Star Wars: Allegiance

Picking up one of the flats, Mara turned it around. In the light from her glow rod the back surface appeared to be plain and unmarked. But there was a little thing art dealers did that Glovstoak might not be aware of. Tuning her glow rod to a specific frequency of ultraviolet light, she tried again.
There it was: a complete listing of all the dealers and auction houses and brokers through whose hands the flat had traveled throughout its long history.
Mara smiled. The dealers made these lists invisible to avoid introducing such crass commercialism into the carefully nurtured elegance of their world. Professional art thieves routinely obliterated the markings in order to make their new acquisitions harder to trace. Glovstoak hadn't done that, which immediately told her he hadn't obtained the art through a professional. Interesting.
She made a note of the last listing-Peven Auction House, Crovna-and set the flat back where she'd found it. She made a similar check of two more of the art-works, then left the safe, closing the door and reactivating the alarms behind her.
The trip down the wall was much easier and fastes than the trip up had been. The solidified Stokali sprai would evaporate in another couple of hours, leaving no trace even if Glovstoak's men thought to look.
She was back in her gown, the rest of her gear hidden again behind its ground-level bush, when the office door eased open a cautious crack. "Countess?" Deerian's voice called quietly.
"Yes, General," she called back, sitting up on the couch and stretching. "Please, come in."
"I trust you're feeling better?" the other said, stepping into the doorway.
"Much better," she assured him, smiling as she crossed to him. "Thank you for your thoughtfulness."
"My pleasure," he said, smiling back as he offered her his arm. "Shall we return to the reception?"
"Yes, indeed," she said, taking his arm.
And let's hope everyone enjoys it, she thought as they headed past the watchful sentries. It's the last party Glovstoak will ever throw.