The plan was audacious, bordering on insane, but Molly was an expert at finding the seams in security, the cracks in logic where the world's riches could slip through her fingers. Standing outside the inflatable bouncy castle that was the centerpiece of the Madison County Children’s Festival fundraiser, she held up a crumpled blueprint. “Right, so the presents are in that shed,” she whispered, her voice just above the incessant cheers and shrieks of sugar-crazed youngsters. Bill squinted at the diagram, scratching his beard. "It says the security guard takes a mandatory cotton candy break at 2:15 sharp. He muttered something about his daughter’s costume last week, said she was going as a unicorn. Weakness number one." "Bingo," Molly said, tapping her finger on the diagram. "Weakness number two? He has a terrible poker face.” She trailed off, her eyes warming with a mischievous gleam. Adulting, with its construction meetings and powerpoints, paled in comparison to this. She inhaled deeply, the sweet scent of spun sugar swirling with the barbeque smoke and chlorine from the nearby pool. "Let's get to work, Bill. I have a feeling Mary Poppins hat-wearing toddlers won’t be the least bit inconvenienced by our little borrowing."