My grip tightens on the phone. “Talk.”
“Funding,” he says. “We pulled the district budget adjustments. That Safe Steps line item didn’t vanish. It was transferred.”
My jaw clenches. “To where.”
“Principal Hanover approved a reallocation,” Grayson replies. “Moved it into a discretionary bucket tied to ‘facilities and safety upgrades.’”
My stomach drops.
“Safety upgrades,” I repeat.
“Yeah,” he says. “Except there’s no record of actual upgrades. No bids. No purchase orders.”
My blood turns hot.
“Embezzlement,” I say.
“Or laundering,” Grayson corrects. “And here’s the part I don’t like—Hanover’s signature is all over it.”
My eyes flick to Stella’s classroom window.
Stella is at the front of the room now, holding up a picture book, kids gathered on the rug like tiny ducks in a row.
Safe.
For the moment.
“How does this connect to her?” I ask.
Grayson exhales. “We’re still mapping it. But we pulled Hanover’s recent contacts and there’s overlap with a contractor flagged in a fraud case out of San Antonio.”
My spine tightens. “Yeah.”
“There’s definitely something bigger going on here.”
My grip on the phone goes white-knuckle. “I agree, and it all leads to Hanover,” I say.
“Exactly,” Grayson replies. “Keep Stella tight. We’re pushing this to Wyatt and the sheriff right now.”
I glance again at the classroom.
Stella is smiling, reading, turning pages like the world hasn’t cracked open beneath her.
“I have her,” I say, voice low and deadly. “No one touches her.”
“Good,” Grayson says. “I’ll keep you updated.”
“Call me the second anything changes,” I say.
“Sure thing,” he says. Then he hangs up.
I stand there for half a second, pacing up and down the hallway, thinking.
Hanover. Missing money. A principal reallocating funds.
This isn’t random.
This is a net.
