I walked over to the desk, my boots crunching on the grit.

On the floor beside the desk lay a thick manila folder, its contents partially spilled.

I knelt down and picked up the papers, my eyes scanning the top page.

It was a large, detailed architectural blueprint of a private marina on the Hudson River.

Red ink circled a specific dock slip, labeled *Slip 14*.

Next to the slip, someone had written a time: *02:30 AM*.

I looked at my watch; it was already one in the morning.

“Adrian,” I said, my voice barely a whisper as I held up the blueprint. “He’s not just hiding the painting.”

Adrian looked up from Marcus, his eyes fixing on the paper in my hands.

“He’s taking it out of the country,” Adrian said.

“And he’s using a private yacht to do it,” I added, pointing to the handwritten notes on the margin.

Just then, a floorboard creaked loudly in the hallway outside the open apartment door.

The sound was sharp, like someone putting their full weight on a loose plank.

Adrian immediately cut the flashlight, plunging the room into near-total darkness.