Hazel's POV
“The grant board is pulling our funding,” Marisol said, slamming a letter down on my desk so hard the pens rattled, “three weeks before the winter showcase, and I don't believe for one second that's a coincidence.”
I read the letter twice, my hands cold despite the heater humming in the corner of the office. The foundation had run on the same municipal arts grant for two years, funding wheelchairs modified for dance, prosthetic-friendly flooring, scholarships for students whose families could never otherwise afford lessons.
“They're citing financial irregularities,” I read aloud, disbelief creeping into my own voice. “We've never had a single irregularity, Marisol. You handle every ledger yourself.”
“Someone forged documents suggesting we did,” Marisol said grimly. “I alrea
