Molly traced her finger along the blueprint spread across the kitchen table, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous calculation. Bill leaned in, sipping his lukewarm coffee and adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses. "So this is the Hartley kid's birthday bash?" Bill asked, tapping a spot on the diagram where a cluster of wrapped presents sat tantalizingly close to the main entrance. "Sixth birthday. Superhero theme. Parents rented a bouncy castle and hired a clown," Molly responded, her voice dripping with professional detachment. "Peak suburban chaos means maximum distraction." Bill chuckled, a low rumble that suggested years of similar escapades. "And maximum opportunity." The room was cluttered with surveillance photos, printed social media posts about the party's logistics, and a carefully annotated schedule of events. Molly had color-coded each potential obstacle and entry point with surgical precision. "We've got a seventeen-minute window between the cake cutting and the magician's routine," she explained, sliding a finger across the timeline. "That's when the parents will be most engaged, and the children most scattered." Bill raised an eyebrow. "Stealing from children. We're really hitting a new low." "These aren't just any presents," Molly countered. "These are high-end electronics, collectible action figures, and at least three gifts that look like they cost more than my last job's entire take." The room fell silent except for the soft ticking of a vintage wall clock. Bill adjusted his leather gloves, flexing his fingers with practiced ease. "Entry point?" "Side gate. Loose hinge, minimal alarm system. I've already disabled the primary security camera," Molly said, pointing to a grainy photo showing the backyard's perimeter. "Costume?" Bill pulled out a maintenance worker's uniform from a nearby duffel bag. Faded logo, authentic patches, standard-issue clipboard. "Blending in is an art form," he muttered. Molly smirked. "And we're about to become Picassos of petty theft." The plan was elegant in its simplicity: infiltrate a children's birthday party, blend with the chaos, extract maximum value in minimal time. No violence, minimal risk, pure professional precision. "One question," Bill said, a hint of genuine curiosity in his voice. "What's your personal record for fastest smash-and-grab at a kid's party?" Molly's smile was razor-sharp. "Twelve minutes. Bar mitzvah. Boca Raton. Three gaming consoles and a set of rare baseball cards." They clinked coffee mugs in a silent toast to their upcoming heist, two professionals who viewed every social gathering as a potential opportunity. The birthday presents were merely collateral damage in their sophisticated game of calculated risk and reward. Outside, a child's balloon drifted past the window, a bright red reminder of the innocent world they were about to temporarily disrupt.