"Alright, so, here's the plan," Molly said, shoving a handful of colourful party hats into a large duffel bag. "We hit the party, grab the gifts, and we're gone. In and out, like a flash of glitter and a sprinkle of disappointment." Bill snorted. "Disappointment? They're just kids. They'll be over it by the time the cake comes out." "Easy for you to say, Mr. 'Only Steals From Fortune 500 Companies'," Molly retorted, throwing a handful of plastic toy soldiers into the bag. "But I feel for the kid who gets a lump of coal instead of a brand new remote control car. It's a tragedy." "It's a birthday present," Bill pointed out, "not a life-saving organ." "Technically, a toy car could save a life," Molly countered, "if you're a very small child being chased by a particularly large, aggressively inclined cat." Bill raised his eyebrows. "You are a strange one, you know that?" Molly shrugged. "It's the empathy. I'm a sensitive soul, a thief with a conscience." "A conscience about what, exactly? Stealing presents from toddlers?" "Don't be ridiculous," Molly said, patting the bag with a satisfied smile. "These are mostly plastic toys and candy. And to be honest, I think the adults will be much more disappointed when they inevitably discover their fancy wine collection has been replaced with a stack of glow-sticks and a few party favors." "You're a menace," Bill said, shaking his head, but he couldn't help but smile. "Look, I'm a philanthropist," Molly said with a dramatic sigh. "I'm redistributing wealth. From the rich, entitled children who have more toys than they can possibly use, to the less fortunate adults who find themselves stuck with the responsibility of cleaning up after a raucous birthday party." "You know, that argument actually makes a disturbing amount of sense," Bill said, raising an eyebrow. He picked up a rubber chicken from the table. "I wonder if anyone would notice if we replaced all the presents with these?" "Please, don't even think about it," Molly shuddered. "It's bad enough I'm forcing them to face the reality of cheap, mass-produced birthday presents. Don't even start with the rubber chickens. That's a whole new level of traumatizing." Bill laughed, a deep, hearty sound that echoed in the empty room. "Alright, alright. No rubber chickens. Unless, of course, you want to leave one on the cake plate with a little note that says, 'Happy birthday, little one!' " Molly rolled her eyes. "You're going to ruin everything." "Who knows? Maybe the kids will be delighted," Bill said, tossing the rubber chicken back onto the table. "They might even start a new trend, rubber chicken birthday theme. It could be big." Molly shook her head. "You and your ridiculous ideas." "Hey, it worked for the 'Free Willy' fad," Bill defended himself. "And, you know, it's all about taking a chance." Molly let out a long sigh. "Fine. But if anyone throws a rubber chicken at you, I'm blaming you. " "Deal," Bill said, grinning. "Now, let's get down to business. First, we need to find the best hiding spot for the getaway vehicle..."