Bette eases her car into the designated parking spot right outside the art gallery. The morning sun glints off the building’s immaculate glass facade, casting a warm glow as she shifts the gear into park. Her phone seamlessly transitioned from the car’s Bluetooth system to the single AirPod nestled in her ear, ready to continue her call as she prepares to step out.

“No, Joyce, I don’t wanna hear what is likely and what isn’t,” she says, stepping out and grabbing her bag and portfolio tube from the backseat. “She made a very specific threat, and I need to know what she can legally do in this situation.”

She hits the key fob; the car chirps softly. With a long exhale, she clicks her stilettos against the concrete, each tap slashing the air like punctuation. “Well… that’s good to know, but I still want some certainties here… yes… actually, that works for me. I have to run anyway……yes….. Thanks, see you then.” She ends the call, shoving the phone into her bag, and pushes through the gallery’s heavy glass doors.

Inside, hush greets her. The blackout shades are drawn tight for the special showing for Joy Moon and her team, bathing the room in a muted gray. A narrow band of skylight slices across the white walls, casting diamond shadows that dance over canvases and sculptures, everything positioned precisely as Bette specified.

James appears from around a corner, eyes glued to his iPad’s screen. He looks up, relief spreading across his face. “Oh, you’re here. Great. Uh, Mrs. Moon and her team are on their way…”

Bette nods, scanning the gallery’s layout with a curator’s intensity. “Are we set?”

He taps the tablet. “All requests fulfilled. Took some digging, but I sourced that rare oolong tea she likes. Everything’ll be prepared whenever she gives the go-ahead.”

Bette strides down the central aisle, her gaze testing the track lighting above each piece. She stops at a mixed-media installation in the corner. “Let’s drop this spotlight by two inches.”

“On it.” James slides his finger across the iPad screen; a soft hum follows as the beam shifts.

Bette inclines her head in approval, then glances at her watch and turns on her heel. She moves toward her office, shoulders squared. Behind her crisp exterior, her jaw clenches at memories of the morning’s argument with Michelle. The door closes with a muted click and sets her things on her desk. Her phone buzzes in her pocket; she retrieves it and brightens at Tina’s smiling photo icon. “Hey, baby.”