Page 122 of Reckless

The silence that follows lasts just long enough to make me glance up at Sandy, who is standing in the doorway. For a second, I don’t recognize her expression. She always looks composed. Even on the days everything is on fire, she’s the one reminding the rest of us that we’ll find a way through it.

Today? Today her face looks pale and drawn tight around the mouth like she’s carrying something too heavy to keep holding to herself, and the smile that usually greets me never comes.

“Sandy?”

“Can you come into my office for a minute?”

Something inside my chest tightens. Not because of what she says, but because of how carefully she says it.

I close my laptop without saving the document.

The walk to her office can’t be more than twenty steps.

It feels like twenty miles.

People look up as we pass. Someone from reception gives Sandy a questioning look, but she doesn’t answer it. When she reaches her office, she closes the door behind us with a soft click that somehow sounds louder than it should.

She doesn’t sit down. Instead, she stands behind her desk with a folder clutched against her chest, staring at it for a long moment before slowly lowering herself into her chair. “Sit down, Sage.” It’s not a suggestion, so I do.

The leather chair creaks beneath me as I lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees. “Sandy…”

She lets out a slow breath through her nose before sliding the folder across the desk toward me. “We’ve received formal notification from the regulatory board.”

I blink. “About the fundraiser?”

“No.”

My stomach drops.

“They’ve opened a review into Unsilenced.”

I frown, trying to make the words fit somewhere they don’t belong. “A review?”

“Someone lodged a formal complaint.”

For one ridiculous second, relief washes through me. Complaints happen. People misunderstand paperwork. Someone probably forgot to submit something.

“We’ll send them everything,” I say immediately. “The financials are all reconciled. Every grant is documented, every donation has a paper trail. Jess keeps three copies of everything because she’s convinced the internet is going to explode one day. She watched this episode of The IT Crowd, and she swears the internet is kept in this little black box.” The joke dies the moment it leaves my mouth.

Sandy doesn’t smile. Instead, she quietly turns the folder around so it’s facing me. “Read it.”

My eyes skim the opening paragraph. Then stop.

Financial mismanagement.

Conflict of interest.

Improper allocation of charitable funds.

My heart gives one hard, painful thud. “N-no.” The word escapes before I can stop it.

I flip the page.

Names.

Dates.

Bank transfers.