"Are you sure your dad won't mind?" I asked again. We were in Sam Warner's personal study. The best-selling, book-award winning author, who was famous enough to get invited to the White House (twice). That Sam Warner.

"Stop being such a wuss," Vince said. "My dad is away for the next two weeks on another tour. We're fine."

Cassie nodded along. Both she and Vince had a point. I was being a wuss. But I had a weird feeling that we were about to do something we shouldn't. Kind of like when some people know they're going to get bad news when a friend or relative calls or texts.

"I just don't see why we need to use his computer," I said. "We can access the game network fine."

"But parental controls are on it," Vince said. "We can't reach the next phase as long as they're in place. I asked Dad to lift them before he left yesterday, but as usual, he forgot. I swear the man would lose his head if it weren't attached to his body."

"But doesn't it seem weird to hack .." I started.

"We're not hacking," Vince shot back. "God, you're such a pussy. Sorry Cassie."

"You're not wrong," Cassie said, and looked at me with a hint of annoyance.

We'd been friends since second grade, long before Vince's dad got famous. We managed to stay friends despite the fame that landed on Sam Warner's shoulders. Several years of book deals, two movie adaptations, and an ongoing series hadn't changed the Warners at all. They still lived on our street, and Cassie and I were always welcome.

"Anyway, I know where he keeps his passcodes to the app store. I go in as him, click a few boxes, and I'm out. He's none the wiser and we get to play phase 4 of Omicron Mission. Everyone wins," Vince said.

"Whatever," I said and turned around. It still felt weird to me, but I was the odd one out - again.

Vince started typing on the keyboard. Cassie leaned over his shoulder while I looked around the office.

"What the hell?" Vince said. "Do you see that?"

I turned to see Cassie lean closer into the screen.

"What is it?" I asked. Vince didn't answer. I could tell the email application was open. Vince had opened a message. PAYMENT DUE NOW was written in caps in the subject line.

"What does it say?" I asked.

"Dear Warner," Vince started. "The time for games is over. You've built a fortune on my ideas and it's time I took my fair share. You have two days to pay me. If you don't. I go public. Meet me in Chicago, near the Bean downtown on Sept. 23. I'll be there 2 p.m. and 4 p.m. At 4:05 the following email goes to your agent and editor."

An email message appeared below. We all scanned it. Whoever wrote claimed to be the original author of all of Sam Warner's books and demanded payment. The writer claimed to have proof, including audio and video files of meeting with Vince's dad to talk ideas and arrange payment, which had never been made.

"Where did you say your dad was going?" Cassie asked.

"Chicago," Vince said. "Today's the 23rd. He's in Chicago."