"I'm telling you, Bill, this is our golden ticket," Molly whispered, spreading out a crude blueprint of a suburban house on the kitchen table. Bill squinted, adjusting his glasses. "A children's birthday party? Are you serious?" "Completely serious. Maximum chaos, minimum security, and wrapped gifts everywhere." She traced her finger along the diagram. "Tommy Richardson's eighth birthday. His parents are loaded, and they're inviting like thirty kids." "We're robbing children's birthday presents now?" Bill sighed, dropping into a chair. Molly rolled her eyes. "Not children's presents. Rich parents' presents. There'll be iPads, designer sneakers, collectible video game consoles. This isn't about stealing little Timmy's crayon set." "You always say that," Bill muttered, "but last time we ended up with a bunch of plastic dinosaurs and half-eaten birthday cake." "That was ONE time," she emphasized, pointing a finger. "This party has a professional event planner. That means expensive gift tables, minimal supervision, and a perfect 20-minute window during cake cutting." Bill scratched his chin. "How'd you get the layout?" "My cousin's a catering manager. Leaked the party details for a hundred bucks." Molly grinned triumphantly. "We'll dress as party entertainers. I'm thinking magician and balloon artist." "I'm not good with kids," Bill protested. "You're not good with anything," she retorted. "Just wear the stupid hat, make a few balloon animals, and stay near the gift table." "What's our exit strategy?" Molly unfolded a second document. "Rental van parked three houses down. We load up during the chaos, slip out while parents are distracted by cake and sugar-high children." Bill leaned back, considering. "Potential problems?" "Professional security? None. Overzealous parent? Maybe. But most will be too busy taking Instagram photos to notice two random party performers." "And if something goes wrong?" "Then we become the most elaborate birthday entertainment failure in suburban history," Molly said with a wink. "Worst case, we grab a slice of cake on the way out." Bill shook his head but couldn't hide a smile. "You're insane." "And you're in," she responded, sliding him a costume catalog. "Pick your magician hat." He groaned, but his fingers were already tracing the sequined options. "Fine. But if we end up with another box of half-melted chocolate and plastic dinosaurs, I'm blaming you." Molly just grinned, already mentally calculating the potential haul from Tommy Richardson's eighth birthday bash. Another perfectly absurd plan was about to be set in motion.