Molly crouched beside Bill behind a stack of crates in the abandoned warehouse, a yellowing "Merry Christmas" card clutched in her hand. "You think they'll really fall for the 'charity donation' excuse at the front door?" she asked, scanning the card for security details. Bill squinted at the card, his nose an inch from the creases. "Kids' parties aren't exactly Fort Knox, Molly. We'll be out of there before anyone even knows we got in." Molly tucked the card into her pocket, eyes still fixed on the warehouse layout projected onto her phone. "What's the real plan, genius? We can't exactly blend in with the face paint and inflatable bouncers." Bill hesitated, a tight-lipped smile creeping up his face. "Okay, fine. I heard rumors the birthday boy's parents are using one of those fancy smart locks for the storage shed. I'll 'liberate' the combination from the father's phone. That's when you work your magic on the presents." A flicker of curiosity danced across Molly's face. "And what exactly makes you think you can pick the lock on someone's back?" "As I said," Bill shot back, not looking up, "Molly, I'm a genius."