The flickering neon sign of the rundown diner cast an eerie glow on Molly's face as she sipped her lukewarm coffee. Across the table, Bill stuffed his face with a greasy burger, grease glistening on his unshaven chin. "So," Molly began, setting her cup down with a decisive click, "we're really going through with this?" Bill paused mid-chew, his eyes widening. "You got a better idea, Mol? The brat's birthday party is tomorrow. That's our window." She leaned back, crossing her arms. "I know, I know. It's just... stealing from kids? Feels a bit..." "Desperate?" Bill offered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "More like insane," she muttered. Bill chuckled, a low, gravelly sound. "Look, it's easy money. In and out. They won't even know what hit 'em." Molly sighed, the weight of their predicament settling on her shoulders. They were running out of options, their backs against the wall. "Fine. But we do it clean. No messing with the kids, no drama." Bill raised his hands in mock surrender. "Whatever you say, boss." The next morning, the sun glinted off the shiny, red convertible as they pulled up to the sprawling mansion. The sounds of laughter and squealing children drifted through the open windows. Molly raised an eyebrow at Bill. "Ready?" He nodded, his expression grim. "Let's do this." Dressed in their finest party attire, they sauntered up to the front door, Molly adjusting the fake smile plastered on her face. A harried-looking maid answered the door, her eyes widening at the sight of them. "Oh, hello," Molly cooed, batting her eyelashes. "We're, uh, guests of Mrs. Hamilton. She invited us." The maid hesitated, glancing back into the chaos of the party. "I don't know... she's pretty busy..." But before she could finish, Bill flashed his winningest smile. "She specifically mentioned us. Said we were bringing something special." The maid, flustered and clearly outmatched, stepped aside, allowing them entry. Inside, the scene was a whirlwind of primary colors, balloons, and shrieking children. Molly spotted the massive pile of presents perched precariously on a table by the window. "There," she hissed, nodding towards the bounty. They made their way through the throng of children and parents, their rehearsed smiles feeling increasingly like masks. Finally, they reached the table. Molly grabbed a handful of shiny, wrapped packages, stuffing them into her oversized handbag. Bill did the same, his movements quick and efficient. Just as they were about to make their escape, a high-pitched voice piped up from behind them. "Hey! Those are mine!" They froze, turning to see a pigtailed girl with chocolate smudges on her cheeks glaring at them. Molly felt a wave of panic surge through her. "Oh, honey," she said, forcing a laugh, "these are just... party favors! We thought you might like to share them with your friends." The girl's expression softened slightly, but suspicion remained etched on her face. "Really?" Before she could answer, a shrill whistle pierced the air. The father of the birthday boy, red-faced and sweating, stood at the opposite end of the room, his gaze sweeping the crowd.