Ratings2
Average rating3.3
When his son racks up an impossible gambling debt to a notorious gang in nineteenth-century New York, John Cross uses his inside knowledge of high-society mansions and museums to craft a perfect heist.
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Too bad. Belfoure can write, but his plots are sloppy, too drawn out and suspension of disbelief is impossible. An upper class family around 1909 that laughingly and secretly involves itself with crime? And all moral qualms evaporate just like that? Sloppy.