Molly adjusted the borrowed reading glasses, squinting at the driveway like it was a high-stakes stock exchange. "I’m looking at the perimeter defenses, Bill, and I’m not impressed. We’ve got three nannies guarding the cake, one hyperactive golden retriever with a Napoleonic complex, and a shed full of unsupervised Legos waiting to snap a heel." Bill smoothed his hair back, wiping a bead of sweat from his temple with a silk handkerchief. "Excellent. The distractions are in place. The smell of high fructose corn syrup wafting from the concessions will mask the Fendi shopping bag we brought. We just need to acquire the payload: the curated collection of 'Big Girl Toys' arriving this afternoon." "The wrapping paper is Velcro-backed," Molly whispered, tapping a ruler against her palm like a conductor’s baton. "That’s our tell. If we tear the paper, we look like amateurs. We look like toddlers, Bill. We want to look like efficiency. If the tape rips, the silent alarm—the squeaking swing—will trigger." "Efficiency," Bill nodded, tightening his shoelaces with surgical precision. "I’ve practiced the entry. I will enter through the open window, utilize the fairy lights as a ladder, extract the gifts, and slip out before the first balloon pops. It’s the stuff of legends." "It’s thirty degrees outside and you’re going to climb a window covered in fake cobwebs. The kid lives there. He’ll have a Dad on security duty. A Dad who screams." "The Dad’s at the registrar office picking up the birth certificate," Bill countered, patting a bulging pocket on his trench coat. "Meanwhile, I have the Katana of Opening. No tape shall stand against it." "You brought a katana to a children’s birthday party?" "I brought a precision cutter. It slices through plastic ribbons like butter through a fresh croissant. Plus, it’s for show if the balloons get angry. Do you have the van?" "The van is parked behind the Goodwill donation box. If the airbags deploy, we’ll look like charity workers. That works." Molly stood up, dusting off her knees. "This isn’t just a heist, Bill. It’s a mission. We are purging the surplus inventory. They have a trampoline, for God’s sake. A trampoline. We cannot let that escape." "The trampoline is bait, Molly. It’s the distraction. Once the child is airborne, gravity does the work." "Gravity is unreliable, Bill. I’m reading a blog post that says ninety percent of toddlers lose at least one shoe. Chaos is inevitable. What about the cat? The grey one sitting on the fence?" "The cat is a heavy asset," Bill frowned, dodging a squirrel. "It’s sitting on the wall between us and the treasure. If we spook it, the locals will be alerted. It’s a sitting duck, Molly. We have to bypass the cat or sedate it." "Sedate it? With what? Peanut butter? It won’t eat a strawberry. We bypass it. We are undetected ninjas." "Ninjas don’t climb real fences on Christmas Eve while wearing leather gloves," Bill muttered, peering over the hedge. "I have a plan involving a red balloon tethered to the gate. It will fly the Cat across the room." "It’s a dog, Bill." "It’s a tactical operation. Listen, if we grab the Nintendo Switch, we can trade it at the mall for a week’s supply of coffee and donuts. It’s a win-win." "I don’t want a Nintendo Switch, I want the diamond necklace wrapped in that scented tissue. That’s the real coup. That’s the payout." "We’ll settle for the switch. We compromise. Now, does the rent-a-cop have a line of sight?" "He’s watching the balloon animals over there. We go now. On my mark. Three, two, one..."