Molly adjusted the focus on the binoculars, ignoring the half-eaten sandwich in Bill’s lap. "Target is confirmed," Molly whispered, her voice grave. "The payload is substantial." Bill sighed, wiping crumbs off his shirt. "Molls, it’s a six-year-old’s birthday party. The payload is mostly LEGOs and maybe a bicycle if the kid is lucky." "Don't get complacent. The bicycle could be a Trek. Easy five hundred on the black market. And look at that pile. That’s at least thirty units of unsecured merchandise sitting on a linen tablecloth in direct sunlight." Molly lowered the binoculars, her eyes scanning the bouncy castle perimeter. "We go in while the magician is doing the scarf trick. The misdirection is absolute." "I’m not wearing a clown nose," Bill said flatly. "I said that in the briefing, and I’m saying it again. I have standards." "It’s not about the nose, Bill. It’s about the psychology. You walk in with a balloon animal, you’re invisible. You’re part of the furniture." Molly checked her watch. "We have a four-minute window between the cake cutting and the piñata bash. That’s when the adults are busy taking photos. Their guard is down completely." "So, I’m the distraction?" Bill asked, gesturing to his bulk. "What’s my cover story?" "You’re Uncle Jerry. You’re late, you’re loud, and you’re definitely not supposed to be there." Molly pointed a manicured finger at the sliding glass door of the suburban home. "You incapacitate the hired help—the teenager in the pizza rat costume—while I sweep the table. We bag the gifts, we exit through the side gate." "Incapacitate the pizza rat? He’s a high schooler, Molls. He’s just trying to make minimum wage." "It’s a tactical takedown. A gentle shove. Maybe a wedgie if he gets handsy. Focus on the prize, Bill. Do you know what a Nintendo Switch goes for these days? We’ll be eating steak for a month." "I feel like the cops are going to chase us faster for this than the bank job. It’s bad PR." "Cops have a soft spot for bankers. Nobody likes a birthday party thief. That’s why we have to be fast. In, out, no tears. Ideally." Molly cracked the car door open. "Are you ready to become rich, or do you want to go back to flipping burgers?" "I don't know. Stealing from kids seems like a fast track to karma getting its revenge. What if one of those boxes is a puppy?" "Then we sell the puppy." "You're awful." "I'm a professional." Molly slapped the dashboard. "Move it. The magician is pulling the doves out of the hat. We’re losing daylight." Bill groaned, unbuckling his seatbelt with a heavy clatter. "If I get arrested for stealing a Barbie Dreamhouse, I’m telling them you forced me at gunpoint." "Deal. Now grab the sacks. And smile, Uncle Jerry. You’ve got a party to crash."