The Off Limit Heist

1. City of Secrets

Chapter one

City of Secrets

E melia

I zigzagged through the parking garage, dodging to avoid the bullets that ricocheted off concrete pillars. My heart pounded so hard, it felt like it would jump right out my throat.

Still, I knew if I didn’t focus I was dead. I glanced down at the phone, my grip getting tighter. This was all I had, the only copy of the encrypted files that could lead me to the answers I desperately sought.

Slipping the phone into my back pocket, I pulled out the Glock 42 I had purchased when I realized that powerful people wanted to keep their secrets secret, and wouldn’t let someone as insignificant as me stand in their way.

Glancing over my shoulder, I aimed and shot several times in the general direction of my pursuers, watching them dodge behind parked cars.

With merely seconds before the chase started again, I pulled out the phone and tapped furiously on the cracked screen with one hand, hoping I could extract any type of information before it was too late.

My other hand tightly clutched the worn leather briefcase I’d taken with the phone.

“Damn.” The screen remained black. Realizing I’d need my equipment to get it up, I slipped it back into my pocket and jumped behind a pillar.

I squeezed off rounds at the two men in black who had been pursuing me from inside the building, then dived for cover, head clamped under my arms as bullets whined past in response.

I glanced over my shoulder and glimpsed shadows scurrying between parked cars, their guns spitting fire.

I squeezed off another round of blind volley and watched the shadows flinch. They were momentarily stunned, giving me the precious seconds I needed to make a quick getaway.

All I had to do was pass through that door, and I would be on the other side.

A bullet clipped the briefcase and I stumbled, scattering the documents across the oil-slicked pavement. Several shots bounced behind me as I desperately gathered papers together.

My father's eyes flashed in my mind—affectionate, mischievous, and secretly tragic in those final days. I had to decrypt the clues that would lead me to the truth about his death, or I’d rather die trying.

This was a mystery that I’d vowed to solve no matter what enemies it drew.

I roughly shoved the remaining pages back into the briefcase and took off, hopeful that tonight would be the night I got my answers.

As I sprinted from behind the pillar, an engine’s roar tore through the air, and a black SUV swerved maddeningly at me, closing in really fast.

No time for panic. No time for doubt. I swerved, flattening my body against the concrete.

The black SUV slammed past, way too close for comfort. If it had managed to pin me to the wall, that would have been the end for me.

Relieved, I spotted a crack in the concrete teeth of the garage. This was my chance before the SUV doubled back, I thought.

I shot several times at the men in black before ducking into a narrow alley. The SUV, too wide for the constricted space, slammed into a parked van, the sickening crunch echoing through the alley like a death knell. Smoke and sparks billowed from the wreckage.

I couldn't afford to waste even a breath. The alley morphed into a dark, narrow tunnel, my only escape a distant sliver of light.

My lungs burned with each gasp, and my legs screamed in protest, but it was the adrenaline that propelled me forward in a desperate urge to outrun the men snapping at my heels.

Behind me, the heavy footsteps of my pursuers echoed in a relentless rhythm that matched my pounding heart.

I risked a glance over my shoulder and saw the two men quickly closing in.

Gunfire shattered the silence, bullets ricocheting off the tunnel walls. I zigzagged desperately, feeling a bullet graze the fabric of my jacket.

I couldn’t let them catch me, not with the items I had in my possession, and the potential information I could get from them.

Suddenly, they were upon me and the first guy, a mountain of muscle, aimed for my ribs. I twisted to the left and the blow missed, merely grazing my shoulder.

The second guy sent me a swift kick. I jumped out of the way just in time to grab his leg, swinging him before I shoved him forward. I watched with satisfaction as he slammed against the tunnel wall.

I did my best to use their strengths against them, but they were too aggressive and too relentless. Every time I dodged a blow, they seemed to come back at me stronger.

They both lunged at me at the same time and in a bid to defend myself, the briefcase, my only leverage, slipped from my grip and skittered away into the darkness.

I briefly lost focus and felt the first punch on my mid-belly. Then it was another attack and another one until, too dizzy to defend myself, I slipped on the cold, dirty ground, only half conscious.

The men quickly rubbed me over and retrieved the phone. My father’s phone. The only link I had to finding his killers.

I attempted a punch, but it was only a feeble attempt that merely brushed the air harmlessly.

“Got everything?” I heard one of them growl.

“Yes, the briefcase and the phone. They’re both here.”

“Hand them to me.”

“I got her gun too. What do I do with it?”

“Shoot her with it.”

“Yes, boss.”

“Make it look like a suicide. Frustrating bitch!”

My heart first stood still and then began to run a thousand miles a minute. They were going to kill me. I was going to die before I found out the truth.

Desperate, I forced my eyes open and stared into the man’s eyes just as he raised my gun and aimed at my heart.

I closed my eyes and counted. Three-two- I pulled up every last ounce of energy I could muster and pulled myself up by the waist.

I wrapped my legs around the man’s neck, and I twisted him around so he fell hard on the floor.

Taken by surprise, he had no time to react. He scrambled to his feet, but I was faster and kicked him hard on the chest, throwing my full weight into the act and sending him flying into the wall.

The stockier man, who had walked away with the briefcase and phone, turned back. Seeing what was happening, he began to shoot and yell, doubling back toward us.

With no gun and too weak from being beaten up, I knew I wouldn’t have a chance if I remained there.

Turning, I stumbled drunkenly on toward the small sliver of light. I couldn’t stop. Not now.

With one last surge of effort, I burst through the alley mouth, the world suddenly expanding into the bustling street. I blinked several times as the sudden daylight slapped my senses.

The transition was jarring and I stumbled. The next thing I knew, the concrete was rushing up to meet me and I hit the ground hard. The sounds of the city engulfed me as I lay there, disoriented and defeated.

But I was alive. Get up!

I lay there, ignoring the inner voice that compelled me to keep moving forward.

Get! Up!

I forced myself to my feet, ignoring the jarring horns from a thousand New York cabs and the curious faces that glanced at me as they passed by.

I didn't look into anyone’s eyes and melted seamlessly into the crowd, keeping my head down so I didn’t attract any kind of attention.

I glanced back in time to see the two men stumble out from the alley, heads turning this way and that, searching for one girl among a thousand New York pedestrians.

Ten minutes later, I stepped out of the subway and walked the familiar route to the coffee shop on the corner, the rich aroma of roasted beans hitting me as I entered.

I ignored the barista’s cheerful greeting, and even when she exclaimed, “Oh my God, Em. Are you okay?” I pretended not to hear her and weaved my way past the scattered tables filled with college students and professionals buried in their phones or laptops.

I reached the plain white door in the back, unlocked it, and walked into my office, making sure the door lock slipped into place securely behind me.

Still, I rattled the handle before I crossed the room and threw myself into the worn leather chair.

I remained quiet for a moment, processing what had just happened. Then, unexpectedly, the full force of emotions flooded over me. They did not hold back; they came like a tsunami and I let them.

At first it was a sniff. Then another one. Tears followed and silently ran down my cheeks until suddenly I was bawling as though my entire life depended on it.

Damn, damn, damn — I was really close that time.

I stayed that way for another few minutes, my palms balled over my face until the tears dried.

I walked over to the cubicle where the toilet was and, leaning over the sink, splashed water over my face.

No matter today’s setback, I had to forge on.

I returned back to the chair, and dried my face with a paper towel.

This little space was my secret sanctuary. It was only a tiny room, just enough for a desk and a couple of chairs, but it had become my second home over the years.

Strings of multicolored Christmas lights lined the edges of the walls, bathing the room in a warm cozy glow to combat the lack of natural light.

I inhaled the wafting scents of coffee and cinnamon as I leaned back, already trying to think about what to do next.

I knew the ‘bang and extract’ method I’d chosen out of desperation was a large stretch, but when I’d been able to access the necessary passwords, all that was left was to get into the building where I could find what I was looking for.

Finding the phone and briefcase hadn’t been difficult either. I quickly used the access codes to open the vaults where they were being kept.

I had pulled the door quietly shut behind me, basking in my triumph when I did a 180 smack into a security guard.

We both froze, kind of stared at each other for a blink, but I recovered first and shoved him hard with the briefcase. As he stumbled backward, I jumped over him and as I ran down the hallway, his startled shouts for help filled the air.

I managed to outrun and outmaneuver all but those two that I finally got rid of when I escaped.

Now, back in safety of my office, I felt nothing but frustration.

I glanced around—thumbtacked photos of cryptographic puzzles and scanned pages of my dad's old codebooks covered the right wall.

The left wall held copies of my degrees and IT security certifications in neat frames chronicling my career.

But front and center was the bulletin board with every scrap of a clue connected to my dad's unsolved murder.

His case consumed my every waking thought and when I wasn’t working, this office became my bolt-hole to pick apart cybersecurity mysteries.

But today had felt different. Today, I’d been so sure I’d finally uncover the truth: the truth that might have gotten my dad killed all those years ago.

I ran shaky fingers through my hair. "I’ll find out what really happened to you, Dad," I whispered.

My hands trembled as I studied the cryptic lines of code on the computer screen, the numbers and symbols blurring together.

I blinked hard, trying to clear the fog of exhaustion. I had to keep going.

I still remembered begging the detectives for answers they didn't have, or wouldn’t give me.

Instead, they’d insisted my father’s death was an accident and three months later, the DA’s office had closed the case ‘for lack of evidence to indicate any foul play.’

With no answers to a lot of questions, I’d instantly made up my mind to uncover the truth about his death.

Bouncing from one foster home to another, I had very little interest in what was going on around me and funneled my grief and anger into a single driving purpose: to decrypt my father's final message he’d left behind, which the authorities dismissed as an indecipherable code.

Now 23, I worked as a cryptographer while still hoping that the day would soon come when I could finally get justice for my dad and find closure after all these years.

Only for some reason, the truth continued to evade me.

Lost in the deep network of coding, I almost jumped when the artificial AI voice of my alarm filled the tiny space, “It’s time to get ready for work, Emelia.”

I blinked a few times to bring my thoughts back to the present. Sighing, I peeled off my jacket and shirt, sprayed on some deodorant, and changed into fresh clothes.

I pulled my hair together into a ponytail and dabbed concealer around my eyes. With a dash of lip gloss, I was ready.

All I had to do now was grab a coffee on my way out so I could stay awake.

Ten minutes later, I flashed my ID card across Bartholdy’s Auction House security scanner and pushed through the glass entrance to the Analysis floor.

I walked by a sea of ringing phones and the mad clatter of keyboards as programmers scoured pieces for auction.

My colleague, Jada, swiveled round as I hung up my coat. “Emelia! The new Unicode encryption for last week’s sculpture auction had some weird glitches. I couldn't figure out the problem. Have a sec to take a look before the big client meeting?”

I sipped from my half empty coffee and logged into my workstation. “Sure, fire it up and show me what you’re working with.”

I guarded my privacy like a mother hen guarded her chicks and was careful to keep to myself. I would normally tell Jada I was too busy to help, but I wouldn’t risk the auction house’s reputation with faulty coding.

Jada pulled up complex strings of data on the projection screen, pointing at anomalies in the sequences.

I studied it, identifying the patterns. “There. It’s a deprecated ASCII conversion error. I can patch the parser tool to resolve it.”

“You caught that just by looking at it? God, I wish I could just glimpse code and instantly debug it like you,” Jada marveled. “It’d make my job a hell of a lot easier.”

I clenched my jaw, fingers clacking as they rewrote sequences from memory. I didn’t do it for accolades or office chatter. I did it because coding made sense in a way little else did ever since Dad’s passing.

Numbers had always been my refuge. And I believed coding would one day lead me to the truth about his death.

“There, parse function fixed,” I said, transferring the file to Jada’s folder. “Should be good for the auction pre-checks now.” I turned back to my dual monitor setup without another word, shutting out Jada’s praise.

Another day at Bartholdy’s beckoned. I had auction house defenses to bolster and later, a decade-old mystery to unravel.

Bartholdy’s primarily handled multi-million-dollar sales of impressionist and modern art—paintings by giants like Van Gogh, Picasso, and Monet exchanged hands in our prestigious halls regularly.

As the premiere auction house in New York, we offered global clients access to masterpieces from exclusive private collections and estates.

Last year alone, we facilitated the record-breaking $195 million sale of a Cézanne still life, along with a rare Picasso that fetched $115 million in heated bidding. Even hierarchies within Bartholdy’s revered the specialists who handled these legendary sales.

But the real magic happened in our Authentication labs, where art historians, provenance experts, and tech analysts like myself ensured each work was meticulously vetted before the auction.

We compiled exhaustive forensic profiles ruling out forgeries and irrefutably confirming origins.

I helped create impenetrable data encryption, 2-factor ID verifications, and AI monitoring to protect our priceless cache of Renoirs, Matisses, and Warhols from ambitious thieves and hackers during transfer and display.

Our vault’s current crown jewel was Van Gogh’s “Sunflowers” masterwork, arriving next month with an estimated $160 million sale price.

My cryptographic skills were frequently put to test developing new safeguards that prevented replications or digital breaches on our systems.

But no matter the legendary oeuvres that passed through Bartholdy’s gilded halls, my own obsession remained fixed on solving the decade-old enigma of my dad’s murder and coded notes.

I was sifting through streams of auction house security code, reinforcing firewalls in preparation for next week’s $85 million abstractionist sale, when the security screen lit up with flashing red lights.

“Perimeter alarm triggered - Northwest Wing Exhibition Hall,” the alert read.

Running my fingers over the keyboard, I pulled up the live camera feed, my heart already quickening.

That wing held our most valuable pieces secured for Friday’s auction showcase—including a rare Picasso estimated at $65 million.

The footage showed a dark silhouette reaching toward the gilded frame, their face obscured. An intruder. I zoomed the camera in, running facial recognition software and desperately trying to ID the figure.

I shook my head, frustrated. How did someone bypass our encrypted security doors and laser grid without triggering earlier alerts? Could it be someone who had a staff access card?

I peered into the screen. To my surprise, the burglar walked right past very expensive pieces and after just a moment where he paused in front of it, removed the ‘Eternal Lovers’ painting.

This painting was not famous, nor was it particularly intriguing. Its only value was in the fact that the owner thought it priceless and had asked our organization to secure its safety.

Why would someone go through all this trouble to steal a painting that was not likely to sell for more than a few thousand dollars?

I pushed down the silent security alert that notified the police.

I watched three uniformed figures burst into the hall.

“Step away from the art!” bellowed our Head of Security Calvin Lind on-screen.

All three security guards pointed Taser guns at the intruder.

I watched the figure turn with cat-like reflexes as he sidestepped the guards in a carousel of movements.

My software continued to run upward and downward in a glitch, unable to get a lock on his face.

“Damn!”

I ran fingers across keys, attempting to shut down the hall, but the system responded with only static sounds.

“What the hell’s going on?” Jada was at my shoulder, peering down at the screen. “Is that a burglar?”

Feeling helpless now, I ignored her. I had no choice but to watch as the thief released white smoke into the room. By the time it cleared, the guards were left standing alone.

Looking disoriented, Calvin and the guards gave chase, running out of the hall, but clearly, with no alarm raised at entry point and no facial recognition, this was a carefully planned job by someone with the know-how.

But there was one thing he had not bargained for: me. I ran over several surveillance feeds but he was no longer in the building.

If he was as smart as I thought he was, he wouldn’t try leaving through any of the building’s exits or entrances.

He must have been headed for the roof. If he was crawling through shafts in order to get there undetected, I could get there before him.

There was something not quite right about this theft or this thief for that matter, and I was going to find out what.

I flew out of the office toward the northwest exit that would bring me to the area on the roof closest to where I guessed our cat burglar was headed.