Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM5R16YA7Z4W4J9N2K33GKY

The van smelled of stale coffee and regret. Molly peered through binoculars, her brow furrowed in concentration. Across the street, a suburban home buzzed with the chaotic energy of a six-year-old’s birthday party. A rainbow-colored banner flapped in the breeze, and the distant shrieks of children pierced the air. Bill, wedged beside her, meticulously counted on his fingers. “Okay, so entry through the back gate during the pinata chaos. That’s phase one.” Molly lowered the binoculars. “Phase one? Bill, we’re stealing wrapped Legos and stuffed owls, not cracking a safe. The only ‘phase’ we need is ‘grab and go.’” “Professionalism, Mol. Every job needs a plan.” He gestured with a laminated chart he’d drawn on a napkin. It featured stick figures and arrows pointing at a drawing of a cake. “See? During ‘Musical Chairs Meltdown,’ we move. The parents will be too busy consoling the loser.” “The loser is a child named Timmy who cries when he doesn’t win. He’s six.” “Precisely! A perfect distraction.” Bill beamed, proud of his tactical genius. Molly sighed, rubbing her temples. She’d done diamond exchanges, museum jobs, but this? This was a new low. The client was a rich, eccentric uncle who wanted to teach his sister a lesson about “over-indulgence.” The pay was good, but the moral ambiguity was sticky, like the frosting she could see from here. “Look,” she said, “the real problem isn’t the distraction. It’s the loot. Where are they even keeping the presents?” Bill pointed. “By the fireplace. See the mountain of shiny paper? It’s a beacon of unchecked capitalism.” “It’s also in the direct sighline of every parent in the living room.” “Ah, but!” Bill produced another napkin. “The clown. ‘Binky the Wonder Clown’ arrives in ten minutes. His contract, which I may have intercepted, stipulates a twenty-minute ‘balloon animal extravaganza’ in the backyard. That’ll pull the adults outside for photos. The kids will be hyped on sugar and chasing bubbles. It’s a window.” Molly had to admit, it was a decent window. “Fine. But no contact. We’re in and out in ninety seconds. And for heaven’s sake, don’t step on any toys. The last thing we need is a melodic ‘Oops! I did it again!’ from a rogue Baby Shark plush giving our position away.” Bill nodded solemnly. “A silent extraction. Understood.” He paused, looking troubled. “What about the cake? It’s a full sheet cake, Mol. Chocolate with vanilla buttercream. That’s a secondary asset, right?” “We are not stealing a child’s birthday cake.” “It’s just… it’s a lot of cake. They won’t eat it all. It’s wasteful.” “Focus, Bill.” Molly checked her watch. “Binky arrives in five. Remember, grab the presents, load the van, and no sampling the candy from the piñata. I saw you eyeing it.” “It’s a professional curiosity about the fill rate!” Bill protested, but he was already pulling on his black gloves. They were too small, making his fingers look like overcooked sausages. Molly shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. This was ridiculous. But as the first honk of a clown car sounded in the distance, she felt the familiar, stupid thrill of the game. They were about to commit the most adorable felony of their careers.