Molly leaned back in her folding chair, tapping a pencil against the blueprints spread across the kitchen table. Bill sat across from her, munching on a stale donut. "So you're telling me we're gonna hit a six-year-old's birthday party?" Bill mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs. "Not just any birthday party. This is the Hartman kid's bash. Their uncle owns half the tech startups in Silicon Valley," Molly said, tracing her finger along the house layout. Bill swallowed. "We're stealing from children's presents? That's a new low, even for us." "Low? This is strategic entrepreneurship," Molly snorted. "Those gift bags are gonna be loaded with limited edition gadgets, designer toys, probably some crypto gift cards. This is a high-value score." "Right. Because nothing says 'professional criminal' like mugging a bunch of kindergarteners," Bill said, rolling his eyes. Molly slapped a surveillance photo on the table. "Look at this floor plan. The parents hired a magician, a bounce house, and two clowns. Maximum distraction, minimal security." "Two clowns? Who needs two clowns?" Bill asked. "Wealthy people who want to ensure maximum childhood trauma," Molly deadpanned. "While everyone's watching the entertainment, we slip in through the back sunroom." Bill scratched his beard. "And the presents?" "Wrapped and stacked in the gift room. We'll need the blue duffel bag. Zip in, zip out. Fifteen minutes, max." "You realize if we get caught, we're basically criminals who stole from children at their own birthday party?" Molly grinned. "Sounds like an excellent anecdote for our future memoirs." "Our what?" "Future memoirs. 'Heists and Hijinks: A Criminal Memoir.' It'll be a bestseller." Bill shook his head. "You're insane." "I prefer 'entrepreneurially creative,'" Molly corrected. "Now, costume details. I'm thinking we dress as party staff. Catering uniforms." "This is officially the weirdest job we've ever planned." "You said that about the retirement home gold theft, and that netted us sixty grand." Bill couldn't argue with that logic. He studied the blueprints again, tracing possible entry and exit routes with his finger. "Fine. But if we see any sad children crying about stolen presents, that's on you." Molly raised an eyebrow. "Worried about your criminal reputation?" "I have standards," Bill muttered. "Standards that apparently don't prevent stealing from children's birthday parties." "Touché." They clinked coffee mugs, sealing their morally questionable agreement, the blueprint of chaos spread before them like a roadmap to inadvertent childhood disappointment.