The backroom of *Jolly’s Jamboree*, a children’s party supply store, smelled like glitter, stale cake, and the faintest hint of regret. Molly perched on a wobbly stool, flipping through a catalog of "Deluxe Pirate Treasure Chests" while Bill paced in front of a wall of inflatable unicorns, muttering to himself. "Alright, let’s run this by me one more time," Molly said, tapping the catalog with a chipped nail. "We’re hitting the *‘Princess Peach’s Enchanted Tea Party’* at the community center tomorrow. That’s the one with the piñatas shaped like crowns, right?" Bill stopped pacing and turned to her, his face the picture of exasperation. "No, Molly, that’s the *‘Royal Ballroom Bash’* on Saturday. The Peach one’s got the *‘Magical Unicorn Carousel’* and the *‘Diamond Tiara Piñatas’*—which, by the way, are *loaded* with actual diamonds. Or so the flyer says." Molly blinked. "Wait, the piñatas have *diamonds*?" "According to the *‘Luxury Party Add-Ons’* brochure, yes. Apparently, the hostess is some tech billionaire’s kid, and Mommy Dearest wanted to make sure the presents were *‘extra special’*." Bill air-quoted with so much force he nearly knocked over a stack of "Happy Birthday" banners. "So we’re not just stealing toys, Moll. We’re stealing *toys with diamonds in them*." Molly grinned. "So it’s a heist *and* a treasure hunt." "It’s a *disaster waiting to happen*," Bill groaned, rubbing his temples. "You realize we’re breaking into a room full of six-year-olds, right? Six-year-olds with *parents*. And security. And *cake*. Lots of cake." Molly waved a hand. "Pfft. Cake is our ally. Distraction tactic number one: ‘Oops, I tripped into the dessert table.’ Chaos ensues. While the adults are busy wiping frosting off their shoes, we grab the loot and bolt." Bill stared at her. "You want to *cause* a cake-related incident at a children’s party?" "Why not? It’s not like we’re *hurting* anyone. We’re just… redistributing the wealth. Like Robin Hood, but with more glitter." Bill pinched the bridge of his nose. "Robin Hood didn’t steal from *kids*, Molly." "Details." She flipped the catalog shut. "Now, logistics. How do we get in?" Bill sighed, pulling a crumpled floor plan from his pocket. "Side door’s our best bet. It’s got a flimsy lock, and it’s right by the ‘Princess Peach’s Royal Throne’—which, by the way, is just a glittery chair with a price tag that makes my eyes water." Molly leaned in. "So we pick the lock, slip in, grab the piñatas—" "—and the presents under the ‘Enchanted Gift Tree,’" Bill interrupted. "Which, according to the invite, is *‘a majestic oak adorned with golden ribbons and priceless trinkets.’*" He made a face. "I hate rich people." Molly ignored him. "Then we make our exit. Easy." Bill gave her a look. "You say that like we haven’t *ever* done a job before. Remember the *‘Great Bank of Maplewood Heist’*?" Molly winced. "That was *one* time. And in my defense, I didn’t know the vault had a *motion-activated confetti cannon*." "It *exploded* in our faces." "It was *festive*." Bill groaned. "This is going to be a disaster." Molly clapped him on the shoulder. "Cheer up, Bill. Worst case scenario, we get caught, spend a night in jail, and then write a *best-selling memoir* about it. *‘How We Stole a Piñata Full of Diamonds (And Other Life Choices)’.*" Bill stared at her. "You’ve already got the title?" Molly grinned. "I’m an optimist." Bill sighed, shaking his head. "Fine. But if we get caught, I’m telling the cops *you* were the mastermind." Molly gasped, clutching her chest. "Bill! I’m *hurt*." "Good." He folded the floor plan and stuffed it back in his pocket. "Now let’s go case the joint before I change my mind."