn’t until she emptied her garbage can that she found the wadded-up paper she was looking for.

Miguel’s report. The one she’d shredded. Or a copy of the one she’d shredded.

She glanced at the fax machine, remembered that Miguel had sent the fax twice. It must have spit the paper out after she’d walked away.

Sarah headed to Patrick’s office.

The door was locked.

She punched in the numbers of his home phone using an office line. She paced the floor, fuming.

“Hello?”

“You dirty son of a bitch.”

“Who is this?”

“Do you really think you can get away with using my name to write this trash?”

There was a pause.

“Sarah,” he finally said.

Proof he knew exactly what she was talking about. “How dare you.”

“I found the information on your desk, Sarah. You wouldn’t give me what I needed, so I took it.”

“Lies. You printed lies.”

“Police reports don’t lie,” Patrick said.

“You’re not getting away with this.”

He blew out a bored breath. “The magazine will post an apology for any confusion about who wrote the article on Monday. But that we stand by the work since we did, in fact, find this information on your desk.”

“The hell you did. I want this article taken down immediately.” She knew her demand wouldn’t work, but she had to try.

“Goodbye, Sarah. Merry Christmas.”

He hung up, and Sarah threw the phone across the room.

Fuck it! If she had to ask her parents for help, she’d ask. No paycheck was worth this. If her dream job wasn’t going to manifest from the work she’d already done, then maybe it was time to change the dream. People mattered more.

Max mattered more.

She stormed to the supply room and emptied two boxes that held reams of paper. At her desk, she removed all her personal shit and set it aside.

Then, she took every single piece of research for future articles and fed it through the shredder. Each time it filled, she emptied the entire can of shredded paper in front of Patrick’s door. Back at her computer, she found the factory reset and erased every possible useful thing she had. The exercise was more of a nuisance than anything. For all she knew, a good IT guy could get the files back. But she had to try.

As a last-ditch effort to eliminate the computer from recovery, she “accidentally” dropped a full glass of water on her hard drive ... twice.

Leaving with only her belongings, she taped her keycard to Patrick’s office door and used a Sharpie to write the words I Quit in big black letters. Then dropped the pen in front of the door, looked directly at the security camera, flipped it off, and walked away.

All the doors locked behind her as she left the building.

In her car, some of the adrenaline eased from her system.

Max was certainly in the air.

She called Alex.