# The Birthday Caper Molly spread the floor plan across the kitchen table, her finger tracing the layout of Riverside Community Center. Bill leaned in with a steaming cup of coffee, studying the blueprint like it was the Mona Lisa. "So here's the thing," Molly said, tapping the main hall. "The birthday kid, Tommy, opens presents at exactly three o'clock. We need to be in and out in forty-five minutes." "Forty-five minutes?" Bill whistled low. "That's ambitious. Last time we talked about a gift heist, you said we needed at least two hours." "That was for a wedding. Children operate on a different schedule. Shorter attention spans, faster cake consumption." Molly pulled out a stack of photos showing the party setup from their reconnaissance mission. "Look, the presents are stacked in that corner by the pirate decorations." Bill adjusted his glasses, squinting at the images. "Why do six-year-olds need twelve presents? When I was a kid, I got one gift and a handful of candy corn." "Inflation, inflation, inflation. Parents spend serious money now." Molly circled the emergency exit in red pen. "We enter through here at 2:55. I'll distract the parents with a 'water main emergency' announcement. You slip in, grab the biggest boxes first, and load them into the van." "Wait, what do you mean you'll announce it?" Bill frowned. "Are you going undercover as a city official again? Because last time, they almost arrested you for impersonating a plumber." "That was one time, and I had a very convincing mustache." Molly grinned. "This time, I'm the worried parent. I'll rush in screaming about a gas leak in the bathrooms. Chaos ensues. We slip out in the confusion." Bill stroked his chin thoughtfully. "What about the gift tags? Don't we need to know which presents are the expensive ones? I don't want to steal a twelve-dollar action figure when there's a limited-edition gaming console somewhere." "That's why I photocopied the gift registry." Molly produced another document with a flourish. "Nintendo Switch, a hoverboard, and some sort of robot dog. Those three alone are worth five hundred bucks." "A hoverboard at six years old?" Bill shook his head in disbelief. "His parents are insane. What happened to building character through deprivation?" Molly rolled up the floor plan. "Times have changed. Besides, we're not keeping them. Once we fence these at the discount warehouse on Maple Street, we'll have enough for our next big job." Bill stood up, draining his coffee. "Alright, I'm in. But if anyone asks later, I want it on record that I objected to the gas leak story. It's too theatrical." "Noted," Molly said, already checking her watch. "We've got three days to prepare. Go buy yourself a nondescript parent costume." Bill grabbed his jacket and paused at the door. "This better work, Molly. I'm starting to think we picked the wrong career path."