“Everything concerns me!” he shouted, then quickly lowered his voice as a pair of wealthy donors walked past us.

Their eyes lingered on his damp collar before they hurried toward the coat check.

The grand lobby of the arts center felt cold, the white marble floor reflecting the harsh gallery lights.

Gloria stepped forward, her expensive diamond necklace catching the glare of the chandelier.

“You think you are clever, Jocelyn,” she whispered, her lip curling.

“You are a quiet, insolent little thief.”

“I didn’t steal anything, Gloria,” I said, looking her in the eye.

“I bought it. Every single square inch. Including the house you live in.”

“This is a mistake,” Graham said, his hands shaking as he reached out toward me again.

He stopped himself before he touched my sleeve.

“We can fix this, Jo. Please.”

“There is nothing to fix,” I said.

I turned and walked toward the private lounge near the East gallery.

The heavy oak doors were propped open, showing a quiet room lined with green leather chairs and mahogany tables.

Graham followed me, his leather shoes clicking rapidly on the tile.