All Our Tomorrows (The Heirs Book 1)

They had the make and model of a Ford 110 pickup truck registered to Max Smith. It had Arizona plates. The motorcycle he drove was newer. According to the PI’s report, Max drove the motorcycle more often than not on his way to and from work.

Palmdale was the last anything before reaching into the Mojave Desert. It was known more for its crime rate than its family-friendly communities, people lived there because they couldn’t afford homes closer to their work. It wasn’t that there weren’t pockets of nice . . . it just didn’t have many of them.

Max Smith rented a small home in one of those not-so-nice neighborhoods. Driving through it in Chase’s truck had been a good call. Any one of their father’s cars would have turned every head on the street.

Chase, Piper, and Alex sat in the truck, waiting for Max to show up. It was unnerving to have so many details about a man who knew nothing about them. The private investigators discovered when Max left work and when he was due home. They knew which bar he frequented on the weekends and which neighbor he didn’t get along with.

Chase felt like he’d violated his brother’s privacy before even meeting the man.

Since the Arizona-plated truck was in the driveway, they waited for the sight of a motorcycle before approaching the door.

“Maybe they got the time wrong,” Alex said from the back seat.

“He’s driving from Santa Clarita. There’s traffic, even on a motorcycle.”

“You think he’s in there now?” Piper asked.

“No, I don’t. I trust Jack’s sources to be right.”

Two minutes later, the sound of a bike queued Chase’s hand to reach for the door.

In the rearview mirror, he saw what looked like the picture the PI had taken with a long-lens camera.

“That’s him.”

Max pulled into his driveway as the garage door was rolling up.

Chase jogged across the street in hopes of grabbing Max’s attention before he closed the garage door.

The motorcycle turned off, and Max pulled the helmet from his head.

“Max Smith?” Chase called out from the edge of the driveway.

Piper and Alex walked up behind him.

Max looked over his shoulder and swung off his bike. He looked between the three of them. “I don’t want whatever you’re selling.”

Piper laughed. “Miss Abigale all over again.”

Max hesitated, looked at her.

“We’re not here to sell you anything.” Chase stepped closer but kept far enough away so as to not be seen as a threat.

“Still not interested.” It looked like Max was going to walk away.

“We know who your father is.”

That stopped him, eyes leveled with Chase.

“I don’t have one of those.”

Piper moved closer to Chase’s side. “We know who your sperm donor is.”

Doubt with a flash of hate filled Max’s eyes. He stared at Piper’s belly. “Not interested in knowing him.”

“That’s a good thing,” Alex told him with a snort. “He died in April.”

Max blinked several times in silence, then said, “Great. Thanks for stopping by and sharing the happy news.” He turned away . . . again.

“Don’t you want to know his name?” Alex stepped forward.

Exasperated, Max took a few steps closer and put Chase on edge. “Listen, lady. I don’t give two shits about the man who fucked my mother.” He stopped, looked at Piper. “No disrespect. So no, I don’t care who the hell he was. I’ve had a long day. I’m tired, I need a shower and a beer. You guys have something to say . . . spit it out.”

Chase held out a hand to stop Piper from walking up to the man.

“Your mother’s name was Lisa Davis. You were born in Phoenix, Arizona, where you were cared for by a woman named Abigale until your mother abandoned you at the age of two,” Piper rattled off the facts.

Max’s gaze twitched, the anger in his face shifted after several silent seconds. “Abigale . . . was she a Black woman?”

Alex sighed. “Yes. Her house is filled with quilts and cookies.”

“She isn’t going to be happy that you remember her,” Piper told him.

Max ran a hand over his beard. “This is fucking with my head.”

Chase moved closer. “Take a good look at my face.”

They had the same eyes, the same jawline. The same hair, minus the beard. Similar build.

“Fuck,” Max said under his breath.

“I’m your half brother,” Chase told him.

Max’s nose flared; his fingers flexed.

Alex moved to Chase’s side. “I’m your half sister.”

Chase reached into his back pocket and handed Max a copy of the DNA testing paperwork. “The estate will need to confirm this is you. But . . . there’s no reason to think it’s not.”

Max stared at the paper, ran a hand through his hair. “Estate? What estate?”

“Our father . . . your father . . . was Aaron Stone. Stone Enterprises . . . Stone Hotels and Resorts. You know what that is?” Chase asked.

“Yeah.” The color in Max’s face paled, the fight in his stance dropped as Chase’s words registered. Max went from looking at the paper in his hands to Chase and Alex.

“Our father left his entire estate to his three children,” Chase slowed down his words.

He pointed to Alex. “One.”

Chase pointed to himself. “Two.”

That finger moved to Max. “Three.”