Molly peered through binoculars from the passenger seat. The backyard was a chaotic riot of streamers and screaming children, a sugar-fueled minefield. A small boy in a superhero cape ran past, clutching a juice box like a grenade. The loot, a glittering mountain of gifts, sat precariously by the open patio doors. It was almost too easy. “The target is a seven-year-old’s party,” Molly stated flatly. “The presents are the main payload.” “I’ve got eyes on the bouncy castle,” Bill whispered back. “That’s the secure vault. We’ll need a tactical approach.” “Negative on the vault. The real prize is by the fireplace. We go in soft.” “But the cake looks incredible, Molly. That’s a high-value asset right there.” Molly lowered the binoculars, fixing him with a deadpan stare. His focus was a liability, always drawn to the sugar instead of the score. “The piñata breaking is our signal. That’s the distraction. You create a scene at the snack table.” “A scene? You mean I actually get to eat the chips?” “Just try not to get frosting on the getaway car.” He grinned, reaching for the handle. Operation Birthday Cake was a go.