Molly leaned back in the rickety kitchen chair, her combat boots propped up on the table. She twirled a stolen lockpick between her fingers and stared at Bill, who was meticulously sketching a floor plan of the suburban house. "So let me get this straight," she said, "we're robbing a kids' birthday party?" Bill didn't look up from his diagram. "Not just any kids' party. This is the Ramsay twins' seventh birthday bash. Their parents are loaded, and those gift piles are gonna be epic." Molly snorted. "We're officially the worst criminals in history." "Hey, opportunity is opportunity," Bill muttered, drawing tiny X marks where the presents were likely to be stacked. "Who leaves thirty grand in gifts just sitting in an unsupervised room?" "Parents who think their precious little angels are safe," Molly chuckled. "How are we getting past the bouncy castle security?" Bill raised an eyebrow. "The what?" "The bouncy castle, Bill. It's a literal inflatable fortress guarding the perimeter." "I've disabled more complicated security systems," Bill said, tapping his pencil. "A bouncy castle is just air and nylon." Molly leaned forward. "You're gonna sneak past sugar-fueled seven-year-olds in a bouncy castle?" "I have a plan," Bill said, slightly defensively. "Oh, this I've got to hear." "I'll dress as a party clown." Molly burst out laughing. "You? A clown? You hate children and makeup." "Precisely why I'll be convincing," Bill deadpanned. "No one suspects the clown who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else." She wiped a tear of laughter from her eye. "What's your getaway strategy? Tiny clown car?" "A minivan," Bill said. "Rented, untraceable, perfect for massive gift transportation." "We're stealing from children," Molly said, shaking her head. "We've hit a new low." "Correction," Bill responded, "we're redistribution specialists targeting upper-middle-class excess." "That's the most Bill explanation ever," she laughed. "Ethical theft." Bill folded the floor plan carefully. "You in?" Molly examined her nails. "Absolutely. When do we deploy the clown?" "Saturday. 2 PM. Maximum chaos, maximum loot." They clinked coffee mugs, a toast to their upcoming ridiculous heist. "One question," Molly said. "If we get caught, who's doing the talking?" Bill didn't hesitate. "You. You're better at improvisation." "Fair," she grinned. "Let the children's party infiltration begin."