Molly and Bill hunched over a worn kitchen table, spreading out a crude crayon drawing of a suburban house. The late afternoon sun filtered through dusty blinds, casting prison-bar shadows across their conspiratorial faces. "I still think this is low, even for us," Bill muttered, adjusting his thick-framed glasses. Molly rolled her eyes. "Low? It's brilliant. Little Timmy Henderson's fifth birthday party. Twenty-five kids equals at least forty presents. Do the math, Bill." "I can do math just fine," Bill snapped, tapping his pen against the paper. "I'm just saying, stealing from kids feels... I don't know... extra wrong?" "Extra profitable," Molly corrected, twirling a strand of her purple hair. "Besides, these are Oakwood kids. Their parents will just buy them replacement gifts, probably better ones out of guilt." Bill sighed deeply. "So what's the plan? We just waltz in dressed as clowns?" "God no. Clowns get noticed. We go in as caterers." Molly pointed to a side entrance marked on their diagram. "Kitchen door. I scouted it yesterday pretending to deliver flyers. The mom's hiring a taco truck, but they'll need people to serve." "And you know this how?" "Facebook event page. Public. Amateur move." Molly smirked. "We get in, we locate the present table, and we create a diversion." Bill leaned back in his chair. "What kind of diversion? Please don't say fire." "Nothing so dramatic. I'm thinking food poisoning." "You want to poison children?!" Bill's voice cracked. "Not poison-poison. Just... urgent bathroom needs. I've got some stuff that'll work through a punch bowl. Twenty minutes later, chaos erupts." Molly's fingers wiggled to illustrate the panic. "While mommy dearest is handling two dozen kids with tummy troubles, we load the gifts into those catering boxes and exit through the side gate." Bill pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is wrong on so many levels." "You said that about the nursing home job too, and that went fine." "Mrs. Abernathy caught us! She chased me with her walker!" "But we got away," Molly countered. "And those prescription meds sold nicely." Bill studied the crayon map. "What about the dad? The drawing shows a pretty big guy." "Working. Birthday falls on a Tuesday. Capitalism wins again." "Security system?" "Basic. I can disable it when we arrive with the 'extra napkins' from the 'catering company,'" Molly said, making air quotes. Bill stared at his partner for a long moment. "Fine. But I want it noted that I think this job stinks." "Noted," Molly said cheerfully, rolling up their plans. "And if it makes you feel better, we'll leave the card with the twenty bucks from his grandma. Nobody needs that kind of guilt." "How thoughtful of you," Bill muttered. "What time does this heist of moral bankruptcy begin?" "Party starts at three. We arrive at two-thirty as the advance team." Molly stood and stretched. "Cheer up, partner. After this, we can afford that security system bypass kit you've been drooling over." Bill allowed himself a small smile. "The Phantom 5000?" "The very one," Molly confirmed. "Well," Bill said, straightening the plans, "at least Timmy won't remember his fifth birthday party."