The blueprints were spread across the rickety card table, a chaotic mess of lines and notes. Bill tapped a greasy finger on a diagram of a suburban bungalow, specifically the patio doors. “Right, so the entry point is here. Glass panel is a bit loose, according to my guy. A bit of suction and a gentle jiggle, we’re in like Flynn.” Molly peered over the top of her cat-eye glasses, unimpressed. “‘A bit of a jiggle’? Bill, this is a high-stakes operation. We’re not trying to get a stubborn biscuit out of a vending machine. There are children in there. Children are unpredictable. They’re like tiny, screaming security cameras with sticky hands.” “Relax, Molly. The focus of the room will be the magician. ‘Magnifico the Marvelous.’ He’s a thirty-minute distraction package, starting at three PM sharp. We hit the patio doors at three-fifteen. That gives him time to get to the big finale, probably pulling a rabbit out of a hat or something. Kids’ll be mesmerized.” “And the presents? Where are the presents?” Bill circled a small, shaded area on the blueprint with a flourish. “Here. The ‘present repository.’ It’s just a fancy word for a pile in the corner of the dining room, behind the buffet table. The parents will be congregated by the drinks, congratulating each other on their successful parenting. They won’t notice a thing.” “A pile, Bill? You’re telling me our entire score is just… a pile? Unsecured? Unguarded?” “It’s a five-year-old’s birthday party, not Fort Knox. The security is a three-foot-tall kid in a Spider-Man costume guarding the nibbles. We grab, we go. Simple.” Molly sighed, a long, theatrical sound of disappointment. “Our last score was a diamond necklace. The one before that, a crate of rare first editions. Now we’re reduced to stealing… what? A poorly assembled Lego set and a board game about finding a lost sheep?” “It’s not about the quality of the loot, Molly, it’s about the purity of the crime. Stealing from a bank? Expected. Stealing from a billionaire? A Tuesday. But stealing from a child? That’s art. That’s a level of villainy most people can only dream of. We’re not just thieves; we’re dream-crushers.” A slow, wicked grin spread across Molly’s face. She picked up a small, padded sack from the table. “Alright. Dream-crushers. I like it. Now, tell me again about the suction cups. And for the love of all that’s holy, don’t say ‘jiggle’.”