Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ94K9XSNX3Y9DRE9WQDYHQ0

Molly adjusted the rearview mirror of the dented catering van, her eyes narrowing as she watched a suburban mom wrestle a three-tier cake from an SUV. Bill sat in the passenger seat, his face pressed against the side window, leaving a greasy smudge on the glass. Bill, put the binoculars down. You are fogging up the glass with your heavy breathing. I am not breathing heavy, Molly. I am just excited. Did you see the size of that box with the shiny blue ribbon? That is definitely a Lego Death Star. My gut tells me there is plastic gold in there. Molly sighed, tapping a printed blueprint of the backyard against the steering wheel. Focus, Bill. We are not here for personal enrichment. We are here for the resale value. Now, give me the layout of the bouncy castle again. Bill squinted through the lenses, adjusting the focus. It is a classic inflatable fortress, Molly. High walls, yellow turrets, mesh netting, and a slide that offers a quick exit. The birthday boy, Timmy, is currently guarding the perimeter with a plastic lightsaber. He looks like he has had too much apple juice. And the clown? Molly asked, checking her stopwatch. Puddles is distracted by a balloon animal request. He is currently struggling with a giraffe. It does not look like a giraffe. It looks like a deformed sausage. The man is a hack. Good. At precisely fourteen hundred hours, the cake will be served. That is our window. Why then? Bill asked, turning to look at her. Why not during the magic show? Because, you idiot, sugar-crashed toddlers are the most effective smoke screen in the world. Once the red dye number forty hits their systems, the parents will be too busy cleaning up projectile frosting to notice two professional gift-acquisition specialists slipping into the gift area. The gift area is a plastic card table covered in a Frozen tablecloth, Molly. It is not exactly Fort Knox. Do not undermine the mission, Bill. This is the heist of the century. Or at least the biggest hit in this zip code. What about the security guard? Bill pointed toward a lanky boy standing near the gate. He looks tough. He has a walkie-talkie and a very intimidating clip-on tie. His name is Kevin. He is seventeen and he is currently texting his girlfriend. I have already neutralized the threat. You took him out? Bill’s eyes went wide. I gave him a twenty-dollar Starbucks card and told him there was a free samples event across the street. He will be gone for at least twenty minutes. That is cold, Molly. Brilliant, but cold. Molly reached into the back seat and pulled out two large, colorful sacks. Now, do you have the extraction bags ready? I have the heavy-duty reinforced sacks from the laundromat. They are disguised as giant gift bags. I even put purple tissue paper on top so we blend in with the other guests. Excellent. Remember, we go for the small, heavy boxes first. Those are electronics or jewelry from the rich aunts. Ignore the giant boxes. Those are just oversized stuffed animals and disappointment. Wait, what about the Golden Goose? Bill asked, his voice dropping to a whisper. The card box. Yes, Bill. That is priority alpha. I am ready. My sneakers are tied. My balaclava is in my pocket. Do not put on the balaclava! Molly grabbed his arm. It is a children’s party. You will look like a serial killer. Just wear the party hat I gave you. It has sequins on it. It is very itchy. It is camouflage, Bill. Blend in or go home. Fine. But if I get glitter in my eyes, I am taking sick leave. Molly checked her watch and then the gate. It is showtime. For the loot, Bill. For the loot.