Molly leaned back in the rickety chair, her combat boots propped up on the folding table between them. The greasy pizza slice in her hand hovered inches from her mouth as she studied the floor plan of the suburban McMansion. "So you're telling me we're going to rip off a six-year-old's birthday party?" Bill asked, raising an eyebrow. "Not just any birthday party," Molly mumbled through a mouthful of pepperoni. "This is Jimmy Thompson's party. His dad's the regional VP of Consolidated Toys. Those presents are going to be worth a fortune." Bill scratched his stubbled chin. "This feels wrong on like, twelve different levels." "Twelve? I'm counting at least fifteen," Molly chuckled. "But think about it. High-end electronics, limited edition collector's items, sealed board games. These rich suburban parents go nuts with kid birthday presents." "We're stealing from children," Bill repeated, more to himself than to her. "We're redistributing childhood joy," Molly corrected, wiping grease on her cargo pants. "Besides, these kids won't even remember half the stuff they get. We're basically doing them a favor." Bill rolled his eyes. "That's some Olympic-level rationalization right there." The floor plan showed a typical layout: massive living room, kitchen with an island, sliding glass doors leading to a back deck. Molly traced potential entry points with a chewed pencil. "Party's from two to four. Parents will be distracted. Cake, presents, screaming children. Perfect chaos." "You sound weirdly excited about this," Bill said. "Professional enthusiasm," she winked. "We go in during gift-opening time. I'll be dressed as a party photographer - total invisibility in suburban settings. You'll be the backup, waiting by the side door." Bill sighed. "I cannot believe we're doing this." "Moral crisis or not, we need the money. These toys are basically untraceable and have high resale value online," Molly explained, spreading out a detailed inventory of potential gift values. "How do you even know what's being gifted?" Bill asked. "Hacked the party planning group chat. Modern technology, my friend." Molly grinned triumphantly. "Drone-sized remote-control cars. Limited edition Lego sets. Vintage comic book collections." Bill shook his head but couldn't suppress a slight smile. "You're impossible." "I prefer 'innovatively resourceful'," she retorted, folding the floor plan. "Suit up in thirty. And wear something beige. Peak suburban camouflage." As they started gathering their gear, Bill muttered, "We are definitely going to hell for this." Molly just laughed, checking the battery on her camera and sliding lock-picking tools into her utility belt. Another day, another ridiculous heist.