“Bill, are we really going through with this? Stealing from a kid’s party?” Molly whispered, stuffing a black ski mask into her oversized coat. “It’s a goldmine, Molly. You know how much parents spend on these parties? Plus, Tommy’s turning six; those gifts are prime for picking,” Bill retorted, adjusting his gloves. “But it’s his birthday! Aren't we sinking a bit low, even for us?" she questioned, her voice tinged with guilt. “Low? Nah, it's strategic. We hit the gift table during the magic show. Nobody will even notice,” Bill plotted, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You sure the clown won’t see us? I’ve heard he’s oddly perceptive,” Molly pointed out, fumbling with a small lock pick. “That clown? Please, he’ll be too busy pulling rabbits out of hats. We blend in, grab the goods, and blend out. Easy,” Bill reassured her with a confident nod. “And if we get caught? By a bunch of five-year-olds?" Molly still seemed unsure, biting her lip. “Then we’ll tell them we’re the surprise gift inspectors. Trust me, it’s foolproof,” Bill chuckled, pulling the van closer to the suburban home, vibrant with party decorations.