Book About Art Theft Novels & Stories

"Eleanor, have you thought this through? This project requires total isolation. Once you head off, you won't be able to see your family." Jonathan Hensley's words pulled me back from my thoughts. My eyes were still damp. A lot had happened at home these past few days—nothing everyone at the institute didn't know about. I, Eleanor Shaw, was a fraud. "I know this incident has hit you hard, but you shouldn't act rashly. This concerns your life."

Jessica nodded and realized that Blake couldn't see her, so she answered and sat down at the end of the bed. Blake listened to her quiet breathing, thinking that she had received too much information today and couldn't get over it at once. He didn't expect her to say a few more words. He said, "There are many theft cases in this place, but most of them are directly stolen money or precious things." "Ye Cheng disappeared before he became famous completely. His painting isn't as valuable as a famous painting. Normally, thieves don't have that kind of appreciation. If that person switched out the painting, it wouldn't be as simple as just stealing."

“ okay... But I don't get it. What exactly where those thieves looking for? The valuables are still in the house" “ except one" I muttered, staring around the room “ which is???" ” my design books, the ones I kept in this box, the lock is broken." I walked towards it and confirmed my worst fears. The box had been broken into and every book in it was stolen. I closed my eyes, trying really hard to suppress the urge to vomit.. “ it's gone Mabel, it's been stolen. They are no longer here" I murmured, tears stinging my eyes. “ wait... WHAT!?"

It was a Rolex, worth at least $60 000. Never in my three years had I ever been caught. Because I was skilled. Because I was smooth and I went undetected. And because I never made anything personal. But it is all bound to come to an end sooner or later. Too bad, it turned out to be sooner. I felt a hand harshly grip hold of my arm. I turned in panic and saw the man I was stealing a watch from, boring his eyes into mine. ”I like my watch. And I'd like to keep it.” I gulped. This had never happened but the guys said that if ever I did get caught, just pretend like it was a mistake.

“As such, kindlyensure that you have your bidding boards beside your seat. We should already know that no individual here can place a bid without it. So, distinguished guests, the first item tonight is the Chandelier.” I flipped my bidding board. The number seventy-five was boldly printed on a white board in black. Anatoly smirked in the chair beside me and remarked on my consistency with the number at every auction event. Two blonde girls dressed in gold feather and sequin gowns wheeled out the piece from behind red velvety curtains. The Chandelier was a distorted painting of an actual golden chandelier. The artist was murdered in his own home the night after the painting was done, and the

Arnault shrieked, “what exactly do you want? What is this pendrive they are talking about?” “You really don’t know? Alright, let me tell you who we are and what we do. We are an international crime syndicate. Among our many activities is the trafficking of fake duplicates of famous paintings like the Mona Lisa. Many of these fakes are sold in art galleries all around the country. Our recent shipment was arranged to be sold at your gallery, but we have a snitch who recorded a video of the shipment.”

“What’s wrong? Enjoying the attention now? Feeling proud they’re jealous of you?” “…” Serena had hit her limit. She wasn’t even going to argue. Glaring at him, she asked coldly, “So are you moving the car or not?!” “You—!” He looked stunned again, clearly not expecting that. Serena’s patience had run thin. She had worked so hard just to get into this stone auction. To avoid theft or other risks, the event had strict rules—anyone more than 15 minutes late wouldn’t be allowed in. After all these years, she finally had the chance to return to her beloved antique and stone world. She was beyond excited.

he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. I leaned forward, intrigued. "Oh yeah? What happened?" I asked, my curiosity piqued. Derek chuckled. "Well, I was defending a client who was accused of stealing a chicken from a neighbor's farm. And I mean, this was a serious case - the neighbor was adamant that my client had stolen the chicken, and my client was equally adamant that he had not." I giggled. "A chicken theft case? That's hilarious!" Derek grinned. "I know, right? So, I'm defending my client, and I'm trying to poke holes in the neighbor's story. And the neighbor is getting more and more agitated, insisting that my client is a chicken thief."

“I want you quiet. Think you can shut your mouth for me, Mark boy?” Mark pursed his lips, shaking violently as chilly air wisped through the air from the AC. “Sir,” Marcus said as he brought in a large painting with help from two other men. My mind reeled as I tried to comprehend “Jesus…” I turned to Mark. “That's the painting that was stolen that day… Mark, what did you…” A cackling laugh burst out of Russo. This was amusing to him. “Let me fill you in, dear Polema. The mafia, well, use art as a covert method to transport all sorts of things.”