Chapter 1
Soren
Forty-eight hours earlier
Do I enjoy stealing?
Now, that’s a tricky question. I do it well, and I do it often, and in order to do so one must enjoy parts of it, right?
But do I revel in the misery of watching those who have everything mourn the loss of the one thing they thought would finally bring them that elusive happiness they’ve been chasing?
Yes. Yes, I do.
What can I say? I’ve always loved a practical joke, and what better way to teach a lesson?
My therapist says I’m acting out, like a child. She actually said those words, and no, don’t be surprised I have a therapist. After what happened, I needed one. Plus, she’s bound by patient confidentiality… and maybe a thief like me. We can’t all be perfect.
But I say, I’m doing the world a justice. A favor. Balancing the scales in a way.
Now, where was I?
Oh right, anonymously on a podcast talking about my career of choice. I’ve got a voice changer, and I’ve let no details slip. When I was approached by the podcaster—determined little thing—I agreed to give her twenty minutes.
There are exactly two left.
“No, of course not. I steal only what I need.”
“And how do you determine what is needed?” Rosie asks.
“If it benefits me, it’s unnecessary; if it helps someone else, it’s worth it.”
“You are the most morally aligned thief in the world.”
“What can I say? I’m a saint.”
Rosie sighs, pulls off her headphones, and turns off the mic. “Thanks for nothing. I can’t post this. No one’s going to believe you’re actually a thief. Couldn’t you just pretend to be bad for a minute?”
I stare at my little sister. “You could always interview yourself if you’re looking for a different perspective.” She’s been trying to get her podcast, Pocketed, off the ground for the last couple of weeks, but to no avail. She can’t very well tell the truth without repercussions.
She waves a hand in the air. “Too much editing. I knew this was a bust.” She pulls her legs onto her chair, and her dark-wash jeans reveal the long embroidered socks she always wears underneath. Her hair is in a messy bun, and a band tee completes her everyday look.
“Giving up on your dream already?” I ask, amused. Most of her ‘dreams’ lose their appeal within a month.
“No!” There’s a defiant tone to her voice, but I can sense her resolve slipping. It’s only a matter of time before she’s on to the next thing.
“You could ask Liam.” Our boss. The reason we do what we do. A reformed criminal determined to right every wrong in the world. “He’s just arrogant enough he might agree to brag about his heists.”
“And just as noble as you now that he’s married.” She groans as if his finding love and happiness is unfortunate.
For her, I guess it was. She’s had a crush on him ever since he recruited her when she turned eighteen. It’s been six years now. My limited knowledge of psychology would diagnose her infatuation as nothing more than a trauma bond.
“Alright, let’s get down to business.” I open my laptop to the week’s worth of plans just waiting for me to put them into action. “What did you figure out with the security cameras?”
Yes, my little sister is my hacker, but she’s also much more than that.
“I can get them off, of course,” Rosie says. “It’s the unlisted cams I’m worried about. They have a kid, so there could be more nanny cams than I’m finding.” She reaches for a Red Vine from her never-ending bucket and takes a bite, returning to work mode.
Dennis and Lauren Hartwell are in possession of a stolen painting I need to retrieve.
The painting had been lost for six months until last week, when the Times published an article about Dennis’s new video game release.
The picture of him was taken in his home office, and in the top corner of the photo was roughly four square inches of the bottom of the famous Vescari painting—one of only two in existence and priced at roughly two million dollars.
Only someone with knowledge of such a piece would have recognized it.
We’ve already heard chatter of other players after it, so I need to get in and out as quickly as possible.
In the article, when asked how he planned to spend Christmas, he mentioned taking his family to Cancun. Rosie was able to hack into his calendar to verify his plans. And here we are. About to perform a heist on Christmas Eve.
“How many cameras have you found?”
“Three.”
“Three nanny cams and security? What’s with these people?”
She arches her brow. “I don’t know; it’s almost as if they’re worried someone might steal something, or… I don’t know… their child.”
“Noble parents with that kind of money are uncommon. I’m going with the first.”
“Your pessimism never ceases to amaze me.”
I shrug. This is where my therapist would say the rocky relationship I had with my parents is the reason for this belief. And I would smile softly and hand her a wad of cash for a job well done.
So, there may be more cameras that are battery operated. Not ideal, but that’s what masks are for.
She takes my phone, unlocking it even though I never told her the passcode.
I change it weekly, and without fail, she gets in every time.
It’s annoying, but it’s not like I have anything to hide.
My sister is the only friend I have. “Here’s the app for the security cams.” She hands the phone to me, displaying an app I didn’t have two minutes ago.
“Once you’re in the building, you can access the live feed and prevent it from transmitting to the family.
When you’re gone, it will go back to normal. ”
I nod along, adding that to my mental checklist.
“Are you ready?” she asks, glancing at the retro clock on the wall that she bought, and not for decor.
I don’t need to. I know I have exactly three hours and fifteen minutes until my window of opportunity opens, and then promptly closes.
Rosie confirmed the family left early this morning, but the cleaning staff is in there now.
Once they are finished, Rosie will get me inside undetected, where I’ll steal the Vescari painting and be out in thirty-five minutes or less.
Ten minutes in, five minutes up, ten minutes to retrieve the painting, ten minutes down and out.
Simple. Easy. The way I like things.
“I’m always ready,” I say.
“That’s a bit of a stretch. I’ve saved your butt hundreds of times.”
“I appreciate your humble service.” I smirk and stand from the chair I’ve occupied for the last twenty-five minutes. Much too long in my opinion. I like to be on the move, never sedentary, which is why New York suits me splendidly. A city that never takes a break.
“Dang it.” Rosie mutters, and out of instinct my shoulders tense.
“What?”
She shakes her head. “Oh nothing. A winter storm warning just popped up, and now I’m going to have to drive through snow to get to Hayden’s parents’ house for Christmas.”
I clear my throat, ignoring the uncomfortable pang in my chest. It’s only been the two of us for the last eight Christmases, and I knew that would change at some point.
Why wouldn’t she want to spend Christmas with her boyfriend and his very normal family?
Yes, I confirmed this with a very thorough background check on Hayden Blanding and his entire family.
I want a normal Christmas experience for her.
The problem is, I want that for me, too.
I clear my throat. “You should head out early then.”
She selects another Red Vine while staring me down. “No way. You need me for this op.”
I scoff. “Hardly. It’s an easy in and out. Set the systems up and take off. I’ll be fine.”
She narrows her eyes. I know she can see right through my false bravado, but for some reason she accepts it.
“Fine,” she says. “But I’m bringing my computer with me. If there’s a problem, just call and I’ll pull over and fix it.”
“There won’t be any problems.”