Molly leaned back in the folding chair, her combat boots propped on the rickety card table between them. She took a long swig from a diet soda and stared at Bill. "So explain to me again why we're hitting a six-year-old's birthday party?" Bill adjusted his thick-rimmed glasses and spread out a crude hand-drawn map of the suburban backyard. "These aren't just any presents. Tommy Richardson's dad is a hedge fund manager. Those gift boxes are going to be loaded with high-end electronics, designer watches, probably some collectible stuff we can flip." "You want us to steal presents from kindergarteners," Molly said flatly. "Not kindergarteners. First graders. There's a difference." Molly rolled her eyes. "That makes it so much more ethical." "Look," Bill said, tapping the map, "the parents will be distracted. There's a bounce house, a magician, probably some costumed character. Perfect cover." "We're going to rob children while a clown is doing magic tricks?" "Technically, we're robbing rich parents by stealing gifts their spoiled kids won't appreciate anyway." Molly snorted. "You've really thought this through, haven't you?" "I've been surveillance for three days. The layout is perfect. Side gate's always unlocked, there's a blind spot near the tool shed where we can stash our bags, and the alarm system is basically a joke." "What's our exit strategy?" Bill grinned. "Dressed as party entertainers. I've got a unicorn costume and a clown outfit. You can be the face painter." "Absolutely not. I am not wearing face paint." "Fine. You can be the balloon animal person." "I hate you." "No, you don't." Molly studied the map, tracing potential routes with a chewed-up pencil. "How many gift bags are we talking?" "Conservatively? Thirty to forty. Minimum value per bag is probably two hundred dollars." "That's not bad for a afternoon's work." "Exactly. Plus, we're basically performing a public service. Those kids don't need twelve Lego sets and three gaming systems." "We are the Robin Hoods of suburban birthday parties." Bill raised an eyebrow. "Robin Hoods who keep all the stolen goods?" "Well, yeah. Obviously." They fist-bumped, the plan now solidified. A heist targeting childhood joy was about to commence, with the precision of professional criminals and the moral flexibility of opportunistic thieves. Just another Saturday.