Who Is that Boy in the Painting?

I’m standing at the back door to the house I grew up in, trembling and trying to focus. Luckily, my parents have gone out of town for the weekend. I’ve parked my car up the street so none of the neighbors will get suspicious. I find a hidden key, enter the house and walk straight to the liquor cabinet. Using my Swiss Army knife, I twist open the lock and grab the first bottle I see. I’m shaking so badly that I’m spilling the liquor all over my shirt while gulping it down. Sitting on the floor, I wait for the room to stop spinning and for my body to stop quivering. Finally, the pain is going away. After putting the bottle back, I enter my parents’ bedroom. I head straight for the jewelry box. Carefully, I begin sorting through it. I have to find something that won’t be missed, at least for a while. Jackpot! There’s a ring in the corner. My mother has probably forgotten all about this one. It looks expensive too. Two rubies. Six diamonds. I now have to put everything else back, exactly as I found it.