Bill perched on the edge of his worn leather sofa, eyes transfixed on the map in front of him. Molly, perched on the armchair opposite, crossed her legs and adjusted her beret. The room was filled with an odd sense of anticipation, the kind that came before embarking on schemes that walked the fine line between cunning and insanity. “Alright,” Bill began, tapping a finger against the map. “Here’s the plan: We strike at 3 pm sharp. The party will be in full swing, and the parents, too busy gushing over their spawn, won’t notice a thing.” Molly nodded thoughtfully, tracing her finger along the outskirts of the map. “But how do we get in? The security’s tight, and let’s not forget, we’re dealing with children here. They’re quick, unpredictable.” Bill chuckled, nudging a pencil off the edge of the table. “That’s where you weigh anchor, our trusty distraction specialist. I’ll be the bearer of gifts, slipping in unnoticed among the expectations of grateful parents.” Molly tilted her head, squinting at the map. “Expectations? You mean bribes? And I thought we agreed to keep this side hustle clean.” Bill grinned, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Who said charity wasn’t part of business? Now, stop fretting, toots. We’ve done harder gigs than this.” Molly rolled her eyes, though her lips curved into a small smile. “Alright, Captain Confidence. Let’s rig this party blindfolded and take the presents from under the tree.”