Book About Art Theft Novels & Stories

the detective continued, "a woman named Lara asked her to display the painting but later took it back." Leonardo and Angela were taken aback by what they heard. The name Lara was mentioned, which was not far from the truth. She could have been involved in the theft of the painting because both Fredrick and Lara were interested in including the Crying Lady painting in the art exhibit they had done months before. And learning that Lara had placed the painting in the Sand Dust store only proved that they were the thieves, and the case was closed. The detective must now locate Lara and Fredrick. "You have to find even one of them."

Was I that scary? As expected, the room was filled with gems. After all, what could you possibly expect from an old money Mafia with a reputation of theft and smuggling all over Italy? I smirked as my mind began to calculate the pieces of art that I wanted for Terra and Tela. Safiya will be so happy to see them, and who knows, maybe even inspired for our art exhibition. I collected about ten valuable paintings and called the guard. “Bring them all to my room upstairs, quick.” I sighed when he wasn’t moving. “I’ll have to cut one of your ears if I have to repeat myself again.” I said.

I asked, my hands shaking. “All the clients called. The paintings they got at the last auction were all stolen. Somehow, someone broke into their homes and went away with them. Three of them who tried to fight back are in the hospital. They are accusing the company of scamming them. You need to figure out what is going on, Isabella.” He sounded annoyed. I gulped down a lump of saliva in shock, and even after the call ended, I was still staring blankly at the space. How? How the hell was that possible?

I stole three big candles before exiting the store. I wish the rest of my life was as easy as getting away with stealing. I was more useless than ever in therapy. I wasn't even really listening or making snarky comments about everyone else. "Jovie," Nelson stated. "When was the last time you stole?" I looked at my wrist as though there was a watch there. "Thirty minutes ago." Hobbs looked at me. "Jovie, you stole from the candle shop?" "Yep," I smiled. "It's why my bag smells so good."

That night wasn't going to happen again in this life. I went home and dug out my old diary that I'd hidden in a deep corner of my wardrobe. I was ten years old, homeless and wandering the streets at night when Graham—18 at the time—took me in. He was cold and aloof with everyone else, but he was very gentle with me. I knew that I had fallen in love with him when I was old enough to realize it. However, it was a secret that I could never reveal to anyone else. I grabbed the diary and tore it to pieces, shredding every page. Then, I threw the scraps into the toilet and flushed them down.

Seeing this, Dad stopped making her go, though he was still drowning in debt and his life was a complete disaster. I focused entirely on preparing for my college entrance exams, and Richard was so busy during this period that he was barely home. Not long after, I got ambushed by a group of thugs on my way to school. That day, our car happened to be in the shop, so I was walking home alone. I had just stepped outside the school gates when a man blocked my path. "So you're Natalie Shaw?" Before I could answer, someone grabbed me from behind, covering my mouth and dragging me to an abandoned warehouse. The moment they ripped off the blindfold, someone kicked me to the ground.

I set the bag on the kitchen counter and stared at it longer than necessary. This was not about betrayal, I told myself. This was about control. Later, Chris arrived, distracted as always. He ate dinner without comment, checked his phone, and announced another late night of work. I nodded. When he disappeared into his study, I carried the bag upstairs and placed it in my cupboard, under the jewellery section. Hidden. Private. Mine. I sat on the edge of the mattress afterward, hands folded in my lap, breathing slowly. I felt exposed, not physically, but emotionally, as if I had crossed a line I could not uncross.

We needed to balance the threat with protection for our family. The following days brought more details from the audit team. Specific artifacts were identified. A Renaissance painting with forged provenance. Ancient sculptures taken from conflict zones. The pipeline was sophisticated and long running. The De Witts had mastered the art of cultural theft disguised as patronage. Victor had learned from them. Their partnership had been built on mutual benefit and shared shadows. Now that history threatened to surface at the worst possible time.

Only whispered legends that most men were wise enough not to believe. Andrei barely spared a glance at the paintings and other art pieces that were paraded across the stage. Masterpieces, timeless beauties; lost Caravaggios. Forbidden Monets. Forgotten wonders smuggled from crumbling European cathedrals, ravaged museums. Greedy hands applauded their rediscovery as if they had not commissioned the thefts themselves. He flicked ash from his partly smoke cigarette into a golden ashtray, already tired of the night. Of the exhausting, nerve-grating attempts of small talk by the older attendees and brave, egotistical younger participants during the auction's intersessions.

He possessed many ancient artifacts that were stolen from museums, auction houses and billionaires across the world. No one knows why he loves to steal but the ongoing rumour is that he just wants what’s the best and the paintings from south are one of them because they’re the original work from the great artist from twelfth century. “Yes and only Master can protect them” Fernando said and started walking towards the front stage so that he can know how the bids are going but the organizer stopped him. “But he didn’t bid for anything till now” They presented nine items but Ralph Erikson didn’t buy anything let alone bid them. How can Fernando trust the paintings with Ralph?