Page 16 of Saving the Last Heir
“This is not a part you grab at the local auto-parts store, you know,” I said, fingering the torn fiberglass. “Even if I put a rush on this and go pick up the part in person at a dealership, it’ll still take time. The paint is custom too, but my guy Reggie can mix that himself. He’s a fucking genius when it comes to that.”
“Whatever it takes,” Jackson said. “I’m serious. I’ll write that check the moment you’re done.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I said. “You’ll write half that check before we start, and the other half when we’re done.”
He chuckled and jammed his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans. God, it made him look even more handsome. The devil-may-care appearance played on his good looks. I shoved those thoughts aside.
“You don’t trust me?” he said, a hint of a grin on his lips and an eyebrow cocked as he looked at me.
“Mr. Adelmund, you come pounding on my door at two in the morning, beggingme to fix a Lamborghini Aventador, andoffering me fuck-you money to do it as fast as possible. If the situation was reversed, would you trust me?”
Jackson looked at me for a long time, seconds ticking by as he peered at me with those strangely compelling eyes. Finally, he said, “Yeah. I would, actually.”
“Now I know you’re full of shit,” I said. “Pull this thing into the shop. I’ll get the VIN and see if the local dealership has the part.”
I went inside and slapped the automatic door lift. The dull buzz of the lift motor filled the quiet garage. When Jackson had eased the Lamborghini into the lone empty bay, I closed the door and flipped on the bright overhead lights.
“You know, you’re a pain in my ass, right?” I said as I removed a tablet from a charging dock. “I could be in bed and sleeping right now.”
He lifted the gull wing door and climbed out. “I’m sorry about all this, I really am. I could pay you for your time tonight as well?”
The guy was throwing around money like it was nothing. Outside, I’d been too confused and too shocked by everything happening to really question it. Then, the prospect of life-changing money made it look like the deal of a lifetime and blinded me to any questions. For some reason, though, that last offer made the hair on the back of my neck prickle.
Fuck. I was locked in this garage with a complete stranger. One who’d shown up on my doorstep with a very expensive car in the dead of nightafterbusiness hours.
Have I just fucked up?
“No, that’s fine,” I said. “Once I get the part number, I can put in a request with the dealership and go from there.”
“Okay,” Jackson said. “Sounds good.”
He glanced at the car, then at my tablet, his calm exterior stuttering a bit as I read the number off the dash and put it into the tablet. He was nervous, which made me nervous. An uneasy feeling filled my stomach as I punched in the number and straightened.
“So, you’ve got some kind of site that lets you find parts?” he asked, still eyeing the tablet suspiciously.
“Yup,” I said, tapping away on the screen. I kept the tablet turned away, preventing him from seeing what I was doing.
Even a rich son of a bitch would be loath to part with a hundred grand on top of the double he’d already offered. All of this seemed a little more fishy as each second ticked by.
Jackson’s eyes stayed pinned on the tablet as I worked. The replacement mirror popped up in seconds. The cost nearly made me choke. Over five thousand dollars for amirror? We’d done luxury cars before, but nothing like this. Holy shit.
I swept my finger across the screen, copying the VIN into another search bar on the NICB website. It only took a second for the car to come back clean. Not reported stolen. There was a moment’s relief when I saw the green check on the screen, but the smile that had been building on my face vanished when I saw the name the car was registered under.
The name wasnotJackson Adelmund, which was what this guy had told me his name was. The name on the screen was different. Alessio Torrence. Torrence? The same Torrence family that used to be Marquel’s customers?
“Is everything okay?” Jackson asked, sounding worried.
“Hmm?” I glanced up, hoping I didn’t look freaked out. “All good. The internet is slow. It’s searching for the part. Give me a second.”
“Okay,” he said, but he sounded unsure.
I had to be sure before I accused this guy of something. I typed Alessio Torrence into an internet search, hoping and praying I was wrong. The first headline that popped up made my stomach plummet.
Young local philanthropist and business owner, Alessio Torrence, headlines the local Bright Night Gala.
The picture below the headline showed a bearded, dark-haired guy, a few years younger than me, wearing a tuxedo and grinning at the camera. He was leaning against a car—a bright red Lamborghini Aventador. The exact same custom color as the one that was parked three feet from me.
After taking over his father’s shipping business at the ripe, young age of twenty-three, Alessio has taken to using his significant wealth to help underprivileged children as well as charities that assist the poor and unhoused. Over the last several years, he’s become a fixture in the fundraising circuit. He arrived at the Bright Night Gala driving his self-described, “pride and joy”—a custom Lamborghini—and delighted in allowing a few of the children in attendance to sit behind the steering wheel and rev the engine.
