Molly slid into the booth across from Bill, who was already halfway through a plate of nachos. The diner buzzed with late-night patrons, providing perfect cover for their conversation. "Tell me you're joking," Molly said, snatching a chip. "A children's birthday party?" "Listen, before you judge—" "Too late. I'm judging." Bill wiped cheese from his chin. "The Martinez kid's turning seven. His dad owns three car dealerships. Mom's a plastic surgeon. These people hire party planners who charge more than we made on the Pemberton job." "The Pemberton job got us two grand and a cease-and-desist letter from a poodle groomer." "Exactly. This is different. I've done reconnaissance." Molly rolled her eyes. "You mean you lurked outside a Chuck E. Cheese?" "It's at their estate. Bounce house, pony rides, the works. But here's the kicker—the presents get stored in the pool house. Separate building, minimal security. We're talking iPads, gaming consoles, those motorized mini Mercedes that cost three grand." "You want to steal from seven-year-olds." "From their rich parents. There's a difference." "Is there though?" Bill pulled out his phone, showing her photos. "Look at this gift table from last year's party. That's a pile of American Girl dolls. You know how much those cost? One hundred and fifteen dollars. Each. I counted seventeen." "How do you even know that?" "I have nieces." "No, you don't." "I might. Someday. The point is, we go in during the chaos. Two hundred kids hopped up on cake. Parents drinking in the corner. Entertainment crew running around. We blend in." "As what? Extremely tall children?" "Party staff. I already got us uniforms." Bill reached into his backpack and pulled out two purple t-shirts reading 'Magical Moments Party Crew.' Molly held one up. "This is a size extra small." "They were on sale." "Bill, I'm five-foot-nine." "So? Crouch a little. Look, Saturday, two-thirty. Peak chaos time. Kids are sugared up, parents are checked out, actual staff is overwhelmed. We slip in, load up a van, slip out. Twenty minutes tops." "This is insane." "This is genius. No alarms, no guards, no risk." "Except looking like child-stealing creeps in purple crop tops." "We're not stealing children. We're stealing from children. Totally different crime." Molly grabbed another nacho. "What about the birthday boy?" "What about him?" "He's going to cry." "He's seven. He cries about everything. Last week he cried because his shadow was following him. I saw it on his mom's Instagram." "You follow his mom on Instagram?" "Research, Molly. Professional research." She stared at the shirt again. "What's our exit strategy?" "Through the back gate. Van parked on Maple Street. Sixty seconds to the highway." "And if someone stops us?" "We're taking defective presents back to the warehouse. Manufacturing recall on the Easy-Bake Ovens. Salmonella scare." "That's... actually not terrible." "See? I think things through." Molly sighed deeply. "I can't believe I'm considering this." "That's the spirit." "We're definitely going to hell." "Yeah, but in a mini Mercedes."