Page 116 of Reckless

Not yet.

Ghost nudges the photograph toward the center of the desk—late forties, immaculate tailored suit, expensive watch, and the kind of practiced smile politicians wear when they’re shaking hands and promising things they already know aren’t going to happen.

“He’s Calloway’s right hand,” Ghost says. “Every state funding application your organization submitted passed through him.”

My stomach tightens. “So…” I look between them. “He’s the one who kept saying no.”

Ghost doesn’t answer straightaway, and that alone makes something uneasy uncurl inside me. He studies the paperwork again, like he’s making sure the conclusion still survives the evidence. When he finally speaks, his voice is as steady as ever. “I don’t think anyone on that committee was ever deciding whether Unsilenced deserved funding.”

A small laugh escapes me before I can stop it.

Not because it’s funny, but because my brain refuses to accept what he just said.

“What?”

Ghost turns another page around. “Look…”

I lean forward. Highlighted organizations fill the page with names I don’t recognize, community centers, youth outreach programs, mental health initiatives, domestic violence services. On the surface, it looks exactly like the kind of funding I’d spent years trying to secure.

“They’re all different,” I murmur.

“They’re meant to be.” Ghost traces one line with his finger. “Different directors.” He points to another one. “Different boards, different suburbs…” He pauses. “Same accounting firm.” My eyes flick up, and his finger moves again. “Same consultancy.” He points again. “The same three administrative contractors collecting fees within forty-eight hours of every grant being paid.”

I frown. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to.” Ghost slides the financial map beside it.

The lines I’d stared at for what felt like forever suddenly look different with him explaining them.

“The organizations are legitimate,” he says. “Most of them probably have no idea what’s happening.” His finger follows another trail across the page. “They receive the grant, pay mandatory consultancy fees, compliance reviews, and administrative costs.”

Every line eventually bends back toward the same cluster of shell companies.

Toward the same people.

Sin’s thumb drags slowly down the page. “Fuck! They’re laundering public money.”

Ghost nods once. “They’re hiding it inside legitimate funding.”

The room falls quiet, and I look back down at the list, recognizing two of the organizations.

One of them beat us for funding eighteen months ago.

I remember sitting in my office after the rejection email came through, convincing Sandy that maybe the next round would be different. That maybe I hadn’t explained the program well enough or perhaps I should have rewritten the proposal.

Maybe I’d asked for too much.

Maybe… God.

I swallow hard. “My applications…”

Ghost’s gaze shifts to me. “They were never part of this pipeline.”

I stare at him. “I still don’t understand.”

“I know.” His voice softens. “They weren’t looking for the best organization.” Silence stretches. “They were looking for organizations they could control.”

“But…” My voice comes out quieter than I expect. “Unsilenced met every requirement.”