Chapter 4

Chase and Alex stepped out of Cadry’s office, dazed. The California sun coupled with an unseasonably dry wind put an extra layer of dirt on a day that was already covered in filth.

Chase had intended to drop Alex off at her place so she could retrieve her car and follow him to their mother’s home.

After one look at the outside of the condominium complex where she lived and the multitude of media vans parked along the curb, Chase changed plans.

“Do you think they know?” Alex asked as they both took in the sheer number of reporters trying to get a sound bite.

“Stuart said the information about the brother is private.”

“That doesn’t mean the information won’t get leaked.”

Chase turned the corner and headed back toward the freeway. “It’s a little soon for that.”

“We can expect a long line of Baby Stone candidates if this gets out,” she mused.

Yeah, the thought had already crossed Chase’s mind.

Stuart had told them what he knew.

“Your father came to me shortly after his divorce with your mother. He told me then that he’d fathered a son that is a year older than Alex. When I pressed him for details on the boy, he wouldn’t tell me. Only that he planned on leaving his estate to his children. When he married Melissa, we revisited the will. I pressed again, he wouldn’t talk. By then, he’d sold enough of his shares of the company to put a three-way even split when he passed. This assured him that your two shares alone would work to pass any important issues with the board, but should one of you sell, it would put the other in jeopardy of losing controlling interest.”

“And if we both want to sell?” Alex asked.

“You need to find the brother first. My job as the executor is to follow Aaron’s wishes to the letter. You have a year to find the brother. Only then can we revisit selling anything.”

“Why would he do this?” Alex asked.

“To keep us from making a rash decision,” Chase said.

“That’s my guess,” Stuart agreed.

“And you don’t have the name of the mother either?” Alex asked.

“Aaron believed you’d both be smart enough to figure it out.”

“Leave it to Dad to ignore us his entire life and then tangle us up in all his sins when he dies,” Chase mused out loud.

“We already knew he was a cheating, selfish asswipe. He didn’t have to prove it from the grave.”

Alex’s words should have been etched into the man’s tombstone.

Chase wondered if he could make that happen.

Chase shook off the earlier conversation and said, “Text Mom. Let her know we’re on our way.” They needed to work through this as a family.

“You think Mom will know who this mistress is?” Alex removed her phone from her purse and started typing.

“I think she’s tried hard to forget all of that time in her life.”

Alex typed more and pressed send.

“I’m in shock.”

“Me too,” he said.

“What am I going to tell my boss?” Alex whispered. “Stone Enterprises is a direct competitor.”

“We don’t have to make a decision today.”

“I know.” His sister sighed. “My cheek hurts just thinking about the number of times we’ll need to get swabbed for DNA testing once this gets out.”

“I’m pretty sure we’d only have to do it once.”

“That’s not the point,” she snapped, slapping a hand on the door of the car. “I don’t get it. Why was he such a jackass . . . a cheap jackass all these years, and now he just hands everything over?”

Chase shook his head as they inched their way to their mother’s house. “Unless he left a hidden note somewhere in his personal belongings, we may never know.”

An hour later, huddled around the mass of papers that made up their father’s will, Vivian offered a possible answer to Alex’s question.

“Your father was all about appearances,” their mother said.

“Dad didn’t care what anyone thought,” Alex countered.

“I know how it would seem that way to you, but he did.”

Chase leaned against a wall, his arms folded in front of him. “It doesn’t matter. What we need to do is concentrate on finding this brother . . . half brother,” he corrected himself.

Alex placed a hand over Vivian’s. “Did you know who he was having an affair with?”

Chase watched his mother as she shifted in her chair and patted Alex’s arm. “It was a long time ago. I lived with his indiscretions until—”

“Indiscretion is not a word you use for a man who gets another woman pregnant while having a family at home.” The edge in Chase’s voice, and the way he spat his words, brought both his mother’s and sister’s eyes to him.

Vivian lifted her chin. “Maybe not. But I made a commitment a long time ago that I wouldn’t bad-mouth your father to either of you.”

“We’re not children anymore,” Chase said. “The man is dead. You don’t have to make excuses for him, apologize for him, or lie about him anymore.” The muscles in Chase’s forearms tensed. He took a deep breath and willed his rapid pulse to slow. “No one is more aware of what a bastard the man was than Alex and I. So please, Mom . . . stop sugarcoating his behavior.”

Chase visibly saw the shift in his mother’s eyes. A combination of anger and pain was followed by her eyes swelling with unshed tears.

Guilt for his harsh words twisted in his gut. The last thing he wanted to do was lash out at her.

“I don’t know exactly who he was seeing,” she said, her back stiffened. “The better question would be who wasn’t he sleeping with.”

Chase pushed off the wall, crossed to the window. The backyard he’d grown up in instantly brought up memories of birthdays and hot summers. First kisses and first beers. “We need to find the mother.”

“We need to find the brother,” Alex argued.

Chase kept staring out the window. “If our brother knew who he was, he would have come forward the second the news of Dad’s death hit the airways. We need to find the mom.”

Chase had given himself three days.

The day before the funeral.

The day of the funeral.

And the day that changed his life forever.

It was after five, and Chase had closed all the curtains in his house to drown out the sound and light coming from the news vans that were parked on the street outside.

Up until dear ole Dad kicked it, none of his neighbors were the wiser about who Chase was.

He liked it that way.

A horn blasted outside his property.

He lifted the glass in his hand to his lips and let the whiskey burn down the back of his throat.

His cell phone rang, pulling his attention from the dust accumulating on his coffee table.

The words “possible spam” flashed.

It was as if his personal phone number was blasted on a billboard off the 405 freeway for everyone to see.

He silenced his phone and put it on vibrate.

In the space of a breath, the phone started to move around on the coffee table as if it were possessed.

He reached to turn it off, saw the name, and answered. “Is everything okay?”

“Not by the look of this shit show out here. Are you home?”

It was Busa, his friend and second in charge.

“I am. Where are you?”

The sound of a motorcycle revving blasted from both the phone and his driveway.

“Trying to get through this madhouse.”

Chase pushed off the sofa and walked to the front window of his place. “That you?”

“Yeah.”

Chase disconnected the call and crossed to his front door.

At least the media was happy to sit out on the street. Chances were they’d all be gone by the time the evening news was off the air.

He opened the front door and moved away from it.

Busa walked in seconds later. “Has that been going on every day?”

“Yeah.” Chase topped off his glass and sat it back down with a little more force than he’d intended.

Chase moved away from the counter and back into his living room to resume his brooding position.

“How did today go?”

Chase leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. “I didn’t think I could despise my father more than I already did. I was wrong.”

Busa circled to a chair that sat opposite Chase. “You didn’t expect an inheritance. Don’t let it get to you now that it’s over.”

He closed his eyes and shook his head as a slow, humorless laugh rumbled in his throat. “Oh, no . . . he gave us everything.”

“W-what?”

“Stocks. The hotels he personally owned, all his properties, possessions, bank accounts. Everything.”

Busa’s pause had Chase opening his eyes.

“Holy fuck.”

Chase took a drink and repeated Busa’s words slowly. “Holy fuck!”

“So why the hatred?”

He blew out a breath. “Us. All of us. Me, Alex . . . and a brother.”

“What?”

“A half brother. One he fathered while he was still married to my mother.”

“Jesus.”

“We don’t have a name or location. Nothing. Alex and I can’t sell or do anything other than manage the estate until this guy is found.”

“What the hell?”

“First thought was to hire someone to find him.”

Busa leaned back in his chair. “Sounds reasonable.”

“If the board finds out there is another player, there is no telling what kind of havoc will ensue when things come to a vote. We have a year before everything has to wrap up, eighteen months if we need to push it.”

“That’s a long time.”

“I know. And then there is that nut show . . . out there . . .” Chase nodded to the window. “They get a hold of this, and there won’t be a moment’s peace. Suddenly everybody becomes Aaron Stone’s second son.”

Busa chuckled. “I always wanted a brother.”

Chase found a smile. Busa was born and raised in southern Louisiana and had the accent to show for it. The man’s parents still lived close to the bayou and pulled out catfish and crawdads and ate them on the regular. Busa himself could look at his father and see exactly how he was going to appear in thirty years.

“I don’t need you to be my brother, I need you to be me for a while.” Chase sat forward, put his drink on the table, suddenly losing interest in consuming it.

“What do you mean?”

“I need you to run things. I can’t be in two places at once, and I know I can trust you to take care of my business while I’m figuring out my father’s.”

“I got your back.”

“Let’s pull someone up to help carry the load and bring in an intern to take their place.”

“Do you have someone in mind?”

At first Chase shook his head, then he nodded. “Shania.”

“In sales?”

“She’s smart, ambitious.”

“And just out of college.”

“I was in college when I started this business.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “She’s the right fit. Shuffle people, make it work.”

Silence filled the room.

Chase reached for his glass.

“How much money are we talking?” Busa asked. “The news reported north of a few billion.”

The amber liquid swirled around the ice cubes in the glass, giving something for Chase to focus on other than the reality of the answer to Busa’s question. “Something like that.”

Busa slapped both hands on his knees and stood. “In that case, I’ll order dinner . . . and you can pay for it.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Yeah, yeah. Drinking alone is never a good habit to get into.”

Chase met his friend’s eyes and offered a quick nod.

Parking an oversize truck in the underground parking lot of a high-rise was always like looking for a jigsaw puzzle piece that had fallen to the floor and slipped under the table. It wasn’t until Chase found the lowest possible space that would accommodate his vehicle that it dawned on him that his father would have his own parking spot much more conveniently located.

Unlike some buildings where the office area of a company filled one small section, Stone Enterprises had its name on the building and thus used all of it.

Chase purposely kept his visit to himself.

Alex was clearing her calendar at Regent for the beginning of the following week. The two of them had talked about their next steps. Yes, finding the brother was a priority, one that would likely fall on Chase since Alex understood the corporate level of the hotel industry a hell of a lot better than he did.

Business was business, and thankfully, they both knew how to run one.

He stepped into the foyer and looked up at the massive ceiling with sleek, modern lights dangling from above.

It was after ten, and the lobby was relatively quiet.

Before the bank of elevators stood a set of double sensors, ones similar to those you’d see at an airport. These weren’t for weapons but for identification via sensors on a key card. At first glance, anyone unfamiliar with the business of high-rise corporations would think the company wanted to know when their employees were coming and going. Chase knew this was more about identifying who was in the building at any time should there be a catastrophic emergency. In short, it was a way of knowing exactly how many bodies first responders were looking for in the case of an earthquake or terrorist attack.

Chase walked to the large reception desk and smiled at the man sitting under a wall holding massive backlit gold letters spelling out Stone.

“Good morning,” the man greeted him with absolutely no recollection in his eyes. Not that Chase expected anyone to know who he was. Outside of the people he’d seen at the funeral.

“I need access to the executive floor.”

The receptionist hovered his fingers over the keyboard in front of him. “Who is your appointment with?”

“I don’t have an appointment.”

“Is anyone expecting you?”

“No, I’m—”

“I’m sorry, but we can’t let you in the building without someone here vouching for you.” The man dropped his hand to the desk. “If there is someone I can call for you . . .”

Chase’s gaze moved to the name on the wall behind the desk. “Stone,” Chase said slowly, thinking briefly how pathetic it was that his own father’s company had no way of knowing who Chase was. Not the fault of the man sitting there doing his job, but of the dead man who never thought it was necessary to bring his children around. “I’m Chase Stone.” He reached in his back pocket and removed his wallet, not expecting the employee to take his word for it.

The man’s smile dropped.

Chase removed his ID, handed it over.

“Oh.”

Chase offered a smile. “What is your name?”

“Malcom, sir. No one told me you were coming.”

“Nobody knows I’m here.” Chase leaned on the counter. “It’s my first day. I want to see who showed up to work.”

Malcom huffed; his smile grew.

“If you can get me a badge and avoid picking up that phone and alerting all the brass that I’m here, that would be great.”

“Absolutely, sir.” The receptionist handed back his driver’s license and quickly scanned a visitor card as he typed on his computer.

A few minutes later, Chase held the card in his hand, tapped it on the counter. “My sister, Alexandrea Stone, could show up at any time. Take a moment and google her so you know what she looks like.”

“Of course, Mr. Stone. Will she be in today?”

Chase shrugged. “You never know. It’s been a bumpy couple of weeks.”

Malcom’s smile fell slightly. “Oh, of course. I’m sorry about your father.”

Instead of saying anything and risking a snarky remark, Chase nodded and headed to the elevators.

Minutes later, he walked out of the elevator bank on the top floor.

Another reception area greeted him. The woman behind the desk resembled a runway model. Perfectly etched makeup, not a blonde hair out of place, and a good twenty pounds underweight.

She smiled as a stranger would, and then her eyes opened wide. “Oh.”

Apparently, the executive floor knew exactly who he was.

“Good morning.”

She scrambled to her feet as she tugged on the hem of her tight skirt. “Mr. Stone. Were we expecting you?”

He motioned toward the interior of the offices. “No.”

“Oh, uhm . . . what can I do for you?”

“It’s been a while since I’ve been here. If you could point me in the direction of my father’s . . . late father’s office, I’d appreciate it.”

The woman removed her headset and rushed around the desk. “Of course. Follow me.”

Chatter from the employees in the few cubicles and surrounding open office doors slowly faded as they caught their first glimpse of Chase as he walked through. Open curiosity and hushed whispers were quickly replaced with rushing feet as people ran around to tell their bosses he was there.

“I’m Kira, by the way,” the blonde told him.

“A pleasure to meet you, Kira.”

Tight carpet kept the space much quieter than what Chase had in his office. Not hearing the click of a woman’s heels or the echo of voices was somewhat of a relief. He wondered if it had been that way the last time he was there. Chase honestly couldn’t remember.

They took a sharp left at the end of the room, then passed what looked like several conference rooms until they landed at a corner office. The double doors were closed, Aaron Stone’s name was in backlit gold letters, just like the one in the lobby. Only this one slightly less egregious.

The sound of someone nearly running caught Chase’s attention as he stared at an empty secretary’s desk.

“Mr. Stone?”

The voice belonged to another woman, this one slightly less runway modelish and more conservatively dressed.

“Hello.”

She stuck her hand out. “Julia Escobar. I’m Mr. Gatlin’s assistant.”

Chase processed the name quickly. Gatlin, vice president. The man had gushed about his father at the funeral. He also made sure Chase knew he was keeping everything running smoothly in Aaron’s absence at the company.

Julia’s handshake was firm, her smile genuine.

“A pleasure. Where is your boss?”

She cleared her throat. “He’s on his way up.”

Chase turned to the empty desk. “My father’s secretary?”

“Assistant,” Julia corrected him. “All the executive secretaries here are called assistants.”

Julia glanced at Kira.

“Okay, where are they?”

“She’s ah . . . actually, we’ve been using temps. Since your father’s death, ah, passing, we haven’t brought one in.”

“Why a temp?”

“Your father let his assistant go a couple weeks ago.”

“Why?”

Julia and Kira both shifted their weight from one foot to the other.

Chase waited for an answer.

“I’m not really sure.”

Chase didn’t buy that. Office gossip spread faster than news of donuts in the break room.

Not that it mattered.

“I should get back to my desk,” Kira blurted out. And she was gone.

He turned to the sleek doors, pushed them open, and stepped into his father’s space.

Chase sucked in a breath and held it.

Nothing was the same from the last time he’d been there. The furniture, the layout, the paint on the walls.

The artwork comprised black-and-white photographs of some of their most recognized hotels and resorts.

Blinds were drawn, blocking the direct sun from entering the room and casting shadows throughout the space.

“Can I help you find anything?” Julia asked.

“Do you know where everything is in here?”

She shook her head. “No, but I helped the temps as much as I could. I probably know more than anyone else that’s here today.”

Chase stepped farther into the room. “How do we open these blinds?”

Julia scrambled around the desk to the wall. “There’s a remote somewhere. And a wall switch here.” One press of a button and the soft burr of a motor rolled the blinds up.

“Thank you.”

Julia moved to the center of the room as he crossed behind the desk.

“I can call the temp agency and get someone,” she offered.

Chase pulled out his father’s chair. “Bringing someone in who isn’t familiar with the needs of my father, without my father being here to direct them, is useless. I’d like to know why my father’s assistant was let go.”

Julia swallowed. “I’ll have someone from HR bring up her file.”

“That’s a start.”

He took a seat and slowly sat his arms on the desk. In front of him was a computer, a phone, and a leather-bound folder.

Not one picture of his wife or his children. Nothing that described the man who sat there.

Or maybe the absence of these things described Aaron Stone perfectly.

Julia cleared her throat, catching his attention. “I-is there anything else I can do for you?”

He started to shake his head and then changed his mind.

“I’d like your boss and Mr. Ripley to clear their schedules and be here in an hour. Is that possible?”

She nodded. “I’ll inform them.”

“Thank you.”

Julia turned to leave, then stopped.

“Yes?” he asked.

“I’m . . . I’m sorry . . . for your loss.”

The sentiment was starting to resemble fingernails on a chalkboard. One that made him cringe every time he heard it.

Instead of a retort that would carry in the office like wildfire, he nodded once, and Julia left, shutting the door behind her.

Chase closed his eyes and took a soul-cleansing breath.