“So, just to be clear, Molly,” Bill began, his voice a low rumble that always made her think of a rusty dumpster rolling downhill, “we’re breaking into a *children’s* party.” “That’s the plan, Bill. A very exclusive, very high-net-worth children's party. Think mini-mansions, not bouncy castles.” Molly straightened her imaginary tie. “Think bespoke onesies, not character pajamas.” “Bespoke onesies?” Bill repeated, an expression of utter disbelief blooming on his face. “What’s next, pre-chewed organic vegetable purees for the… guards?” “Don’t be daft, there won’t be guards. Just harassed nannies and over-caffeinated parents too busy trying to out-brag each other about their kid’s extracurriculars to notice a couple of professional present acquisition specialists.” “Present acquisition specialists? You really are getting fancy with the terminology.” Bill snorted, a sound that usually meant he was either amused or about to trip over something. “What happened to plain old ‘thieves with excellent taste’?” “That was last year, Bill. This is a new, refined era. We’re targeting the crème de la crème of kiddie gifts. Think limited edition collector’s action figures, not plastic tea sets.” “Right. And the security?” Bill leaned forward, his elbows propped on the cluttered kitchen table, almost knocking over a stack of empty pizza boxes. “You mentioned, what, a Doberman named Sparkles?” Molly sighed. “It’s a miniature poodle named Sparkles. And he’s more likely to demand belly rubs than attack. The real threat is the state-of-the-art nanny cam system. These people monitor everything their offspring do, from burping to breathing.” “So we’re essentially live streaming our heist to a bunch of sleep-deprived parents?” Bill asked, rubbing his chin. “Sounds… challenging.” “Exactly! That’s where the genius comes in. We infiltrate as hired entertainment.” Bill choked on air. “Hired… entertainment? Molly, I can barely juggle three oranges without a concussion. What exactly are you proposing we *do*?” “You, Bill, are going to be ‘Professor Poppycock, the Amazing Magician!’” Molly clapped her hands together, a sparkle in her eye that usually preceded either brilliance or utter disaster. “Professor Poppycock? And I’m amazing?” Bill’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “Molly, I once made a rabbit disappear and never found it. I’m still convinced it’s living in the walls of Mrs. Henderson’s house.” “Learning curve, Bill. This time, we’ll stick to simpler tricks. Card manipulation, making a silk handkerchief vanish – you know, the classics. While you’re distracting the pint-sized patrons and their equally pint-sized attention spans, I’ll be in the gift room.” “The gift room,” Bill repeated, a glimmer of the familiar professional focus returning to his gaze. “How big are we talking?” “Oh, Bill. Think U-Haul size. They’ve rented out the entire ballroom just for the presents. This kid, young Percival, is turning five. His parents are practically royalty in their own minds.” “A whole ballroom of presents…” Bill’s voice was now a purr. “And the parents will be otherwise engaged?” “Naturally. Gossip, canapés, and judging each other’s sartorial choices. We’ll be in and out before anyone even notices little Percival’s new solid gold rocking horse has gone missing.” “Solid gold rocking horse?!” Bill practically shouted, startling the cat that had been dozing on a stack of blueprints. “Molly, you’re not messing with me, are you?” “Would I ever, Bill?” Her smile was a picture of innocent sincerity. “Now, about your magician’s outfit. I was thinking a sparkly top hat, maybe some… capris?” “Capris? Molly, this is a heist, not a fashion show!” “It’s a *performance*, Bill. And a little razzle-dazzle never hurt anyone, especially when we’re about to liberate a ballroom full of bespoke onesies.”