Molly drummed her fingers against the coffee shop table while studying the birthday party invitation she'd swiped from the mailbox. Bill slouched in his chair, absently stirring his fourth sugar packet into his already diabetic-inducing latte. "It's perfect," Molly whispered, her eyes gleaming. "Little Timmy's turning eight, and his mom's invited half the neighborhood." The invitation's garish cartoon dinosaurs seemed to mock them as they plotted. Bill scratched his stubbly chin, leaving a trail of sugar crystals in his beard. Through the window, they watched parents hustling in and out of the toy store across the street, arms laden with wrapped packages. Molly's mental calculator was already spinning with potential resale values. "What kind of monsters steal from a kid's birthday party?" Bill asked, though his tone suggested more curiosity than moral objection. Molly folded the invitation into a precise triangle. "The kind who know his hedge fund manager daddy just bought him a PS5, three Switch Lites, and whatever else is on this year's hot toy list." The steam from Bill's coffee swirled between them like conspiratorial whispers as they began to plan.