Molly adjusted the fake mustache in the rearview mirror and frowned. “You really think we’re doing this? A kids’ birthday party?” Bill leaned back in the passenger seat, twirling a toy soldier between his fingers. “Best score of the year. Birthday cash, gift cards, toys—most of which can be flipped for twice retail online. Kids don’t even know what they’re getting half the time.” “They’re gonna notice when all the presents vanish.” “Not if we time it right. Cake, piñata chaos, everyone screaming—perfect cover. Like stealing candy from—” “—a baby. Yeah, real original.” “Hey, it’s poetic.” Molly sighed. “We’re professionals. We did the diamond heist at the Met Gala. We cracked the Lockridge vault with a spoon and a paperclip. Now we’re robbing Chuck E. Cheese rejects?” “It’s not Chuck E. Cheese. It’s *Bouncy Barn*. They’ve got inflatables, a laser tag maze, and—most importantly—unattended gift bags stacked behind the snack table like they’re begging to be liberated.” “You really did your research.” “Scouted it yesterday. Wore a fanny pack. Blended right in. One dad offered me beef jerky.” “Was it good jerky?” “Excellent. But irrelevant.” Molly glanced at the party venue across the street—bright balloons, a giant cartoon duck above the entrance, children shrieking like banshees on espresso. “I still don’t like it. What if some kid sees us?” Bill pulled out a tiny tuxedo vest and slipped it on. “Then we tell him we’re undercover clowns.” “You expect me to believe that?” “No, I expect *him* to. Kids believe anything. Tell a five-year-old the moon’s made of cheese, he’ll ask if it’s cheddar.” “You’re terrible at parenting logic.” “I had a goldfish once. I named him Steve. He’s buried in my freezer.” Molly stared. “Why?” “Power outage. Didn’t want him going to waste.” “We’re not stealing food from a kids’ party.” “Then don’t take the cupcakes. But the gift bags? Fair game. Rule of heist: if it’s wrapped, it’s fair game. Universal law.” “There’s no such rule.” “There is now. I just made it up. I’m the captain of this operation.” “You’re the guy who tripped over a yoga mat during the art gallery job.” “Still got the Monet!” “And broke two ribs!” “Worth it.” Molly rubbed her temples. “Fine. But I’m wearing a disguise. A full one. No exceptions.” “Already got it. You’re Aunt Linda.” “I’m *not*.” “Too late. I told the birthday mom you’re coming. You’re late because you’re diabetic and had to eat a snack first. I even sent her a photo.” “You *what*?!” Bill handed over a laminated badge: *Linda — Diabetic Party Guest (Snack Permit: Approved).* Molly squinted. “This is clearly a library card with my picture taped over.” “Authenticity sells a lie. Look at this.” He gestured to himself. “I’m Chad—enthusiastic uncle, loves magic tricks, suspiciously good at balloon animals.” “You’re wearing glitter suspenders.” “They’re strategic. They blind with joy.” Molly groaned. “Once we’re inside, we hit the gift table during the dance-off.” “No, we wait for the ‘Duck Duck Goose’ elimination round. Chaos peaks in the last five minutes.” “Better be worth it. If I’m doing this, I want at least two gift cards to bookstores.” “And a toy robot that beeps. I’ve always wanted one.” “You’re ridiculous.” “But effective.” A party coordinator waved at them from the door. Bill saluted back. “Showtime.” Molly adjusted her wig. “If I get juice spilled on me, I’m blaming you.” “Fair. But if I get hugged by a toddler, you owe me hazard pay.”