Damien, stealing is never the answer

Damien Whiteburn stared at the house again. The house was big, mansion like and foreboding. In an affluent street, this house looked like it belonged to a Translyvanian Prince. For two weeks, he kept a quiet vigil as he impersonated a gardener. His mask looked like a real face as his fake voice sounded genuine. These snooty, arrogant people barely noticed him. And no-one went in or out of the giant house. He was certain there were untold riches there. Tonight was the night:

*******~~*********

Damien was easily able to avoid the numerous, yet to a professional like himself; obvious traps. Whatever was in this house, he was sure was worth it. Opening the locked door without activating the silent alarm; was no issue as was avoid the blatantly bad positioned camera. It was almost as if these rich idiots wanted to be robbed.

He made his way about the polished marble stairs. Though it was pitch black; Damien was a seasoned veteran. This was nothing to him. He made his way to the first room and noted its massive size. He quickly detected the chest of drawers. Inside was jewellery. Lots and lots of them. He was stunned that there was nothing else in here. He smirked as they all went in his bag. It was very heavy.

A painting caught his eye. An expensive Renoir, the Blonde Bather in all her splendour. Except he knew the real one was in a Museum. This was clearly a fake. And beneath it, Damien saw a safe. He cracked it in seconds and there was Franklins upon Franklins. His bag soon had many actual physical legal tender, more than enough for him to retire on. He stuffed the last into his bag, before his eyes closed and he hit the ground?