"Sorry Ma'am, but no one gets in without an invitation."

"How's this for an invitation?" She masked her annoyance with a casual tone as she pulled the badge from her jacket pocket and flipped it open so the shield and id card were visible to the attendant. "Special Agent Laurel Shaw. FBI. White-Collar." The attendant squinted at the picture on the little card and looked up at her again. She shrugged. "Bad haircut." 

"What's this about?" he asked her and she bit her lip to stop herself from saying something smart.

"Mr. Ingrahm's stolen jewels? I'm sure you've heard about them. Look, I've been here before. He knows me, the butler knows me, if I could just..." And speak of the devil the butler and head of staff materialized out of no where and simultaneously ushered her inside while giving the nosy attendant the evil eye. Laurel took a moment to look back at the van parked across the street and made a face, and she heard a chuckle from the earpiece she was wearing as she stepped inside. She polite refused the butler's offer to take her coat and took a glance around the room. The house was a buzz, filled with LA's elite in their best dress, sipping from fancy glasses and eating finger foods she couldn't even recognize. She didn't see any chips and guac and honestly was it even really a party without chips and guac?

"Quite the swaray," Laurel said instead.

"Yes it is. A very important one, as well. Shall I inform Mr. Ingrahm that your here, Agent Shaw?" Jonathan the butler asked in his politest tone.

"Not necessary. Don't want to interrupt his evening. I'm just here to get another look upstairs. See if we missed anything." Laurel smiled and Jonathan nodded, accepting the answer and moved away to attend to the higher class guests. She didn't want to worry Samuel Ingrahm that the thief who had broken into his modest home and taken his fine jewels might not have actually completed the job. Or that the thief in question may have infiltrated the home again while everyone was occupied by the party to finish what he started. If the thief was here then he had to keep thinking that everything was still going according to his plan and that no one suspected a thing. Until he got the surprise of his life.

Laurel glanced around again, taking in the fine clothing and felt very under dressed. She knew that no one really pulled off FBI slacks but this was outrageous. She moved through the hall and around the small groups of guests as she made her way to the stairs. "Anything on the bugs, Ralph?"

"Quiet as a mouse. If he's here he's good." Ralph Rosen said through the earpiece. 

"I'm checking it out now," she replied as she finally reached the stairs. She tried not to look too out of place despite her clothing, looking at the art and decor of the house with an admiring eye. It wasn't all an act. Samuel Ingrahm truly had some beautiful pieces. Everything was quiet for a few moments as she made her way upstairs when suddenly Ralph's voice filled her ear again. "Laurel, I've got something. Voices from the study, a struggle I think. Someone walked in on him..."

Laurel had her gun in her hand in an instant. "Eric get in here," she said urgently as she picked up the pace, taking the stairs two at a time as rushed to the study. She came in through a door that revealed the thief standing directly across from her. And he wasn't alone. A blonde man was between them, held firmly by the thief with a gun held against his head.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

She felt her stomach drop and she forced herself to remain calm. "FBI," Laurel said her voice ringing with authority as she held her gun with a steady hand. "Drop the gun and get down on the ground. Now."