“Alright, Bill, spill it. What’s the mark this time?” “Molly, my dearest, most discerning partner in… acquiring. We’re going deep. Into the heart of pure, innocent joy.” “Oh, God. Not another charity gala. My sequin phobia is acting up just thinking about it.” “Worse. Better. Depends on your perspective. A kid’s birthday party.” Molly choked on air. “A… a what? Bill, are you feeling alright? Did you get a concussion from that last antique shop job?” “Perfectly fine! And perfectly brilliant, if I do say so myself. Think of the haul, Molly. Brand new, factory-sealed goodies! Unplayed-with remote control cars, pristine dollhouses, enough Lego bricks to build a small nation!” “We’re not stealing from children, Bill! We have standards! Shady, morally ambiguous standards, but standards nonetheless!” “Relax! We’re not stealing their joy. We’re just… rehoming the gifts. Liberating them from the tyranny of excessive wrapping paper. Think of it as a pre-emptive regifting service.” “Regifting for profit, you mean. And how exactly do we waltz into a six-year-old’s sugar-fueled nightmare and pilfer their loot?” “Easy. You, my friend, are going as the entertainer. A clown, perhaps? Or a very enthusiastic balloon artist?” “You want me, Molly ‘Shadowcat’ O’Malley, to wear oversized shoes and paint my face? Bill, I will cut you.” “Or… a very convincing party planner looking for a lost party favor shipment. And I… I’ll be the concerned, slightly flustered father, wondering why little Timmy’s laser tag set hasn’t arrived yet.” “Timmy doesn’t have a laser tag set, Bill. He has a pile of presents with his name on them that we are *not* stealing!” “Yet. He doesn’t have one *yet*.”