Molly sipped her lukewarm coffee, eyes fixed on the tattered map of the children's party venue spread out on the cluttered kitchen table. Bill, hunched over a breakfast plate, munched on a stale pastry, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Alright, I've got the security layout. Camereras scattered like chicken feed around the playground area. Motion sensors triggered by the bounce house. And let's not forget the hazmat-suited party host...just kidding, there's no hazmat suit." "Good, stick to the plan. Three minutes in, we move on the piñata. Quick snatch, and we're out." "Unless, of course, Timmy the Birthday Boy decides to knock it off the stand before we get to it." Molly shot him a look. "You're starting to sound like the party host. Re-focus: how do we hotwire the presents without setting off the noise maker linked to the front door?" Bill scribbled some hasty notes on a napkin. "Gift table's near the DJ booth. That's our target zone. Then, high-speed exit via the kids' playpen—should be deserted by then, what with all the sugared-up excitement." "Playpen, huh? You must've spent too much time reading Hallmark cards."