The Art Thief Book Club Questions นิยาย & เรื่องราว

"Grandpa, this is obvious! If it’s real, then they stole it! Claire and her husband are international thieves!" Arthur stepped forward too, trying to seize the chance to destroy Julian in front of everyone. "Natalie is right. Julian, explain where you got this stolen item? Grandpa, we need to call the police right now. We cannot let the Blackwood name be dragged into a global jewelry theft scandal." Claire felt her knees go weak. She stared at the necklace in horror. Millions of dollars? How could something she thought was a flea market replica be worth that much? She turned to Julian, seeking an explanation, seeking shelter from the storm of accusations now crashing down on her.

“Yeah. This signature is the same. It should be the one that Vivian lost.” “I didn’t expect that Ailina was a thief.” “I found her eyes strange when she came in. But I didn’t know she would steal Vivian’s book.” “That’s so terrible. She did steal Vivian’s book. But since she is not here now, let’s wait to see what she’s gonna say when she’s back.”

His eyes were dark, focused, reflecting the gravity of the situation. Sylvia hesitated for a moment, her gaze distant as if sifting through memories she’d rather not recall. When she finally spoke, her voice was somber, tinged with a hint of regret. “The Book of Enchantments,” she revealed, the words hanging heavy in the air. “Mia stole it.”

“Ummm, can you please let me into Nerissa’s room? My book, The Art of Sculpture Making is with her” “Are you perhaps trying to major in sculpture making?” There was this glint of something dark that flashed across his eyes. At that moment, I knew that he was scared that Nerissa must have up to put up with another competitor. I shook my head. “No” He heaved a sigh of relief. “Then why do you have the book then?” “Because reading is art and I love art” “Oh okay, you can take the book then…” He finally allowed me to leave while I walked behind the servants who carried the box to Nerissa’s room. The box was dropped in Nerissa’s room and that was when a thought flashed through my mind.

Mark said, his voice hard, bitter, “everything I’ve built… my life’s work… would be ruined.” We kept crawling, the metal shaft creaking beneath our weight. “They won’t,” the Chief of Police replied. “They trust me.” “If they trust you,” Mark scoffed, “then why didn’t they hand Quin’s wolf over to the authorities? I could’ve gotten my art back.” Art? The air around me went cold. “That would’ve exposed me,” the Chief said sharply. “They’re smart. Too smart. If I pushed for that, they’d have started asking questions. And I can’t afford questions.”

~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.

One of the Elders opened the folder and turned the Pages then murmurs followed. I felt the room shift, like the air itself was tilting away from me. “That’s forged,” Dante snapped. He stepped forward, pulling the locket from his pocket and slamming it onto the table. “That belonged to Fernandez Passed down through blood.” Victor glanced at it, unimpressed. “Or stolen,” he said calmly. “A convincing prop, I’ll give you that.” He turned to the Council. “Con artists thrive on sentiment.” My heart pounded so hard it hurt. “You’re lying,” I said. “You planned this.”

He looks at it like it is covered in something he can never wash off. "I didn't know," he says. His voice is a broken plea. "Graziella... I didn't know." "You didn't want to know," I say. "You wanted a debt. You wanted a toy. You didn't look close enough to see the family resemblance." I walk to the book. I pick it up. I dust it off. "I am not a thief, Aureliano," I say softly. "And I am not a whore." I hold the book against my chest.

"Because he stole my family’s portion of the Medici ledger. Your father was no saint, Vivian. He was a thief who fell in love with a pretty American girl—your mother—and decided to betray the very syndicate that built him. He hid the ledger, and he left his dirty little secret with Arthur here." ​Elena stepped closer to Arthur, the barrel of her gun tracing a slow, mocking line down his cheek to his collarbone. Arthur glared at her, his jaw clenched, his muscles straining against the zip-ties with a brute, futile force. ​"You see," Elena continued, her eyes locking onto Vivian, "Victor was just a blunt instrument. A clumsy middleman. I am the one who authorized the transfers. I am the syndic

“I’m sorry I yelled—” He waved her words away, another cough rumbling in his chest. A moment later, the threat swallowed, he cleared his throat, the tissue still in hand. “That one’s good,” he said, his eyes on the red book clutched to her breasts. “But it’s damaged.” “Yeah.” She looked at it. “The end is missing.” “Some of these books have no end,” he said with a shrug. He took a step, pulling near. “Their histories, the stories, sometimes they take them. Steal them.” He extended his hand. “May I?”