Ella

My brother slams a stack of papers onto the table with such force that it rattles the teacups on the edge. I barely flinch.

"It all checks out," my brother says, his voice low, but there's a hard edge to it. "That day at the club—Jaxon, Jessica—it's all here. Jessica's the one behind all of it." He taps the top page for emphasis.

Of course, it's Jessica. I'm not surprised at all. Disgusted, sure. But not surprised. My brother and I have always known she had it ...