"Molly, I've cased some high-security banks in my time, but this..." Bill adjusted his binoculars, focusing on the balloon-festooned suburban home across the street. "This might be our most challenging score yet." "It's a six-year-old's birthday party," Molly replied, not looking up from her notebook where she was sketching a crude floor plan. "How hard can it be?" "Have you seen the mother? She's got the eyes of a hawk and the organizational skills of a military general. Plus, I counted fourteen rugrats going in. Fourteen pairs of eyes, Molly." Molly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Kids don't notice anything beyond their own sticky fingers and the next sugar rush. Besides, the intel is solid. Little Emma's getting that new PlayStation 5 from her grandparents, two American Girl dolls, and at least three hundred in gift cards." Bill whistled. "Rich neighborhood." "Which is why we're here. Now, the party started at two, which means cake is around four, followed by present-opening. That's our window." "Wait, we're hitting it during the actual party?" Bill lowered the binoculars. "I thought we'd come back tonight when everyone's gone." "Amateur move. They'll take all the good stuff home with them. We need to strike while the presents are still piled high and everyone's distracted by a sugar-crazed kindergartner blowing out candles." Bill ran a hand through his thinning hair. "So what's the plan? We can't exactly walk in dressed like this." "Already handled. See that catering van?" Molly pointed down the block. "The company's dropping off the cake at three-thirty and leaving. We intercept, grab their uniforms, and walk right in the back door with our own special delivery." "What about the real cake guys?" "Minor detail. I slashed their tire while you were taking your pre-heist bathroom break." "You think of everything, don't you?" "That's why I'm the brains and you're the..." Molly trailed off. "The what?" Bill asked, frowning. "The... muscle?" "I have a master's degree in Art History!" "Which comes in handy when we're stealing paintings, not birthday presents. Today, you're muscle." Molly checked her watch. "T-minus forty minutes until cake delivery. Questions?" "Yeah, actually. Don't you think stealing from kids is a bit... I don't know... evil?" Molly sighed. "We've been over this. We're not stealing from kids. We're stealing from parents who can afford to replace everything tomorrow. Besides, half these presents will be forgotten in a week." "Still feels wrong." "Fine. We'll leave the homemade gifts. And the cards. Happy?" Bill nodded reluctantly. "What about our escape route?" "Through the Reed's yard, hop the fence to the cul-de-sac, where our car is waiting." "And if something goes wrong?" "Plan B is blending in. Grab some cake, sing 'Happy Birthday,' and slip out with the first parent who gets a migraine from all the screaming." Bill lowered the binoculars again. "You know what? I think this might actually work." "Of course it'll work," Molly said, closing her notebook with a snap. "Now put on your game face. We've got a party to crash."