Led by Luna, the other parents followed suit. They pulled the remaining paintings from the trunk and tore them apart with their hands. Canvases ripped. Frames snapped. Collectibles I'd acquired at auction just that morning, pieces I hadn't even had the chance to place in the estate's vault, were smashed against the pavement one by one.
I watched these people destroy a fortune in minutes. Watched them laugh while they did it.
Then, calmly, I pulled out my phone.
"Why aren't you here yet?" My voice was low, controlled. The voice my mother had taught me. The voice of a Donna who does not repeat herself. "You need to be in front of me within five minutes."
Before I could hear the response, one of the parents lunged forward and slapped the phone from my hand. It hit the pavement and the screen shattered, fragments of glass skittering across the stone.
"Trying to call for help? Where do you get the nerve?"
"Are you pretending to be someone important?"
"She's probably calling one of her clients to put on a show for us!" The woman who said it threw her head back laughing. "Hahaha!"