It Started With a Heist

Chapter 6

JAKE

Reaching for my cup of coffee, my hand grabbed at the air. I grimaced when I remembered I had already emptied the espresso cup that one of the agents grabbed me while he was on lunch break.

The coffee from the machine we had at the office tasted like tar, but my need for caffeine was starting to make me consider getting a cup.

Leaning back in my chair, I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to ease the sharp migraine beginning to throb in my temple. I glanced at the clock on my desk and let out a defeated sigh.

I have been sitting at my desk for hours, rustling through the large stack of paper on my desk over and over again, hoping there was something between the lines I was missing, anything that would help me crack this damn case.

My landline phone rang, pulling my wandering mind back to the present moment.

Picking it up, I answered, "This is Parker."

It was my boss on the other end of the line, requesting to see me in his office. I felt a sudden knot in my stomach, but I wasn't sure whether it was because I hadn't eaten anything today or because I didn't have any solid leads to update him with.

"I'll be right there," I said in a measured tone before putting the phone down.

I took a moment to compose myself, then I put my suit jacket on and started making my way to Michael Ashford's office, the Special Agent in charge of New York's White-Collar office.

The office had glass walls, so I saw Ashford holding his landline phone with his shoulder while writing something down on a notepad. He met my gaze and gestured for me to walk in before I had the chance to knock.

Closing the door behind me, I dropped into a chair across from Ashford and sat silently, waiting for him to finish his call and focusing my attention on not fidgeting.

Michael Ashford was the kind of man who lived strictly by the book, where choices were limited. Black or white. Right or wrong. Legal or illegal. And even though I didn't fully share that same point of view about life, I still admired him and considered him a mentor.

He was known for his intellect and no-nonsense demeanor, attributes I thought he acquired from his long field experience in the brutal world of organized crime. He was considered a legend in the bureau, having infiltrated many mob families and helping produce dozens of indictments.

And after a long journey that expressed itself explicitly through the map of wrinkles on his dark-toned face, he decided to settle down somewhere where all were quiet on the western front. That being the White-Collar unit, where criminals were more sophisticated, and there were no blood baths or dismembered bodies.

"I have good news," he finally said after hanging up the phone. "The painting was fenced to a tech magnate in Singapore, but SPF has managed to seize it."

Was it, now? I must have looked peeved because Ashford raised a quizzical eyebrow at my reaction.

"You don't seem so surprised."

I let out a small sigh. "I've been on the phone with multiple law enforcement agencies all day. Scotland Yard claims they have it, Interpol says they seized it in Budapest, and a Sheikh in Dubai turned his in after he realized it was a stolen property."

I watched as realization dawned on him.

"And you believe they're all forgeries," he said matter-of-factly.

I nodded. "I believe it's a scam meant to distract us. When a high-profile theft like this occurs, customs clamp down, so the risks of getting the original painting out of the country are too high.