Heather Maurer was insistent: Everyone needed to sign a nondisclosure agreement before the meeting could begin.

At an Ontario, Wash., conference in April, Maurer convened an impromptu gathering of the board of directors for the National Council on Problem Gambling, the largest nonprofit dedicated to fighting gambling addiction. Maurer, who started her job as NCPG's executive director three months earlier with a reputation as an effective fund-raiser but no prior experience in problem gambling, wanted to discuss what she described as a potential new donor to the organization.

A board meeting over a major donation was routine; one role of a nonprofit board is financial oversight and vetting of corporate partnerships. A $6.2 million donation to the NCPG from the National Football League in 2021 came only after extensive board review and hours of subcommittee deliberations. The NDA was a first, though, according to board member Maureen Greeley, who was also executive director of the problem-gambling advocacy organization hosting the Washington conference.

Once the board members in attendance were sworn to secrecy, Maurer announced that the potential donation would be $2 million, and the donor was the prediction market Kalshi.

The sum would cover nearly a year of expenses at NCPG, but it was met with skepticism in the room. Prediction markets offer financial contracts that effectively allow nationwide sports betting for anyone over the age of 18, but they aren't subject to state regulations mandating harm-reduction measures. The conference taking place around Maurer's meeting had featured a panel detailing lawsuits against Kalshi, including one filed by Washington's attorney general alleging the platform was offering illegal gambling in the state.

"All of us in the room started peppering [her] with questions," Greeley recalls. Can we ask Kalshi to start responsible gambling initiatives? Can we get them to promote the gambling addiction helpline number?

The answers were no, Greeley says. Maurer, it turned out, had already finalized the deal.

When the NCPG publicly announced its partnership with Kalshi in May, it landed like a bombshell in the gambling addiction advocacy community. Marc Lefkowitz, who has been involved with the National Council and its state affiliate organizations since the late '80s, says the NCPG taking Kalshi's money is like a "national council on teenage sex abuse taking money from Jeffrey Epstein."

The Kalshi donation, the second-largest in the NCPG's history, spurred an exodus of members and donors. By the end of September, Maurer had handed in her resignation after fewer than 10 months on the job.

Asked why Maurer resigned, an NCPG spokesperson told Barron's that the organization doesn't comment on personnel matters. Maurer declined to comment for this article.

The disarray comes at a critical time for the NCPG, whose role has arguably never been more important.

In the states where sports betting is legal, the rate of gambling disorder diagnoses has risen 61% since 2018, according to recent research.

The NCPG has historically been the nation's main voice advocating for gambling addiction research and treatment, but recent missteps have triggered a crisis of confidence.

For 26 years, the NCPG was led by executive director Keith Whyte, until the board announced his departure in January 2025 and named an interim replacement.

Whyte's exit troubled many in the gambling addiction advocacy world. "The organization had a real role and a real authority on this issue," says Brianne Doura-Schawohl, a former legislative director for the NCPG. The leadership change eroded the group's authority and stability, she says.

One of NCPG's main efforts under Whyte had been unifying state gambling-addiction helplines under one national number: 1-800-Gambler. The group spent millions of dollars and eventually got it included in ads across the country.

Under the interim director, that effort unraveled. Barron's reported that the NCPG rerouted 1-800-Gambler calls from the Navajo Nation away from call centers with Navajo speakers and cut Florida's helpline operators out of the system for not meeting new standards imposed by the NCPG. The rerouting sparked a legal battle between the NCPG and the New Jersey advocacy group that still owned the number.

By the end of 2025, a judge had stripped NCPG's control of 1-800-Gambler. Today, the national group promotes 1-800-My-Reset.

Suddenly, sportsbooks and casinos themselves had mixed guidance on which resources to promote. They began to question whether the NCPG could handle its mission and whether their donations to the group were being put to good use. Call volume to the national helpline dropped precipitously after the group switched numbers.

Says one gambling industry veteran, of the NCPG's current efforts: "I don't think they're anywhere near what is needed to address all the concerns folks have about responsible gambling in the country."

For some NCPG donors, the Kalshi partnership was the final straw, particularly the manner in which it was rolled out by Maurer, who took over the group in early 2026. She shared few specifics about the deal with others, according to many connected with NCPG.

At the end of June, a handful of veteran advocates and gambling addiction treatment providers -- many of them in recovery for their own addictions -- attended a virtual listening session with Maurer. Dave Yeager, one of the attendees, says he was told "this focus group was coming up to hear our story, to hear where we feel NCPG falls short and can do better."

A few minutes after the meeting began, Maurer said she was double-booked, according to Yeager and two other meeting attendees who spoke with Barron's.

She handed off the discussion to a recently hired strategy consultant and then disconnected from the call. The attendees were stunned. One asked the consultant how it could be a listening session if Maurer wasn't there to listen.

A day later, Maurer sent the attendees a thank-you email, reviewed by Barron's, explaining she had left the meeting so they could speak candidly without her there. She added that her consultant would provide her "a summary of the discussion."

In August, NCPG board President Derek Longmeier sent an email to the group's members with the subject line "A Reset for Greater Impact."

"NCPG is trying to be too many things to too many audiences. As a result, we aren't creating the level of impact we all want to achieve," Longmeier wrote. "We are a small organization with an ambitious mission. If we don't make bold decisions now, we'll fall behind at the very moment our voice is needed most."

By the end of the summer, gambling regulatory agencies in Ohio and Michigan had cut off their donations to the NCPG. The local problem-gambling council in Nevada and the Evergreen Council in Washington, Greeley's organization, each terminated their decadeslong NCPG-affiliate status. Other groups have debated doing the same. "It may be that there comes a time, maybe sooner rather than later, that we have to sever ties," Commissioner Eileen O'Brien said at a recent meeting of the Massachusetts Gaming Commission.

"Given the controversies surrounding Kalshi, the decision to enter a strategic alliance with, and accept a $2 million 'investment' from, Kalshi without full Board review, discussion, and approval and without seeking input from affiliates and stakeholders was problematic," the Evergreen Council wrote in a letter to the NCPG. "The Kalshi issue appears emblematic of a larger, systemic issue emerging at NCPG. After considerable reflection, we have concluded that our organizations are no longer sufficiently aligned."

In a statement to Barron's, Longmeier said his nonprofit relies on partner support and a shared commitment to preventing and reducing gambling-related harm. "NCPG is not a regulatory body and does not have the authority to mandate consumer protection measures by donors, members, partners or other organizations with whom we engage."

As the NFL season began in September, kicking off a surge of gambling activity, tensions inside the NCPG boiled over. On Sept. 21, Jaime Costello, the NCPG's director of programs, resigned. She offered three-weeks notice, but Costello says she was told to leave immediately.

In an interview with Barron's, Costello says her decision wasn't connected to the Kalshi donation. Rather, the working environment at NCPG had grown less collaborative, with personalities getting in the way of the work. "I hold myself to things like respect and compassion and open, uncomfortable, transparent communication. And that just wasn't what I was experiencing as a staff member."

Costello oversaw the national helpline -- a system made up of dozens of individual call centers across the country answering calls and texts from gamblers in crisis -- and led the effort to modernize its operations following the NFL's $6.2 million donation.

With no way to hand off information to her already stretched-thin co-workers, Costello says, "the transition is going to be a lot rockier than it had to be."

Four days after Costello's departure, the NCPG board accepted Maurer's resignation. "NCPG's work continues as planned," Longmeier wrote in an email to the group's affiliates, announcing her exit.

Amid the disarray, the NCPG's helpline remains one of the country's best-known resources for individuals and families struggling with gambling addiction. The helpline received 377,000 calls, texts, and chats in 2025, though that figure fell after four years of steady growth.

That makes Kalshi's decision not to include the number on its website or in its advertisement all the more surprising, say critics of the deal. Greeley says, "It's incredible to me" that Maurer didn't secure a requirement for Kalshi promote the number.