Run: 2026-02-16-01KHM60JECN3AH48X7FX7CYA4Z

The planning room smelled of old pizza and desperation. Molly tapped a grease-stained blueprint with the end of a sparkly gel pen. “It’s a fortress, Bill. A pastel-colored fortress.” Bill squinted at the diagram of the Fletcher residence. “It’s a kid’s birthday party. There’s a bouncy castle.” “Exactly! Perimeter defense. Roving, sugar-fueled sentries. And the primary target location?” She circled the living room. “Here, under the ‘Happy Birthday’ banner. A mountain of brightly wrapped contraband.” “We’re stealing from a six-year-old named Oliver,” Bill sighed, rubbing his temples. “We’re *liberating* overpriced plastic from a hyper-consumerist ritual. It’s poetic. Now, the primary obstacle is the guardian. Mrs. Fletcher. She has eyes like a hawk and a voice that can shatter glass.” “She brought vegan brownies to the block party. I don’t think she’s Mossad, Moll.” Molly ignored him, moving to a whiteboard. “We go in disguised. You’re Uncle Barry, the clumsy but lovable magician.” She pointed to a sad-looking prop top hat on the table. “I can’t do magic. My sleight of hand is for wallets, not rabbits.” “Perfect. Your incompetence will be charming. While you’re ‘accidentally’ making the family hamster disappear, I’ll be creating a diversion.” She drew a dramatic arrow. “The piñata.” Bill stared. “The piñata is the diversion?” “Think about it. A swarm of children, blinded by candy lust, focused on one point. Chaos. The perfect smoke screen. While they’re clubbing a papier-mâché donkey, I’ll exfiltrate the gifts through the patio sliding door.” “And how do you propose to get a dozen presents out the door without anyone noticing?” Molly smiled, a gleam in her eye. She held up a photograph. It was a large, wheeled cooler. “The presents go in here. We tell them it’s the… magician’s special ice box for the disappearing hamster trick. We load it up right in front of them. They’ll be none the wiser.” Bill leaned back, a flicker of reluctant admiration on his face. “The cooler’s not bad. But what about the actual extraction? Your car’s a lemon, Moll. It backfires like a cannon.” “That,” she said, pointing the pen at him, “is the beauty part. The backfire is our secondary distraction. At precisely 3:15 PM, you’ll feign a magical emergency, requiring you to fetch your ‘special wand’ from the car. You go out, start the engine—*ka-boom*—everyone looks out the window. I finish the loading.” He was quiet for a moment, studying the plans. The bouncy castle, the piñata vector, the escape route past the trampoline. “It’s… elaborate. For a bunch of action figures and stuffed animals.” “The wrapping paper alone is a fortune, Bill. And where there’s a Paw Patrol Ultimate Rescue Fire Truck, there’s often cash from Grandma.” She capped her pen with finality. “So? Are you in? Or do I need to find a new partner who appreciates the art of the party heist?” Bill looked from the sad top hat to the cooler, then to Molly’s determined face. He picked up the hat and placed it on his head. It slumped over one eyebrow. “What’s my opener?” “You fumble with a deck of cards and drop them. Classic. Endearing.” She patted his shoulder. “Remember, we’re not thieves today, Bill. We’re memory-makers. With a side of larceny.” He adjusted the hat. “Do you think Oliver will be okay? I mean, psychologically?” “He’s six. He’ll get more presents next week. Focus on the hamster trick. His name is Nibbles. Don’t lose him for real.” “Right,” Bill said, his voice hollow. “The integrity of the operation hinges on the rodent.” He looked at the blueprint one last time, the simple house now a labyrinth of peril and opportunity. “Okay, Moll. Let’s go ruin a kid’s birthday.”