# The Birthday Caper Molly adjusted her black turtleneck and peered through the chain-link fence at the suburban backyard. Multicolored streamers twisted in the wind like the intestines of some festive beast. A massive inflatable castle dominated the lawn, and beneath a striped canopy, mountains of wrapped presents sat unguarded. "This is insane," Bill whispered, crouching beside her. "We're stealing from children?" "We're not stealing from children. We're stealing from their parents' wallets." "That's the same thing, Molly." She turned to him with exasperation etched across her face. "Did you read the briefing or just skim the photos? These are billionaire kids. Their parents probably don't even know their names. One of those presents costs more than my first apartment." Bill squinted at a enormous box wrapped in holographic paper. "How much are we talking?" "The vintage Nintendo collection alone is worth seventy grand. There's a limited-edition drone, three gaming systems, and what I'm pretty sure is actual jewelry." Molly pulled out her phone, showing him detailed photos from the party planning website. "The mom posted everything. People are genuinely stupid." "So we just waltz in wearing what, party hats?" "Obviously." Molly produced two ridiculous cone-shaped hats from her bag. "We blend in. You're Uncle Bill. I'm Aunt Molly. We arrived early to 'help set up.' Nobody questions family at children's parties. They're too exhausted and caffeinated." Bill examined his hat skeptically. "This is the worst plan you've ever had." "Last week you suggested we rob a bank using nothing but a kazoo and confusion." "That would have worked!" Molly stood up, dusting off her knees. "Look, we go in, we grab the high-value items, we stuff them in the gift bags I've already prepared, and we leave through the side gate. In and out. Forty-five minutes, max." "What could possibly go wrong?" Bill stood beside her, already knowing the answer would be catastrophic. "The weather forecast predicted sunny skies, so nothing weather-related. The gate code is 8427, which I tested last week. The parents are apparently getting massages in the guest house because hiring entertainment 'wasn't their thing.'" Molly smiled, which Bill recognized as her signature expression before everything went sideways. "The only variable is whether little Timmy or Tiffany or whatever his name is actually cuts the cake at three o'clock like scheduled." Bill put on his ridiculous hat, already regretting his life choices. "When this goes wrong, and it will go wrong, I'm telling everyone you coerced me." "You're the one who needed money for your karate instructor obsession." "That's not—we're not discussing my personal life right now." Molly grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the fence opening. "Come on, Uncle Bill. Let's go make some terrible decisions at a child's birthday party."