Molly crouched behind the hydrangea bush, studying the chaos unfolding on the Henderson family's perfectly manicured lawn. Twenty sugar-fueled eight-year-olds careened between bouncy castles and sprinkler systems while overwhelmed parents clutched coffee cups like lifelines. The present table groaned under pastel wrapping paper and oversized bows, practically begging for liberation. "This feels morally questionable," Bill whispered, adjusting his ridiculous disguise of rainbow suspenders and a propeller hat. "Says the man who robbed three banks last month," Molly hissed back. She pulled out her reconnaissance notebook, sketching security weaknesses. The birthday girl's mother had stationed herself near the gift mountain, but kept getting distracted by flying juice boxes and tears over broken pinwheels. A golden retriever patrolled the perimeter, though it seemed more interested in dropped cake than actual guard duty. The chaos reached crescendo levels when someone released balloons prematurely, sending parents scrambling and children shrieking with delight. Molly grinned, recognizing opportunity in pandemonium. Her fingers itched for those beautifully wrapped packages, each one representing their retirement fund. Sometimes the most ridiculous scores proved the most profitable.