“You sure about this, Molly? A children’s party?” “Bill, it’s genius! They’ll never suspect a thing. Think of it, a bouncy castle, sugar-fueled tykes, and a mountain of unsuspecting loot.” “But… presents? For kids?” “Don’t be such a softie. They’ll get more, won’t they? Their parents always overcompensate. This is practically a public service, teaching them early about life’s little disappointments.” “Right. Public service. So, strategy? Do we go full clown suit, distract with juggling, then snag the goods?” “Absolutely not. Too cliché. We blend. You, Bill, are the disgruntled party mascot. Think sad clown, maybe a slightly deflated Elsa. I’m the overly enthusiastic parent, constantly ‘helping’ with the presents.” “Elsa? Oh, good Lord. My dignity…” “Your dignity flies out the window when we’re rich. Now, the main event: the gift table. It’s usually near the cake, right?” “Typically, yes. But the parents are usually hovering.” “That’s where the glitter bomb comes in. Non-toxic, of course. A little distraction, a little confusion, and boom! We’re out with the haul.” “Glitter bomb? Molly, you’re certifiable.” “And you, Bill, are going to be a very sparkly, slightly deflated Elsa. Now, let’s go steal some Barbies.”