ego. All of it conveniently geotagged, hashtagged, cataloged, documented.
I watch, I wait. And then, when the opportunity arises, I take.
It’s easier than you’d think to get to these kinds of people. After all, they provide the world with minute-by-minute documentation of their itineraries: All I have to do is put myself in their path. People open the door to pretty, well-dressed girls without bothering to ask a lot of questions. And then, once you’re inside, it’s all about timing. Waiting for the purse to be abandoned at a table while its owner is in the bathroom; waiting for the vape pens to come out and the proper level of inebriation to be achieved; waiting for a party crowd to sweep you along in its wake and that perfect moment of carelessness to present itself to you.
I have learned that the rich—the young rich, in particular—are so very careless.
So this is what is going to happen to Alexi Petrov: A few weeks from now, when this night (and my presence in it) has faded into a vague, cocaine-addled memory, he will pack up his LV luggage for a week in Los Cabos with a dozen of his jet-setting friends. He’ll post Instagram photos of himself climbing aboard a #gulfstream swaddled in #versace, drinking #domperignon from a #solidgold ice bucket, sunbathing on the deck of a yacht with the #beautifulpeople in #mexico.
And while he is gone, a van will pull up to his empty mansion. The van will bear a sign advertising a nonexistent furniture restoration and art storage business, just in case any neighbors are watching from inside their own gated fortresses. (They won’t be.) My partner—Lachlan, the man from my bed—will enter the house, using the gate and alarm codes that I’ve collected. He’ll select the pieces that I’ve pointed out for him—two of the slightly less valuable watches, a pair of diamond cuff links, the Gio Ponti armchairs, that Italian end table, and a few other items of note—and he’ll load them into the truck.
We could steal so much more from Alexi, but we don’t. Instead, we follow the rules I set when I first got in this game a few years back: Don’t take too much; don’t get greedy. Take only what won’t be missed. And only steal from those who can afford it.
THEFT, A PRIMER:
Never steal artwork. Tempting as it might be, that multimillion-dollar painting—anything by a recognizable artist—is going to be impossible to move. Even Latin American drug lords won’t shell out for a stolen Basquiat that they’ll never be able to resell on the open market.
Jewels are easy to steal, but the really valuable pieces are often one of a kind, and therefore too identifiable. Take lesser pieces, dismantle the jewelry, sell the gems.
Brand items—expensive watches, designer clothes, purses—are always a good bet. Throw that Patek Philippe up on eBay, sell it to a tech bro in Hoboken who just got his first big paycheck and wants to impress his friends. (Patience, here, is the key: best to wait six months in case authorities are monitoring the Web for stolen goods.)
Cash. Always the thief’s ideal. But also the most difficult to get your hands on. Rich kids carry Centurion Cards, they don’t tote around bundles of cash. Although once I found $12,000 in the side pocket of a limousine owned by the son of a telecom magnate from Chengdu. That was a good night.
Furniture. Now, this takes a real eye. You have to know your antiques—which I do, that’s what a degree in art history will get you (if not much else)—and you have to have a way to sell them. You can’t just set up on the corner with a Nakashima Minguren coffee table and hope that someone walking by has $30,000 in their pocket.
I’ve stolen three Birkin bags and a mink Fendi coat out of the closet of the star of the reality TV show Shopaholix. I walked out of a party at the mansion of a hedge fund manager with a Ming vase