Max Luckey: The Undisputed Student Billionaire

Chapter 2

The screen of Max’s cracked phone glowed dimly in the rain-soaked darkness, its light flickering like a dying star. It buzzed again in his trembling hand, the name Mr. Brandon blinking on the caller ID. With everything inside him screaming, aching, breaking, Max answered.

“MAX!” The voice on the other end exploded with fury.

“I…I delivered the…”

“Don’t talk, just listen.” Mr. Brandon’s voice was sharp and cold. “What the hell did you do? The client’s furious. He said the package was smeared, bent, and you were late! He left a one-star review, called you ‘the definition of street trash’ and ‘a bumbling lowlife. Worst of all you punched our client?’ Max… that was a premium client. Our biggest. You just ruined our reputation for a damn package.”

Max remained silent, water dripping down his brow and into his bruised eye.

“You’re fired. Do not come back. Ever.”

The call ended.

Just like that, the little stability Max had left was gone. He stood still for a moment under the relentless rain. His lips parted, but no sound came. The street was empty except for the weak gleam of streetlamps and the distant echo of thunder. His limbs shook, not from the cold, but from everything else.

His life was gone.

No job. No girlfriend. No dignity. Nothing.

Everything had all ended in one night.

His breath grew shallow as he walked, barely aware of his feet hitting the ground. His chest felt like it was caving in, an invisible weight pressing down on him. Gina’s laugh, the mocking eyes of strangers, Ethan’s smug smile—they looped in his mind like a broken record.

Maybe if I just disappear…

That thought landed with terrifying clarity.

Maybe if he just stepped into traffic… maybe he wouldn’t feel this pain anymore. No more struggle. No more fake promises. No more pretending everything would get better someday.

He staggered toward the middle of the road. Lights blurred in the rain. A horn screamed, tires screeched.

And then—blackness, and into the light. The last thing Max saw was the light before he passed out. 

Lady Roslyn's eyes widened behind her tinted glasses. She had seen many things in her long, powerful life. But never had she expected to almost run over a bleeding boy in the middle of the road.

The moment the car stopped, she flung open the door. The rain soaked through her silk blouse as she leaned over Max’s crumpled body. Blood ran from his temple, mixing with the dirty water on the road. His clothes were torn. His face—young, battered, barely breathing.

“God, he’s just a boy,” she whispered.

“Ma’am,” her driver said, frowning, “this might be one of those scams. These streets are full of con artists.”

“Help him.” Her voice turned to steel. “Put him in the car. Now.”

The driver hesitated, then obeyed.

“Hospital, ma’am?”

“No. My estate. It’s ten minutes away. And he may not have that long.”

The Luckey estate was a fortress of glass, stone, and money—perched high on a hill overlooking the city. As the car pulled into the marble-paved driveway, staff rushed to the vehicle, umbrellas ready, concern on their faces.

Within minutes, Max was placed on a leather recliner in the medical wing, a sprawling facility larger than most clinics. The family’s personal doctor arrived, pulling gloves over his hands as he assessed the damage.

“This is bad,” he murmured, ripping away Max’s drenched shirt to clean the wounds.

That’s when Lady Roslyn saw it.

Her heart nearly stopped.

A faint but unmistakable symbol was engraved just above Max’s left ribs. A key. Not just any key. The Luckey Insignia—an ancient family tradition. Every Luckey child received it six months after birth, alongside a special, hidden barcode embedded in the design.

“Scan that,” she whispered to her assistant, who had entered silently behind her.

The PA pulled out the encrypted family scanner, hovering it over the engraving. The small screen blinked, beeped once, and then lines of encrypted data filled the display.

Name: Maxwell Luckey

Date of Birth: March 9th, 2000

Blood Type: AB+

Relation: Direct Descendant | Grandson of Lady Roslyn Luckey

Position: Sole Heir

Lady Roslyn staggered backward. She felt the blood drain from her face. All these years…

He was alive.

When Max opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was the scent. Fresh lilies. Soft linen. Expensive.

White curtains danced in the breeze. A warm blanket lay over him. Beeping monitors hummed beside him. For a moment, he thought he’d died and gone to heaven.

Then he saw her.

A graceful woman in her seventies, dressed in a silk robe, sat beside him, her wrinkled hand resting gently on his arm.

“Are you… an angel?” Max murmured.

Lady Roslyn chuckled, a rare sound full of warmth. “Hardly. But you gave me a heart attack back there. Do you know how close you came to death?”

Max winced, trying to sit up. Pain seared through his side.

“Where… where am I?”

“You’re in my home. You stepped into the road. My car almost hit you. I brought you here.”

He blinked, confused.

“What's your name?” she asked gently.

“Max,” he said slowly. “That’s all I’ve ever been called. The nuns said the name was carved into my skin when they found me.”

Roslyn nodded. “That engraving on your side. Do you know what it means?”

He shook his head. “I’ve had it since I was a baby. I always thought it was weird. But… nobody ever explained.”

Lady Roslyn reached into her blouse and pulled out a silver chain. At the end of it was a pendant—shaped like a key.

The same shape as Max’s engraving.

“I have something to tell you,” she said, taking his hand.

And so she told him. About the plane crash that killed her son—his father—and his wife. About the decades-long search for the missing child whose body was never recovered in the plane crash. About the Luckey dynasty, their fortune, their power.

And how Max was their sole heir.

Tears brimmed in Lady Roslyn’s eyes. “I never gave up hope. And now… here you are.”

Max stared at her in disbelief. He felt like a balloon drifting into the clouds. “This can’t be real.”

“It is,” she whispered. “And I know this is overwhelming. But everything will change now. You’re not alone anymore.”

She reached for a sleek black folder and flipped it open, revealing documents, photographs, and corporate titles.

“These are just a few of the companies you’ll inherit,” she said.

Max blinked at logos of global fashion empires, tech startups, shipping firms, and luxury resorts.

“I can’t run all this,” he muttered. “I… I’ve been a delivery guy. I got dumped yesterday. I got fired. I got beaten up—”

“And now,” Roslyn interrupted, “you rise.”

He swallowed hard.

“I need time.”

Roslyn nodded, understanding. “Of course. But this world waits for no one. When you’re ready, we begin.”

She handed him a platinum-black credit card. His name—Maxwell Luckey—was embossed in silver. “Use this whenever you need anything. It has no limit. You deserve everything you were denied.”

Later, she turned to her assistant. “Take him to the garage. Let him choose somethin… something that befits him.”

The Luckey garage was a glittering vault of mechanical beauty. Lamborghinis. Bugattis. Custom Rolls-Royces. One-off concept cars. The kind of vehicles people only saw in magazines.

Max walked past them all.

At the end of the row, in a quiet corner, stood a simple yet beautiful black bicycle. He stopped, placed his hand on its handlebar, and smiled.

“I want this one.”

The assistant’s mouth opened slightly in confusion. “Sir? That’s… that’s a bicycle.”

“I’ve always wanted one. I’ve never had my own.”

The next morning, Max arrived at school. His face was cleaner. His wounds dressed. His clothes plain, but crisp. 

As he rode the bicycle through the gates, students turned to look. No one recognized him.

No one knew the boy they had mocked and tossed aside last night was now the heir to a $300 billion empire.

He parked his bicycle gently, locked it, and looked up at th

e tall school building.

This wasn’t a dream.

But if he was… he never wanted to wake up.