Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8VF70JBRW1KB7EJV3KF18A

Molly spread the hand-drawn blueprint across the hood of their rusted minivan and anchored one corner with a juice box she had stolen from a gas station purely out of habit. The blueprint was done in crayon, which she felt added a certain artisanal quality to the operation. "Alright, here's what we're dealing with," she said, tapping the paper with authority. "The Hendersons are throwing little Caleb a seventh birthday party this Saturday. Bouncy castle in the back. Face painter by the garage. And every single guest is bringing a gift." Bill leaned in and squinted. "Is that a dog or a security guard?" "That's Mrs. Henderson. Focus, Bill." "Sorry. She's very rectangular." Molly took a steadying breath. She had pulled off a jewelry store job in Reno with fewer complications than a single conversation with Bill. "The presents will be stacked on a table in the dining room, visible through the sliding glass door. I counted fourteen kids on the e-vite." "You hacked their e-vite?" "I RSVP'd. I said we were bringing twins named Ashton and Dashton. Nobody questions twins, Bill. Twins are inherently trustworthy." Bill scratched the back of his neck, processing this with the speed of a dial-up connection. The afternoon sun beat down on the strip mall parking lot where they had convened, filling the air with the smell of hot asphalt and questionable life choices. "What kind of presents are we talking?" he asked. "Because last time you said it would be worth it, and we ended up with forty pounds of scented candles from that bridal shower." "Children's presents, Bill. We're talking LEGOs, gaming consoles, cash cards. One kid is allegedly bringing a drone. A drone." "Which kid?" "Does it matter which kid?" "I just want to know who I'm stealing a drone from. For my conscience." Molly stared at him with the flat patience of a woman who had long ago accepted her lot in life. She pulled a pair of matching polo shirts from a shopping bag and tossed one to Bill. They were bright teal with the words Party Pros printed on the front in iron-on letters that were already peeling. "We go in as entertainment coordinators," she said. "We set up, we mingle, we compliment the decorations. Then during the cake reveal, every parent in that house will have their phone out filming little Caleb's face. That gives us a ninety-second window to load the gifts into the van." "What about the bouncy castle? Kids see everything from a bouncy castle. It's like a watchtower made of joy." "That's why you're going to be in the bouncy castle, Bill. You're the distraction." Bill looked at the polo shirt, then at Molly, then at the crayon blueprint with its rectangular matriarch standing guard over a pile of colorful squares. "I'm going to be bouncing, aren't I?" "You're going to be bouncing so hard those kids forget presents even exist." He pulled the shirt over his head. It was two sizes too small, which somehow felt appropriate for the entire operation.