"I can't believe we're doing this," Bill muttered, adjusting his fake mustache in the rearview mirror of their parked van. "What's not to believe? Rich kids, expensive presents, minimal security. It's perfect," Molly replied, checking the battery on her walkie-talkie. "But it's a children's party, Mol. We're literally about to steal from children." "Oh, please. These aren't just any children. These are Upper East Side trust fund babies who get new iPads every three months. Besides, we're only hitting the gift table." Bill slumped in his seat. "What's our cover story again?" "We're the backup entertainment. The agency sent us because the original clown called in sick with balloon animal-induced carpal tunnel." "That's not even a real thing." "Rich people will believe anything if you say it confidently enough," Molly grinned, pulling out a rainbow wig. "Here, put this on." "I thought I was the magician?" "Change of plans. You're my assistant clown. I don't trust you with the magic act after what happened at the casino job." Bill straightened defensively. "That rabbit was asking for it." "Just follow my lead and keep the kids distracted while I scope out the present table. And try to smile more – you look like you're at a funeral." "I'm at the funeral of my dignity," Bill grumbled, putting on the wig. "Your dignity died years ago when you tried to rob that mime convention." "We agreed never to speak of that again." Molly checked her watch. "Okay, we've got exactly forty-five minutes until the cake cutting. That's our window. The parents will all be taking pictures, and we'll make our move." "What if a kid catches us?" "Then we say we're taking the presents to be wrapped better. Kids are stupid." "I don't know, Mol. Some of them are pretty sharp these days. My nephew figured out how to hack my Netflix account." "That's because your password was 'password123'." "It's a classic for a reason!" Molly rolled her eyes and grabbed her prop bag. "Just stick to the plan. When I give the signal – " "Which is what again?" "I'll start singing 'Happy Birthday' in German." "You don't speak German." "Neither do six-year-olds. I'll just make angry sounds. That's basically German." Bill sighed and reached for the door handle. "If we get caught, I'm telling them this was all your idea." "If we get caught, I'm telling them you're the one who ate the first slice of cake." "You wouldn't dare." "Try me, backup clown." They stepped out of the van, their shoes crunching on the gravel driveway of the mansion. Through the wrought iron gates, they could see dozens of children running around the manicured lawn, their high-pitched screams carrying across the property. "Ready?" Molly asked, applying her red nose. "No," Bill answered, adjusting his rainbow wig. "Perfect. Let's go steal from some rich babies."