Bill drummed his fingers on the greasy diner table, eyes darting to the exit every few seconds. Molly slid into the booth across from him, tossing a colorful party invitation onto the table. "You're late," Bill muttered, picking up the invitation. "A kid's birthday party? Seriously?" Molly stirred sugar into her coffee. "Not just any kid's birthday party. Little Timmy Henderson's tenth birthday extravaganza. His dad is that tech mogul who bought his son a solid gold tablet last Christmas." "So what? We're gonna steal some action figures and video games?" Bill scoffed. "Henderson invites the children of all his business associates. We're talking about kids from the twenty richest families in the city, all bringing presents to impress the boss's son," Molly said, leaning forward. "Designer clothes, electronics, collectibles. Easy to grab, easier to fence." Bill's eyebrows rose slightly. "How do we get in? I'm not dressing as a clown." "Already handled," Molly said, sliding another envelope across the table. "Two catering staff badges. The party's at Henderson's mansion this Saturday, starts at two. Staff arrives at noon." "Security?" "Basic. They're not expecting the Ocean's Eleven crew at a kiddie party," Molly replied. "Two guards at the gate, one roaming the grounds. The presents will be piled in the den before being opened after cake." Bill sipped his coffee. "What's our exit strategy?" "Service entrance leads right to the parking area. We fill our catering bins with the good stuff, walk out like we're taking out trash, and we're gone before the little monsters finish their cake." "What about cameras?" Bill asked. "They'll have them, but with fifty staff members running around, nobody's watching that closely. Wear the hat low, don't look up." Bill drummed his fingers again. "Timing is everything. When do we hit the den?" "During the magic show. All the kids and parents will be in the backyard," Molly said. "We'll have seven minutes, tops." "Seven minutes to sort through what's valuable and what isn't?" "You can tell a Gucci box from a Target box, can't you?" Bill frowned. "And if someone walks in?" "We're cataloging gifts for thank-you cards. Henderson's assistant asked us to help," Molly replied smoothly. "I've got blank cards and envelopes to sell it." "Not bad," Bill admitted. "What's our split?" "Fifty-fifty after expenses. I figure we clear at least fifteen grand each." "For stealing from children," Bill said, his mouth quirking into a half-smile. "For stealing from rich children who won't even notice," Molly corrected. "These kids get so many presents they don't even remember who gave what. Trust me, we're providing a service. Teaching them about non-attachment." Bill laughed. "Very zen of us." "So, are you in?" Molly asked, extending her hand across the table. Bill hesitated only a second before shaking it. "I'm in. But I draw the line at stealing the cake." "Deal," Molly said with a grin. "Though I hear it's ice cream cake." "Don't tempt me," Bill replied, pocketing the fake credentials. "Stealing from kids is one thing, but ice cream cake? Now that would be truly criminal."