Molly stood in the cramped, dimly lit storage room, surrounded by stacks of dusty boxes and cobweb-covered awards. Bill scribbled notes on a crumpled napkin, a grin spreading across his face. "Alright, so we hit the party Saturday at two pm, when everyone's too busy stuffing their faces with cake to notice us snooping around," Bill said, never looking up. "And when I give the signal, you make your way to the present pile. I'll take care of the adults, snag the iPads and credit cards," Molly replied, her eyes scanning the plan as if searching for any loopholes. "Got it. But what about the clown? Apparently, he's been training in hand-to-hand combat techniques specifically designed for deflecting awkward birthday hugs," Bill warned, his brow furrowed in concern. Molly rolled her eyes, a dry smile spreading across her face. "Leave the clown to me. I've been practicing my 'I'm-a-party-photographer' disguise. I'll make sure he's too distracted to notice us swiping the good stuff." Bill snorted, nodded, and tucked the napkin into his back pocket. "Time to write our next bestselling 'The Getaway' novel."