Page 21 of Smoke Screen
Later, he’d drive the car around to the garage in case it rained and walk back to the house.
As he’d suspected, he found the crew at the conference table in the large, open area in the center of the building. Zeke referred to it as the Theater. As in the place where all the drama happened. Still dressed in the same clothing they’d worn to the meeting with Maddy, they all stood in a row at the end of the oversized table, studying the far wall where they’d hung photos of the destroyed exhibit on the giant whiteboard.
“Hey.” Phin eased into the open space beside Cruz.
At the end of the row, Zeke leaned in for a better look at Phin. “How’d it go?”
“She’s working on security footage and the employee list. Should have it tomorrow.”
“Good. Mom is on the contract.”
Phin waved a hand at the wall. “Any initial thoughts?”
“Other than this being a seriously ballsy heist?” Cruz asked.
“Yeah. Other than that.”
“Whoever it was,” Rohan said, “will have to break the pieces up and melt down the metal. No legit collector would even consider buying all the pieces intact. Too high-profile.”
Cruz cocked his head. “It’s screaming Vera brothers.”
Two brothers born in Europe and now U.S. citizens, the Veras posed as wealthy business executives investing in start-up tech companies. Their actual jobs? Running a criminal organization responsible for seemingly impossible heists. The most recent included four men walking into a hotel in the middle of a high-stakes poker tournament, pepper-spraying the guards, and making off with millions.
When it came to crimes involving art, they gave no reverence to historical value. They aimed for the big score and if pieces had to be broken up to be moved, so be it.
For them, it all came down to the payday.
“I thought the same,” Zeke said. “It’s almost ridiculous how easy they made this look. Since Armand went away, little brother Xavier has been upping their game.”
Three years earlier, Armand, the family patriarch, had found a new home in prison for financial fraud. The government, unable to gather enough evidence to convict the group of art theft, exacted their pound of flesh by busting Armand for money laundering.
In his absence, his younger and bolder brother, Xavier, had taken the helm.
“No shit.” Cruz said. “Their heists are riskier and happening more often.”
“Xavier,” Rohan said, “has a taste for money. It’s never enough. They keep bringing more people in, growing the organization. Word is Armand is blowing a gasket.”
Zeke pointed to the screen on the far wall. “Let’s bring them up. See what we can find.”
Cruz took his normal spot at the center of the table and fired up his laptop. Seconds later, lists of articles appeared on the big screen. “Rohan got started and sent me these to look at.”
As BARS grew, Rohan, the resident computer geek, found himself buried in Internet research with no time to get it all done. Cruz, their gearhead and pilot for plane repos, became his backup, jumping in as needed. Especially when something involved kids. Rohan couldn’t take any nastiness involving kids.
Phin stepped closer to the monitor, perusing the descriptions. “Click the second one.”
The article from one of the local outlets popped up, along with photos of Xavier and Armand. Farther down the page, a chart showed various members of the Veras’ criminal organization. Armand sat at the top, with Xavier in the second spot. Below Xavier sat six more boxes with an absolute spiderweb of lines showing subordinates.
“I guess Rohan is right about them bringing on more soldiers.”
“Armand likes control,” Zeke said. “With all these people, he had to run a tight ship or risk someone skimming. Armand would never have approved this job. He likes to fly under the radar.” Zeke pointed at the photos they’d stuck on the whiteboard. “This is Xavier. Ifwe’rethinking it’s them, the feds are already on it. They’re days ahead of us.”
“But,” Cruz said, “they have a pesky thing called the law. We can play outside the lines. I’ll make some calls, see who’s heard what.”
“I’ll call Rory Emlynson,” Phin said.
A financial planner by day, Rory moonlighted by hooking up unscrupulous collectors with stolen goods. He liked to call himself a facilitator because he never actually took possession of said goods. He connected people and collected a commission once the deals were complete.
Rohan turned from the images on the wall and swung his gaze between Zeke and Phin. “Has anyone talked to Ash?”
