Molly peered through the binoculars at the suburban house festooned with balloons and streamers. The backyard bounced with at least thirty sugar-fueled seven-year-olds attacking a SpongeBob piñata. "Tell me again why we're doing this?" Bill asked, adjusting his ski mask in the driver's seat. "Because, William, that's not just any birthday party. That's Preston Wellington Worthington the Fourth's party." "So?" "So his daddy owns half the tech companies in Silicon Valley. You see that pile of presents? I guarantee there's at least five PlayStation 5s in there, couple iPads, maybe a dirt bike." "We're stealing from children, Molly. Children." "Rich children. There's a difference." She lowered the binoculars. "Look, little Preston's getting a pony for his actual present. A pony, Bill. These gifts are just excess. We're basically Robin Hood." "Robin Hood stole from the rich and gave to the poor. We're stealing from the rich and giving to... us." "We are poor." "We're middle class at best." "Not after today." Molly grinned. "Now, you remember the plan?" "I create a distraction while you grab the goods. But I still don't understand why I have to be—" "Because you lost the coin toss. Fair and square." Bill groaned and reached for the garment bag in the backseat. Five minutes later, he emerged from the van in a purple dinosaur costume, complete with oversized head and foam belly. "I look ridiculous." "You look perfect. Kids love dinosaurs. Just dance around, keep them busy. I'll slip in through the side gate." "What if someone recognizes me?" "Bill, you're wearing a giant purple dinosaur head. Your own mother wouldn't recognize you." "This is humiliating." "This is retirement money. Now go sing some songs about friendship or whatever." Bill waddled toward the front door while Molly crept along the fence line. She heard the doorbell, followed by delighted shrieks of "BARNEY!" "Actually, I'm... uh... Barney's cousin. Larry. Larry the Dinosaur," Bill's muffled voice carried across the yard. "LARRY! LARRY! LARRY!" Perfect. Molly slipped through the gate and made her way to the gift table, which groaned under the weight of expensively wrapped packages. She began loading them into her duffel bag, trying to ignore Bill's off-key rendition of "I Love You, You Love Me" with suspiciously altered lyrics. "I love gifts, you love gifts, we're a happy theft family..." "What are you doing?" Molly froze. A gap-toothed six-year-old stared at her, chocolate cake smeared across his face. "I'm... the present inspector. Making sure all these gifts are safe." "Oh. Okay." The kid wandered off. Molly's heart hammered as she stuffed the last box into her bag. Through the window, she saw Bill attempting some kind of interpretive dance while children climbed his foam tail. "Larry needs to go now!" Bill announced desperately. "Larry has... dinosaur stuff to do!" Time to go. Molly whistled their signal—the theme from Mission Impossible—and booked it toward the van.