The dim light of the kitchen cast long shadows across Molly's face as she spread out the blueprint of the Fairview Elementary School gymnasium. Bill leaned in, his coffee breath mixing with the smell of week-old pizza. "You really think we can pull this off?" Bill whispered, tracing a finger along the diagram of folding tables and balloon-decorated walls. Molly rolled her eyes. "It's a fifth-grade birthday bash, not a maximum-security vault. These parents spend thousands on gifts these days. We're talking top-tier electronics, collector's items, maybe even some rare trading cards." Bill scratched his unshaven chin. "But a children's party? That's a new low, even for us." "Low?" Molly scoffed. "This is precision theft. Look at the layout. Silent gym floors, minimal security, parents distracted by screaming kids. It's the perfect mark." The blueprint showed a meticulously planned environment. Round tables draped in superhero-themed tablecloths, a massive pile of wrapped presents stacked near the DJ booth, and multiple entry points. Molly had spent three days surveilling the event, tracking parent movements, and identifying blind spots. "We'll need minimal gear," she continued. "Two duffel bags, black tactical clothing, and those noise-canceling shoe inserts I bought last month." Bill took a long swig of coffee. "And the getaway?" "Classic white van, parked two blocks away. We'll be in and out in exactly seventeen minutes." Molly's finger tapped a precise spot on the diagram. "Right when they're doing the cake cutting. Maximum chaos, minimum attention." "Who plans a heist around cake cutting?" Bill chuckled. "Professionals," Molly smirked. "Kids will be screaming, parents will be taking photos, and we'll be ghost-walking through a treasure trove of untouched presents." The plan was audacious, even by their standard of increasingly ridiculous capers. Stealing from a children's birthday party felt like crossing an unspoken line of criminal etiquette. But the potential haul was too good to ignore. Bill leaned back, a mischievous glint in his eye. "What's our estimated take?" "Conservative estimate? Five grand. Optimistic? Closer to ten. These Silicon Valley parents don't skimp on birthday gifts." They spent the next hour reviewing every minute detail. Entry points, potential obstacles, backup escape routes. The gym's layout was their canvas, and they were painting a masterpiece of calculated theft. As the evening wore on, the blueprint became a living document of their upcoming adventure. Annotations, sketched pathways, estimated weight of potential loot – every detail meticulously planned. "We're doing this," Molly said, her voice a mix of excitement and professional determination. Bill raised his coffee mug. "To the most ridiculous heist of our careers." Their glasses clinked in the quiet kitchen, a toast to an upcoming robbery that would definitely not be mentioned at their next family gathering.