It started with a simple memo: Secure hygiene supplies for the summer gala. Marcus, a man who believed in the power of the "Buy It Now" button, had interpreted "secure" as "conquer." He hadn’t just bought hand sanitizer; he’d bought a literal sea of it.

As the last pallet was loaded onto a yellow school bus, Sarah leaned against the loading dock. "You’re still over budget, Marcus."

"Go home," she sighed, though she was smiling. "And for heaven's sake, wash your hands with actual soap."