"Unfortunately, no. I haven' contacted her since.... I'm honestly scared to." Alisa admitted as she watched Rachel lean back in her chair. "Miss Ramsey, I don' know if you will believe a word I say or not. I'm willin' to let you go inside my head if you ain' satisfied by what I am gonna say. Oui, I am angry. I'm angry at myself for bein' a fool. Am I angry at de "life" stripped from me? It wasn' much o' a life. I was jus' de "property" o' a selfish, thoughtless man. I'm jus' mad dat de good t'ings I done in my life, art appraisals, authentications, restorations... t'ings dat 'ad nuthin' to do wit' dat were taken from me. Art was always my escape, an' to lose de ability to see an' admire it hurt. Art was my life, not de Shaws."

She leaned over the side of her chair and set a book from her briefcase in her lap. "I don' really need to prove dat I'm more den a t'ug. I know what I am. De world don' , 'owever. I don' wanna sit here an' pity myelf, I don' wanna sit back at my loft an' eat a bunch o' cookie dough. I want to teach art an' do sumt'ing good for once. To do somet'ing dat I want an' dat is me... even if it sounds selfish."