The glowing letters on my laptop screen remained entirely frozen. *Digital Authorization: A. Blackwell.*
My mind spun a chaotic web of calculations. A. Blackwell. It could be Axel. Or it could be his father, Arthur Blackwell. The initial hid the full truth, but the timing matched the exact summer my father stopped answering my calls.
A sharp, demanding wrap on the bedroom door broke the silence.
"Hazel!" Clara’s voice screamed through the wood. "Open this door right now! Gerald said you came up here, and the luncheon caterers are refusing to set the caviar trays without the maid of honor's signature!"
I shut the laptop lid, slipped the flash drive into my pocket, and smoothed down my midnight-blue skirt. I unlocked the heavy oak latch, throwing the door open to find my stepsister st
