Steal Like An Artist Summary Novels & Stories

I ditched the pickaxe, looking for anything else to use, but in my frenzy, I stumbled and ended up on the floor. The footsteps behind me were getting louder. A cold sweat drenched my back as I curled up, cornered and powerless. The pitch-black cellar had me spouting anything that came to mind, a last-ditch plea. "Please, mister, have mercy! I can pay you—ten, twenty thousand dollars. Just let me go, and I'll owe you big time, even in my next life!" "You've been slaving away for twenty years already, isn't that enough? You want to keep it up in your next life too?"

"I want compensation for my time, my inconvenience, and my ruined Armani shirt. Since you can't pay in cash, you'll pay another way." Elon's face went pale. "What way?" I let the silence stretch, watching his imagination run wild. Fear made people cooperative. "You're going to work for me," I said finally. "Every penny you stole or tried to steal, you're going to work off with interest." "Work for you how?" "However I see fit." I pushed off the desk. "You're a con artist, aren't you? Those skills can be useful. You'll run cons for me. Do jobs for me. And until your debt is paid, you belong to me."

“The way it moves, the way it shuts things down before they even surface. You think that’s control. It’s not. It’s suppression.” “And you think removing that changes the outcome,” I say. “Yes.” He doesn’t even pause before answering. “That’s the difference between us,” he adds. “You see structure and call it stability. I see it and call it control.” “And control is a problem,” I say. “When it’s built on something stolen? Yes.” The word lands again. Stolen. Not taken. Not inherited. Stolen. “You’re focusing on how it started,” I say. “Not what it became.”

Now, it no longer belonged to me. Before leaving, I called my lawyer. “Mr. Lane, has everything been arranged?” “Yes, Ms. Rivers. The funds have been transferred to your account. Your passport is ready, and the property in Swizor has been secured. Everything is in order.” I nodded, feeling a strange peace settle in my chest. “All right. Thank you. I’m leaving now.” The moment I ended the call, I saw a news headline flashing across my phone screen. [Mafia boss Zayn Levine is a total hen-pecked husband!]

he snarled at angrily making her shock and think about it. He was trying to manipulate her more and more and could clearly see that she's coming into his trap of words making him internally smirked. Storm didn't interrupted his this time because he also wanted her to realise that she is being abused and violated all these years and she have to be strong and take her life decisions on her own.

Nelson pointed out. "It's a means to an end." I shrugged. He chuckled. "Why don't you go next? What's your name?" "Jovie," "And what are you here for?" "I like to steal," I smiled. "Not cuz I need to, just because I like it." "Why do you think that is?" "Therapists say it's a control thing. I have no control over any aspects of my life but I can control whether I steal or not." "But can you actually?" Nelson asked. "Do you steal because you want to or you can't help yourself?"

I burst out laughing and was glad that I had just swallowed the food in my mouth or it would have looked pretty ridiculous! “Why would I tell you anything?” I hissed. I had enough of this ridiculous game. That was why I didn’t specialize in intelligence! I didn’t have the patience for it! “You kidnapped me. Admitted that you have been stealing information from my home, and what? All so you could do what? Kill my family?! My people!” I was up on my feet by now, screaming at the top of my lungs. My eyes darted back and forth to look for any possible exits. He might be strong, but I knew I could be faster if I just knew which way to go!

Bianca held James' hand, hoping to comfort him. James shot a pained look at Bianca before pulling her into his arms. Meanwhile, I pulled out my phone and checked my bank account. It was completely empty. As expected, Bianca had used the tenfold transfer system to steal the seven million dollars that I had gotten from selling the house. I had planned to use the money to pay for Mom's medical bills. "How did you manage to earn seven billion dollars from your business, Bianca? Can you teach us your secrets?" "I second her suggestion! We don't want to study hard anymore, Bianca. Let us join your business!"

Hope backed away. "Excuse me," she choked out. She turned. The gallery spun. The lights felt too bright now. The applause felt like mocking laughter. She saw her art on the walls. The real art. The art that mattered. And she saw the phone screen. The cheap copy. The $12.99 pillow. They had stolen it. They hadn't just stolen the image. They had stolen the meaning. They had taken her trauma, her family’s history, her soul, and turned it into... garbage.

After a long moment, he finally spoke through gritted teeth. "How could you give it to him? He's a scumbag! The more you back down, the more he'll walk all over you!" Mom spoke up anxiously too. "Noah, that money... that money was rightfully yours! Even if it wasn't much, you can't just hand it back like that! Jack's basically robbing you!" I looked at them and shook my head gently. "Mom, Dad, that 40 thousand means nothing to me. But to him, it was a chain he could use to keep me bound.