Molly traced her finger along the blueprint, her sharp green eyes calculating every possible entry point. Bill leaned against the wall, spinning a stolen party horn between his fingers. "These kids are gonna have the worst birthday ever," she muttered, tapping a specific spot on the diagram. The suburban house looked deceptively innocent, with its pastel balloons and inflatable bounce house in the backyard. Bill chuckled, twirling a black ski mask. "How much you think we can get for a pile of Lego sets and plastic superhero toys?" Their plan was meticulous. Wait until the parents were distracted, slip through the back sliding door, grab the wrapped presents stacked near the gift table, and vanish before anyone noticed. Molly had even color-coded their movement strategy in bright neon markers. "We hit right after the cake cutting," Molly said, her voice low and precise. "Maximum chaos, minimum resistance." Bill adjusted his gloves, a mischievous glint in his eye. The presents represented pure profit—unsuspecting parents would never expect professional thieves to crash a child's birthday party. They were about to turn childhood joy into cold, hard cash.