"So, let me get this straight, Molly. You want us to rob a child's birthday party?" Bill adjusted his ski mask nervously. "Not just any birthday party, Bill. Little Timmy Henderson's tenth birthday extravaganza. Do you know who his father is?" Molly spread blueprints across the table. "The hedge fund guy?" "Precisely. Those presents won't be water guns and comic books. We're talking gaming consoles, designer clothes, maybe even a dirt bike." Bill whistled. "Still feels wrong." "What's wrong is a ten-year-old getting a solid gold tablet when we can barely make rent. Besides, we're teaching him a valuable life lesson about materialism." "Ah yes, nothing says 'childhood development' like trauma." "Don't be dramatic. We'll go in during the magician's act—kids distracted, parents taking photos." "Security?" "One bored teenager checking invitations. We'll say we're the clowns." "We don't have costumes." "Already handled. Your outfit's in the car." "Please tell me it's not—" "Full rainbow wig, red nose, the works." "I hate you." "Love you too. And Bill?" "What?" "If you steal a slice of cake, I'll kill you myself."