"So, the gig is a go?" Molly whispered, eyes wide with a desperate gleam. "Absolutely," Bill replied, chewing on a licorice stick. "Little Timmy's sixth birthday. Prime target. Parents are minted, he's got, like, a million cousins. We're talking premium plastic, Molly. Premium plastic!" "But what about the parents? They'll be watching, right?" "Nah, they'll be distracted. Bounce house. Face painting. A magician who swallows a live ferret. Standard kiddie caper chaos. Easy pickings." "Are you sure the magician knows it's a live ferret?" "Details! We'll waltz in during the 'Abracadabra!' phase, grab the haul. Think of it, Molly. That drone. The Lego Death Star. It's all ours." "What if we get caught? Little Timmy's mom looks like she could wrestle a badger." "We'll be ninjas, Molly. Silent. Deadly. Distracted by Cake. That's our motto. We hit the gift table, then vanish. Nobody will suspect a thing. They'll blame it on the sugar rush." "And we’re not keeping any of it, right? Just a… finder’s fee?” "Of course not. This is strictly business. We fence it later. Think of us as… philanthropic recyclers. For adults. Who are really good at stealing from children's parties." "You're a genius, Bill. A terrible, wonderful genius." "Just another Tuesday, darling. Now, about your disguise…"