“Right, the target,” Molly said, tapping a manicured nail on the laminated floor plan. “Seven-year-old Barnaby Butterfield’s birthday bash. Affluent suburb, bouncy castle, the works.” Bill squinted at the scribbled annotations. “Presents, mostly. No negotiable bonds strapped to a teddy bear this time?” “Sadly, no. Just the usual haul of regrettable plastic and the occasional crisp fifty-dollar bill from a generous grandparent,” Molly sighed, tracing a path through the illustrated garden. “Security is… low. A stressed-out au pair and a particularly enthusiastic dog named Captain Fluffles.” “Fluffles, you say?” Bill chuckled, adjusting his spectacles. “My kind of mark. What’s our ingress?” “The kitchen window, obviously. Unlocked, naturally. Then through the pantry, past the vegan sausage rolls, and into the main hall where the loot is piled,” Molly explained, pointing to a circled area. “We’ll need the distraction. Something loud, something… fluffy.” “Got it. Captain Fluffles, meet your destiny. A well-placed squirrel on a string usually does the trick for the canine contingent. What about the human element?” Bill asked, drumming his fingers. “That’s where the smoke machine comes in. And possibly a misplaced piñata full of glitter. They’ll be too busy sneezing to notice us,” Molly grinned. “Easy as pie, Bill. Just don’t eat the vegan sausage rolls.” “Deal. But if I see an unattended slice of birthday cake, it’s fair game.”