“The books are yours,” Jesiba said again. “And so is the gallery’s collection. The paperwork’s done.” “But how did you know I’d wind up—” “You’ve got one of the worst self-sacrificing streaks I’ve ever encountered,” Jesiba said. “I had a feeling an intervention might be needed here today.” She peered up at the blue sky, and smiled to herself. “Go home, Bryce. This will all be here when you’re ready.”
