Molly tapped the blueprints with a gloved finger, her eyes narrowed. “Okay, Bill, focus. This is the final briefing. Operation: Birthday Grinch is a go in two hours.” Bill was trying to surreptitiously eat a jam doughnut he’d stuffed in his pocket. A dollop of red jelly oozed onto the map of the Johnson residence. “Right, final briefing. Got it. We’re stealing presents. From kids. Are you sure about this, Molls? It feels a bit… on the nose.” “It’s not on the nose, it’s ironic,” Molly snapped, peeling the sticky paper off the table. “We’re undermining the very foundation of childhood greed. It’s performance art with a lucrative payoff. Now, the target is the back patio. The bouncy castle is our Trojan horse.” Bill’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I love bouncy castles! Can we have a quick bounce before we load the van?” “No, we cannot have a quick bounce! We will be using it for cover while we make our approach. The adults will all be inside, arguing over who brought the worst potato salad. Our window is seven minutes. You have the gear?” He patted a duffel bag. “The Gadget-Grip 5000, the silent suction cups, and three empty pillowcases. Very traditional.” “Good. And the diversion?” Bill pulled a small, remote-controlled car from the bag. It had a single, wobbly spider attached to its roof. “The Arachno-Rover. I’ll drive it straight through the middle of the party. Mass hysteria. Guaranteed.” Molly nodded. “Excellent. You trigger the panic, I’ll hit the presents. Remember, we’re only after the big-ticket items. No board games, no socks. We want the electronics, the ride-on toys, the life-sized animatronic dinosaurs.” “What about the Barbie Dreamhouse? That’s got some serious resale value.” “Only if it’s the Malibu mansion edition. The standard one is a dead weight. Bill, are you listening to me? This is the big time. No more snatching handbags from old ladies.” “I’m listening! I’m just saying, a Barbie Dreamhouse is a status symbol. We could live in it.” “We are not living in a dollhouse. Get your head in the game. Positions?” “I’ll be by the rose bushes, ready to deploy the Arachno-Rover on your signal.” “Good. I’ll be on the roof, ready to abseil down like a present-stealing ninja. Remember the code word.” “Monkey,” Bill said solemnly. “If I say ‘monkey’, it means the coast is clear. If I say ‘orangutan’, it means we abort.” “No. The code word is ‘banana’. We’re sticking with the monkey theme.” “Why can’t it be something cool, like ‘titanium’?” “Because the remote is shaped like a banana, Bill! Now, finish your doughnut. We’ve got a childhood to ruin.”