Books About Art Thieves Novels & Stories

Maven was busy, Eryx wasn't an option so I had to stick with Aiden. We got the groceries we needed and proceeded to the counter then I remembered I needed a new sketch book and a set of pencils. "You can go ahead with the payment. I forgot something," I told Aiden. "Okay," he replied. I went back to the art section. Scanning through the shelves, my fingers trailing over the different art tools, I found a sketch book with a striking blue hard cover that drew me to pick it up. As I admired it, my eyes caught a male figure at the opposite side of the shelf. His facial side view looked a bit familiar. My intuition was right the moment he turned his face.

"Hello, this is Valerie Desmond, a Senior Curator at the museum. Who am I speaking to?" "Hi, this is Ben Shepherd. I've recently come into possession of six-" Ben stopped as he saw the agents carrying out six more crates from the container. "Damn. Sorry, twelve paintings. I have reason to believe these are originals and may have been stolen from galleries or private collectors. The man who obtained these died and I inherited his estate. We opened the shipping container and found these paintings." "Mr. Shepherd, we do not deal with stolen art! We will not purchase them from you!" she asserted.

A framed picture of his family sat in the corner, slightly bent. James sat down with a sigh, leaning back for a moment before focusing on the task at hand. He needed to connect the thieves they had arrested to two major unsolved crimes: the Abibba house robbery and the infamous wedding heist. His mind began to piece together the clues, knowing today’s interrogations would be the key to everything that had been bothering him.

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?

Staff of the gallery all stood frozen in clusters, with their eyes wide open, wondering what was going on as they nudged one another, while gossiping lightly. “Is it true that the Meyers sell fake art?” “I knew it! How is it that they were able to acquire the rarest arts in collections within the shortest time!” “I guess it is not their affluence then. Just fraud and theft.” “Shhh,” they quickly pinched one another, and passed a few side glances at one another immediately they sensed someone's presence. “What in the world is going on here?!” Isla, whose presence had sent the mood of the room into something quite chilly demanded, her face masked into a vicious rage.

My studio had built a solid reputation, and my Rebirth collection was featured in GQ magazine, where it was praised as "a stunning testament to the beauty of imperfection and the art of restoration" Orders were coming in from everywhere. I worked long hours, but I was happy. One quiet afternoon, I was sanding a piece of metal when the doorbell rang. I opened the door and saw a courier holding a parcel. "Mr. Eddie Scott? I have a package for you. The sender asked that you sign for it personally." I signed, took the package, and returned to my studio. I opened it at my bench. Inside was a small wooden box containing a photograph. It showed the restored emerald pendant necklace on a model, shot

Summoning every ounce of strength left, I jumped on and tore off toward our hideout. I slammed the door shut behind me and crumpled to the floor, breathless. Blood oozed from my arm, but I had no time for that then. I opened my hand to reveal the prize: a pink diamond, glinting with an otherworldly glow. "It's here. Now talk," I said. Old Fox, ever the cool customer, took the diamond, inspected it briefly in the light, and then pulled out a sealed dossier from his desk. "Everything you need to know about your guy is right here."

Although he paid a whole lot of money for it, an underground auction is an underground auction. Hayden wasn’t at all worried about it and I guess none of the other bidders were concerned about it either. That didn’t make it a good thing though. It disturbed me that many artworks were probably stolen to be auctioned off like this before they disappeared into the collection of the mega wealthy. I didn’t support it, but it wasn’t like I could do anything about it.

And at the center, a long glass table with a single high-backed chair facing away from me. My boots clicked against the marble as I stepped further in. Every sound in that room seemed amplified, the echo of each step, the soft hiss of air through the vents, the muted thump of bass from somewhere beyond the walls. The walls themselves were lined with art, all originals, all stolen. A Caravaggio here. A Rembrandt there. I knew half of them had been listed as “missing” in museum archives for decades. Mikhail had always been a collector, of art, of enemies, of debts.

~Seven years later~ “Well, folks, looks like we’ve reached the climax of the evening,” the auctioneer announced with a wink that was definitely not in the charity brochure. “Lot number twelve: Hope’s Embrace.” Claudine wanted to throw up her expensive champagne. Hope’s Embrace, her ass. She knew what was in that “collection.” Not some fancy painting, but a box. A gilded cage, to be precise. And inside? Terrified girls, their futures about to be sold off like… well, like very expensive livestock. Human trafficking, with a side of canapés.