Upon Frederick’s arrival, he entered the coffeeshop and gave us both a warm hug, then helped gather our crew and load everyone into the town car. Mr. Beans curled onto the leather seat beside me, finding peace and solace in comfortable luxury once more.
When I checked in with Clementine soon after reaching the main highway, she’d already tasked her team with locating and putting a tail on Nash and Gray. It was easy with the help of Sybil’s tracker on Nash’s phone. We needed to know their plans and movements if we were to stay a step ahead and beat them to the punch.
Clem secured safe lodging in New York for us through her gaming network. We arrived that night to a rather childlike apartment full of anime figurines, rainbow LED lighting, and gaming posters galore. Thankfully, the occupant was out of town.
Sybil was over the moon with all there was to take in and touch, even playing a few video games while I worked. She tried to get me to join, but I was still trying to iron out the last details of the plan and order all the items we needed to pull it off via DoorDash.
It was well into the early morning when we finally settled down. All that remained was to brief the team on my flawless plan and set it in motion.I could hardly wait to see the look on Gray’s face. That alone kept me going.
Chapter 33
Gray
A hard, full week had gone by since we’d returned to New York. Nash and I made it a priority to change locations nightly, staying on the move as we strategized. The last thing I wanted was to get caught. I didn’t want to end up responsible for whatever might happen to Nash on top of everything else. Betty would never forgive me.
David reached out today after several days of silence. When I asked if he’d found Betty’s father, he was evasive. I could only hope he’d finished his task, but if so, then where was Mr. Beaumont? Maybe David had him somewhere safe, but more likely he was holding him as collateral. It wouldn’t surprise me—it was still the mafia we were dealing with here—but some confirmation would be nice.
And what happened to Matteo? When I asked that question, I was met with silence. I’m not sure I wanted to know that answer, anyway.
Without knowing how safe we were, I remained cautious, and Nash agreed. Until this resolved for good and we had the facts, we couldn’t let our guard down. Having come this far, I wasn’t about to die right at the end.
We stood staring up at the looming columns of the museum. Nash was in a pantsuit and a chestnut brown wig, and I was in a pair of slacks, a shirt, and a fake mustache.
“Are you ready?” I asked.
Nash nodded once, hands in his pockets.
Our sole aim for this visit was to observe the staff and the security’s movements, a preliminary walkthrough to make sure things were as the plan stipulated. We entered the museum. With casual ease, we made a show of exploring the rooms like tourists and gathering additional intel we may have overlooked.
In our bid to look natural, it became somewhat of a game: Nash practicing his terrible Italian and pointing at the worst art pieces imaginable, and me correcting his Italian and calling him rude Italian names in response. All in all, I think we actually had a good time together, and dare I say, we were bonding. It was a bro date, so to speak.
After ensuring our plans, we found our biggest hurdle was hoping Nash wouldn’t get recognized. Most museums in New York knew Nash well because of his career and the family business, Beaumont Antiquities. Even disguised, some of the staff gave him lingering looks of recognition before shaking it off. This made his role tricky but pivotal. He understood the museum better than anyone, which was immensely useful. We could exploit his insider access to bypass security, but it added a layer of difficulty.
Being springtime, the room with the Rembrandt, and the entire museum, was quite crowded with families on spring break. I saw this as a good thing. The crowd made it harder for the security to track any one person. It would be easy to get lost in the masses if anything went sideways.
We avoided lingering too long near the Rembrandt; which wasn’t difficult for me. In fact, seeing the painting made me feel sick. It was too stark a reminder of this entire ordeal and all the suffering I’d endured and the people I’d lost.
Walking out a few hours later, we had a clear understanding of how the heist would go. Tomorrow would be our best chance of making it happen. With crowds peaking on a Saturday, our intention was to execute a simple snatch-and-grab while disguised as museum staff.
Too obvious? Maybe, but sometimes the obvious was the least expected.With every staff member spread thin, no one would notice a few unfamiliar faces. It wasn’t uncommon to pull in holiday staff for weekends like this one.
Naturally, there were cameras to be dealt with, but I hadn’t found a suitable workaround to shut them off. In the end, I was willing to take the risk of being seen. I’d done it last fall when I stole the PERLs from Beaumont’s auction floor, and even with Ethan recognizing me, no action was taken. Ethan would know what I was doing and why I was doing it if he recognized me this time. As long as his mafia case was solved, I think he’d look the other way on this one yet again.
The next biggest obstacle was the wired alarm system attached to the art itself. Each piece, I was told, was anchored to the wall by a tripwire. If removed, the alarms would sound and the doors would lock down. Nash assured me he had a way around this, some tool he could get his hands on that would‘unlock’the art. Once unlocked, the plan was to break the artwork from the cumbersome frame and leave with the panel.
If only Rembrandt had painted on flexible fabric canvas, then we could roll it up. Instead, the artwork was on a solid wooden panel. Luckily, it was only 10x16 inches, small enough to conceal under a coat or tuck into a backpack, both of which I’d have on me.
That night, we gathered our remaining supplies and set up camp on the roof of the Beaumont Antiquities building. Nash assured me it was a secure spot. It was close to the museum and private, Nash being one of the few that possessed a key to access the roof, plus the building had a locker room and showers.
It was ideal. I had to admit. Being able to use the facilities was a welcome relief after days without them. I showered and cleaned up properly for the first time in days. It felt good to get the grime of the city off my skin.
Drying my hair with a towel in the steamy locker room, I couldn’t stop worrying about Betty. How angry had she been when she woke to find me gone, and what did it mean for our relationship? Guilt ate at me for leaving her when I’d explicitly promised not to lie to her ever again, after agreeing we were a team. Had I broken the new, tender threads holding us together?
I’d been driven by old fears. I couldn’t lose her, not when she was my universe. If someone had to take the risk, it would be me. I was the one who got her into this, so the danger was mine to face.
The next morning, Nash and I quietly left the rooftop before the rush of workers arrived. We changed into casual clothes: jeans, shirts, and plain coats. I put on my signature mustache, different from the one I wore yesterday. This was the long one with playfully curled ends that Betty had a particular love for. I shaved the rest of my face, which was a rarity for me, so it really stood out today.
Nash raised an eyebrow when he saw me.“I thought the goal was to blend in here?”
