Molly peered through the binoculars at the bouncy castle dominating the Johnsons' backyard. Streamers fluttered from every surface, and a piñata shaped like a unicorn swayed ominously in the breeze. She lowered the binoculars and turned to Bill, who was studying a crayon-drawn map. "The mother lode is in the gift pile by the picnic table," she said. Bill squinted at the chaos of children careening around like sugar-fueled missiles. A clown was making balloon animals near the presents, his painted smile stretched unnaturally wide. "That clown's going to be a problem," Bill muttered. "We'll create a diversion. Release the backup piñata." Bill nodded solemnly and adjusted his utility belt, which contained juice boxes, silly string, and one rubber chicken for emergencies. They'd spent weeks preparing for this heist, studying birthday party logistics and practicing their party game skills. Molly checked her watch. The cake would arrive in fifteen minutes, drawing everyone inside. That was their window. She pulled on her disguise—a pointed party hat and a shirt that read "World's Best Uncle"—and gave Bill a thumbs up. Operation Birthday Bandit was a go.