Bill smoothed the crease in his ill-fitting jumpsuit and stared intensely at the wrapping paper schematics spread across the dining table. "The security layout is... intricate. We're facing a padded fortress of glitter, bias-cut tape, and boundless hope." "Don't flatter yourself," Molly replied, sharpening a pencil with a flick of a switchblade. "It's just a cellophane shield disguised as high-density material. The perimeter patrol consists of two sugar-fueled toddlers with zero security clearance. Easy pickings." "Negative. Those toddlers hold grudges. If we interrupt the cake ceremony, the Witnesses—the parents—will mobilize faster than a swarm of bees. We must grab the loot during the 'pin the tail' distraction." "And the payola? Is it sufficient to justify the risk of sticky fingers?" "Collector's edition Power Wheels and an eight-hundred-dollar LEGO set. We walk away rich, or we walk away with enough rope burn to never touch a balloon again." Molly slipped the badge into her pocket and checked her watch. "Plan accepted. The van is idling in the alley, cold as a midwife's handshake. Let's go steal a toddler's childhood before the story time chimes."