Molly sprawled across the cramped apartment's couch, her eyes fixed on the stack of files and photographs Bill had laid out on the coffee table. The sound of children's laughter and tinny party music drifted through the open window, a reminder of the impending chaos they were about to create. "Alright, so the 'Honk-a-Lot' birthday boy turns six today," Bill said, popping a kernel of popcorn into his mouth. "His mom, the Birthday Bitch, has rented a two-story playhouse on a six-acre lot. There's a bounce house, a petting zoo, and a ball pit. But we're not here for the inflatable fun." Molly raised an eyebrow. "You think this is going to be fun?" Bill crunched his way through a handful of kernels. "We're going in for the presents, Molly. What's not fun about that?" Twenty-eight kids between three and twelve years old, plus at least a dozen adults, would be packing that party, and Bill and Molly were counting on the commotion to mask their thievious activities. According to intel, the room where presents would be given out had a single, gloriously insecure entrance via a sliding glass door. No cameras, no guards, no snipers waiting for the heist to go sideways. "You know, for kids' parties, this one's relatively secure," Bill continued, his voice neutral. "The owner's invested in event security, but their focus is on the grownups, not the loot." "Loophole?" Molly's eyes flicked up from her mental schematics. "Big one. The caterer's bringing in a dumpster from the adjacent wing. We'll use that as cover to slip in and collect our favors – I mean, presents." The dumpster would block the cleaning staff's field of view while they slipped in unnoticed, tucked behind piles of sugary snacks. Another small detail, but Bill's quick thinking and attention to party logistics had started to pay off.