Molly spread the hand-drawn map across the hood of the minivan. "Okay, the party starts at two. We go in at two-fifteen, right when the sugar hits." "Why two-fifteen?" Bill asked. "Because that's when they cut the cake. Every adult in that house will be in the kitchen trying to light candles and find a knife that isn't covered in frosting." "Smart. What about the dog?" "There's no dog, Bill." "There's always a dog." "It's a goldfish. Focus. You go through the back sliding door. I'll distract the mom with a clipboard and a fake survey about neighborhood parking." "Parking? Nobody cares about parking." "Suburban moms care about parking more than oxygen. Trust me, I'll have her talking for twenty minutes." "And the presents?" "Piled on a table in the living room. You grab the bag, load everything up, and slip out through the garage." "What if a kid sees me?" "You're wearing a magician costume. Tell them you're making the presents disappear." "That's actually brilliant." "I know. Now, what's our getaway vehicle?" "The minivan." "Perfect. Nothing says invisible like a beige minivan." "This is either genius or deeply sad." "Both, Bill. Always both."