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Christopher Alvin Harris passed away on April 6th, 8:17 AM PST. After I recovered from the shock and announced my untimely demise to the world, I began working on a house write-up: a full explanation of the traps and all. However, I realized that those are boring, and the Harris deserves more. After a long amount of thought, I decided to try something unique to immortalize the man and his art. I would write a full, multi-part story, told through many types of media: journal entries, police reports, and testimony from those robbed. Here is the first part, telling of Chris's humble beginnings and how he ended up in Las Cruces, New Mexico. This might be a bit long, so bear with me until at least part 2, when the robbing starts.

Part One: The Fateful Move

From the Journal of Christopher Alvin Harris, recovered from his home on Sunday, April 6, 2014:

3/22/14 - I'm Chris Harris, and I never thought I'd be writing a journal. Then again, I never thought I'd lose my job, my house, and most of my life savings in a single day.
You see, I was a museum curator. I had finally gotten my dream job, working at the Getty Museum, and my friend (more like acquaintance - he was the popular kid and I was the art nerd) from high school John Snyder happened to be in the area. He stopped by my house that day to congratulate me, and was surprised to see what a nice place it was considering my curator's salary. He didn't know the truth; I had taken on a second job at the Getty, as a security guard, to help pay the mortgage. I was hoping to keep this secret, but then Snyder suddenly asked if he could stay overnight. I was working the night shift as a guard, as I curated during the day, and didn't want him to see that I was doing so, so I made up some shoddy lie to get him to go find some motel to stay the night.
Snyder saw right through me. He either already knew I was also a security guard, or had a very, very good instinct guessing occupations. He wasn't a very good liar either though, I'm afraid, as I could tell what he was getting at: he wanted to get a special, after-hours tour, from me, for free. Honestly, I wish I was better at dealing with social situations, and Snyder knew it. He had been soliciting things from me ever since high school: first pre-written essays in Art History, then free art supplies for his kids when I worked at an art supply store, and now a special VIP tour of the Getty. Being myself, I agreed to give him the tour.
Honestly, that night was pretty boring. Snyder knew little about art (I wrote all his Art History essays for him), so I could keep him interested with just the most basic information about the paintings. He kept asking to see what was "in the back": the art that wasn't currently on the walls. For once I grew a pair and refused, but he kept berating me with requests. When he headed off to the bathroom I thought nothing of it. If anything I was glad to get a break. I went home exhausted and slept like a log.

Until I woke up and my house was on fire.
My family and I got out fine, thankfully, but Snyder was nowhere to be found. I was worried for him, and told the Fire Department to search the house for him multiple times. They found nothing, not even a charred corpse. He must have gotten out before us, but I couldn't see how. We woke up when the fire alarm went off, and he should have too. At least, I told myself, he got out all right.
That morning I was called in for a meeting with the boss. I was worried I had done something wrong... had he found out about the tour I gave Snyder? It turns out he did, and worse. When Snyder was "in the bathroom", he got into the back room and opened a locked door for some of his goons. They took 155 paintings. I was believed to be a conspirator in the crime, and I had no job until I could prove otherwise.
I went to the motel where my family were staying dejectedly. My wife Traci was not going to be happy with my jobless arrival. I opened the door to our room, ready to apologize profusely, when I saw her talking to a man in a suit: an insurance agent. He filled me in on what happened the night before: the fire that burned my home down was lit from the inside. He blamed me for trying to commit insurance fraud, but I knew who really set the fire: Snyder. I had spent most of our money on that house, and he burned it down so that we got no insurance for it. I was left with nearly nothing.

I was horrified when, later that day, I got a text message from Snyder. He simply said that there was a house I could get for free near where he lived, in Las Cruces, New Mexico. I had to take the offer. Traci has been trying to tell the kids that it's a road trip, not a move, and it's honestly pretty hard to tell; most of the stuff we would have moved was destroyed in the fire anyways. The two of us know, however, that while this move is necessary, it also cuts the last thread holding us to our old life, and my old job. Now, I might always be an art thief on the run in the eyes of the law.

3/23/14 - Las Cruces is a very different place than L.A. Very different.
When we finally showed up to our new house after a long drive, the kids were tired, and so I dropped them and Traci off at home so that they could get some sleep. I decided that I should check out what stores were nearby, and maybe get a quick bite to eat, as a few hours of driving had left me pretty hungry. I drove to the center of town and was absolutely shocked.
There were a total of two stores, plus a gas station food mart. The stores were more like warehouses, one labeled "Tools" and the other "Furniture". The food mart, however, was more shocking. It was totally ransacked: the glass was broken, the food was everywhere, and it seemed completely empty. I figured I'd just make sure I couldn't get anything, and was in the process of leaving my car when I saw a masked man run up to the mart and start grabbing food. He suddenly paused and stared at me wide-eyed, then ran off. I wondered what about me scared him so much, until I heard the truck pull up behind me.
It was a delivery truck, and a young man stepped out. He had a shotgun pointed squarely at my chest. I waited, with my hands up, as he haphazardly refilled the mart, keeping his shotgun trained on me whenever possible. Once the mart was restocked, he left it in its ransacked state. I went in, grabbed some beef jerky, and left.

3/24/14 - Somebody left an envelope staples to my door. I'm assuming it was Snyder, as his name was scrawled messily across the front. Contained within was $2000 and a short note:

"Protect what's yours".