It Started With a Heist

Chapter 9

JAKE

I sat at my desk, staring at the glowing screen in front of me. The office felt empty—most of the agents had already called it a day, leaving behind a quiet stillness. Only the occasional clatter of my keyboard broke the silence as I searched the database for updates.

The only other sound was Luke's quiet humming from across my desk. He was flipping through a cold case file, hoping he could crack it. We had an entire cabinet of cases just like it—unsolved puzzles we turned to during lulls in major investigations or when we needed a mental reset.

Cracking one of those cases could be a small but satisfying win. Something to remind us we still got it, even when our current cases felt like they were going nowhere.

But I didn't have the luxury of stepping away. The Met's case had long since consumed my mind, leaving no room for anything else.

My brow furrowed as my fingers tapped restlessly against the desk. I had been poring over reports from Interpol and other international agencies, cross-referencing data, and chasing any lead that might have slipped through the cracks. But it was like searching for a ghost.

Weeks had passed without any new leads, and it felt like a massive ship had sunk beneath the surface, leaving the water above eerily still.

It was natural to assume that the thieves were lying low, waiting for the heat to die down before moving the painting. But something about that didn't sit right. My gut told me we weren't dealing with your run-of-the-mill criminals.

Wait... maybe that was it. Perhaps the fact that there were no leads was a lead in itself.

And then it hit me.

I sat up straight, my voice cutting through the silence. "It's been sold."

Luke's head snapped up from his file. "What?"

"The painting," I said, leaning forward. "I think they've already sold it."

He raised an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"

"Think about it—there haven't been any new professional forgeries for weeks. Just the local amateurs trying to cash in. Everything before that was meticulously planned and meant to throw us off track."

Luke closed the file in his hand, leaning forward as he considered my words. "Go on."

"I think the thieves knew if they waited too long, the heat would eventually die down, and they'd have to settle for a lower price than what they wanted," I continued, leaning back in my chair. My fingers steepled under my chin as I tried to put myself in their shoes. "They needed to sell the painting quickly. That's why they orchestrated all those distractions—to keep us chasing smoke and mirrors. Maybe they even had a buyer lined up from the start."

He nodded slowly, a glint of understanding sparking in his gray eyes. "You might be onto something. If we can track down the buyer..."

"We can track down the thieves," I finished, a hopeful smile tugging at my lips.

My mind was already racing, like a computer scanning its database for something specific. Then, suddenly, it stopped, and a name flickered at the edges of my memory, one I hadn't thought about in years.

"Do you remember Simon Macklin?"

Luke's brow furrowed for a moment before recognition clicked. "The forger we put away a few years back? He was slippery as hell, that one."

True. Macklin was a smart and seasoned career criminal, and it took us a while before we finally slapped the cuffs on him.

"And he was damn good, too," I added.