[Jake's POV]
The Calder Gallery sat inside a converted townhouse in Chelsea, hidden behind frosted glass doors and a bronze plaque small enough to insult everyone who needed signs. The street outside was quiet, lined with black cars and men in wool coats pretending not to be security. Through the tall front windows, I could see warm light spilling across white walls, champagne flutes, and the kind of people who liked art more when no one poor had touched it recently.
I stepped out of the car alone.
That was important.
Darius hated it. Ethan called it "actively stupid." Nia said if I died at an art preview, she would delete my browser history out of professional courtesy but mock me at the funeral. Claire had said nothing after I left the office, which was worse. Silence from Claire usually meant she was either planning three exits or trying not to say something that would make the room bleed.
