Luna approached, reaching inside with the casual entitlement of a woman who believed everything in this world was already hers. She pulled out a painting in a protective sleeve and sneered.
"A woman who makes her living on her back is collecting art?" She held it up for the crowd. "Trying to act cultured?"
She flicked her hair behind her right ear again. The same motion. The same rehearsed cruelty.
"It's an insult for trash like you to own something like this. Someone like you only deserves trash."
She tore the painting in half. The sound of the canvas ripping cut through the courtyard noise like a blade. She threw the pieces to the ground and ground them under her heel, twisting slowly, making sure I watched.
One of the bystanders, a man in a dark overcoat who'd been lingering near the back of the crowd, leaned in for a closer look at the shredded remains. His face went pale.
"This looks like an authentic James. I heard it starts at three hundred million at auction."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Luna didn't flinch. She lifted her chin higher.