# The Birthday Breach Molly spread the grainy photograph across the kitchen table, her finger tapping the corner where a mountain of wrapped boxes sat stacked beneath a disco ball. "This is our target," she announced. "Little Timmy Pemberton's seventh birthday party. Saturday afternoon. Two hours. In and out." Bill squinted at the image, adjusting his reading glasses. "How many presents are we talking?" "Preliminary intel suggests forty to fifty individual packages. Video games, action figures, some kind of hoverboard situation. Total street value approximately three thousand dollars." "What's the security like?" Bill asked, pulling out a notebook that he kept for all their jobs. "Single mother. Hired a clown for entertainment. That's it. The clown will be inside the house dealing with fourteen screaming first-graders. The parents will be in the backyard supervising the bounce house." Bill whistled low. "It's almost too easy. Where do they keep the presents?" Molly circled an area on the photo. "Garage. Climate controlled, locked with a standard deadbolt. I've got bolt cutters in the van." "What about the clown?" Bill's eyes narrowed with concern. "Could be unpredictable. Clowns are chaos agents." "True, but he'll be occupied with the piñata incident. I've arranged for the piñata to malfunction catastrophically." Bill's eyebrows rose. "You sabotaged a children's piñata?" "I replaced the stick with a pool noodle. While he's dealing with that disaster, we slip through the side gate and extract the packages." "Brilliant," Bill muttered, scribbling notes. "Transport vehicle?" "The van. We load everything in under five minutes. I'll have the engine running." Bill tapped his pen against his chin. "What about cameras? These suburban homes have everything these days." "I checked twice. No visible security system. The mother's got a basic ring doorbell, but it points toward the front entrance. We enter from the rear property line." "Exit strategy?" "Two routes," Molly said, pulling out a hand-drawn map. "Primary: straight out through the back, down Elm Street. Secondary: through the neighbor's yard if police get called unexpectedly." Bill folded his hands together, studying his partner with something approaching respect. "What about the child? Timmy himself?" Molly's expression softened slightly. "He'll never know. The presents arrive at the donation center by Monday morning." "Refurbished and resold within two weeks," Bill finished their standard operating procedure. "Exactly." Molly slid the photo back into a folder. "We meet at the rendezvous point Thursday night to finalize details and check equipment." Bill stood up, extending his hand. "Saturday's going to be beautiful." Molly shook it firmly. "It always is."