Molly held up a glossy invitation against the flickering ceiling fan. It looked innocent, folded in quarter inches like a fragile origami crime scene. She stared at it with the intensity of someone appraising a diamond necklace worth millions. "Right here," she said, tapping the paper with a chipped fingernail. "The Golden Birthday. Triplets. Two dads. The target is the domestic safety zone." "The zone?" Bill asked, staring out the window, his hand hovering over the latch. "The target is their bank account, Molly. We can't rob the furniture. The van doesn't fit under their deck." "We go through the hedge. Old French Provincial style. Classic OAP entry. But the loot, Bill. The loot is the holy grail. Look at the registry." "Why all of them? You only really need the big ones. The Lego set. The iPhone. Maybe the waffle iron if you're feeling fancy." "That’s petty. That’s something a kindergarten teacher does, not a master criminal. I want the Macaroni Artist Starter Kit, too. I want the molds. I want the glitter glue. If the kid turns out to be a vampire, do you want to be unprepared? I don't want him putting up defenses while we try to rob his house. It’s basic preparedness." "Okay, first of all, stop supervillaining. Second of all, how are we getting past the security? Two dads on the lawn. One is probably taking photos of the sunshine. The other is probably crying because he doesn't know what a 'jam session' is." "The play is the cake," Molly said, her eyes gleaming. "We disrupt the perimeter while the dads are distracted by the calorie count. I’ll set off the smoke alarm using the leftover smoke detector from the convenience store heist. They’ll panic. They’ll open the windows. You waltz in on that rented scooter you bought online." "The red one that squeaks?" "The red one. You slide under the table, you snatch the crates, and you back out through the window. Speed is key. You ride that scooter like you owe the universe money. You look desperate, like you’re racing to get to the finish line." "I look like a toddler in stretchy pants," Bill groaned, pulling a dark hoodie over his head. "And what about the presents? They are in the living room. The glass cabinet." "We smash it. With a bat. You’re the muscle, Bill. It’s what you do." "And then what? We strap thirty presents to a scooter?" "It’s aerodynamics, Bill. Think of the drag coefficient. Now zip it. The pizza delivery is five minutes out. Go."