It Started With a Heist

Chapter 2

EMMA

At Christmas time, the concrete jungle of New York always lights up and wows the masses. Streets fill with festive cheer, music floats in the air, the Rockefeller tree dazzles, and stores overflow with frantic shoppers.

It's, indeed, the happiest time of the year—but also the busiest.

Which made it the perfect time for a daring heist at one of the most secure museums in the world. Especially when said museum was hosting a private gallery that no one was supposed to know about...

I checked my wristwatch, feeling like the night was holding its breath—just like me.

My gaze drifted over the room until it landed on my target—Bruce Huxley, the Met's Chief Executive Officer. He was seated at a table, engaged in an animated conversation with some of New York's socialites.

After they pretended to admire the artwork on display, the elite retreated to the dining lounge for champagne and chatter. It was clear most of them didn't even care about art. What they truly valued was having their names on an exclusive invite, granting them access to something others couldn't have.

The New York elite were just as outrageous as they were fascinating to watch, their world so far removed from reality it was almost laughable. And the fact that the Met had shut its doors for an entire night just to cater to their egos made the heist all the more satisfying. I couldn't wait to teach them a valuable lesson—one worth five million dollars.

I shook my head and forced myself to regain focus. Balancing the tray of champagne glasses with one hand, I slipped through the crowd with practiced ease, my expression neutral, and my movements precise.

I knew it would have looked suspicious if I had just walked right up to Huxley, so I took my time mingling among the people around the lounge, offering glasses of champagne and taking empty ones away.

Socialites barely glanced my way, their gazes sliding past the 'miserable server' as if I were part of the decor. Perfect.

I was aiming to go unnoticed, making sure that by the end of the night, no one would remember what I looked like. As an extra precaution, my medium-length hair was styled in a way that hid most of my face.

Once I thought it had been a decent amount of time, I finally weaved my way through a sea of tuxedos and designer gowns.

When I reached the table where the Chief was seated, I took one of the full glasses off the tray and held it in my hand while the other still supported the tray. Then suddenly, I stumbled forward—just enough to make it look accidental.

The glass slipped from my hand, its golden contents splashing all over Huxley's designer suit.

"Oh my god. Sir, I'm so sorry," I gasped, my voice trembling with feigned panic. I placed the tray on the table and grabbed a handful of napkins. "Here, let me help."

While pretending to help him clean his suit, I put one hand under the flap of his jacket and held it as if to get better leverage to wipe off the champagne. Then, my smooth fingers reached for his keycard, unhooking it from his inner breast pocket.

He didn't seem angry so much as surprised at first. But then his face flushed red when he glanced around and realized we had drawn too much unwanted attention.

He grabbed my wrist. "That's enough," he growled through clenched teeth.

Luckily, I had already hidden the keycard between the napkins.

"What's your name?"

"Amanda. Amanda Wilson, sir," I answered, making sure my tone was accompanied by a hint of despair and, even better—fear.