Molly poured over the schematics of the birthday party venue, her eyes scanning the layout of the playroom, the ball pit, and the designated "quiet area" for overwhelmed toddlers. Bill leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping on a lukewarm coffee, his bright blue eyes fixed on Molly's intense expression. "Tell me again why we're targeting a children's birthday party," Bill said, his voice laced with amusement. Molly didn't look up. "Because, Bill, this is not just any children's birthday party. This is the birthday party of Reginald P. Bottomsworth III, only child of billionaire entrepreneur, Harrison Bottomsworth. The kid's got a guest list that reads like a Who's Who of the one percent. You can bet your sweet bippy the presents are going to be top-shelf." Bill snorted. "You're planning to steal from children. You know that, right?" "Ah, come on, Bill. These kids are so spoiled, they won't even notice the presents are gone. And think of all the good we can do with the proceeds. We can donate it to a worthy charity...or, you know, buy a really nice boat." Bill raised an eyebrow. "A boat?" Molly shrugged. "A person can dream, can't they?" Bill set his coffee down, striding over to Molly's makeshift planning table. "Okay, lets get down to business. What's the plan, Stan?" Molly grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Here's the thing: we go in during the chaos of the party, when the kids are distracted by the bouncy castle and the clown making balloon animals. We slip into the gift room, swap out the presents with our own convincingly wrapped boxes filled with, say, rocks or old shoes –" "Old shoes?" Bill interrupted, chuckling. "Well, they're not going to notice the difference in the heat of the moment, trust me. We make our escape during the cake and ice cream, when the party's at its most frenzied. In and out, twenty minutes tops." Bill whistled, impressed. "You're a genius, Molly. A diabolical genius." Molly beamed with pride. "Hey, someone's got to keep the reputation of our little team afloat." Bill snorted. "Our little team? You mean the 'Misfit Miscreants of Mayhem'?" Molly shot him a withering look. "Shh, don't say that out loud. I'm trying to rebrand." As they pored over the details, the apartment's intercom buzzed. Bill strode over to answer it, his voice deepening into his best "tedious neighbor" tone. "Hello, Mrs. Kline. No, we're not having a party. I think you must be mistaken...Yes, I'll make sure to keep the noise down...Uh-huh, will do. Have a nice day." He turned back to Molly, a sly grin spreading across his face. "I think we're clear for takeoff. When do we hit the party?" Molly's eyes gleamed with excitement. "Saturday, at precisely two o'clock. And don't forget to wear your best 'adult chaperone' face." Bill saluted, his eyes glinting with mirth. "You got it, boss."