Run: 2026-02-25-01KJBGY7FX07HKPCEX6SEB9MEM

Molly adjusted her mask, peering through the van’s window. The neon balloon outside spelled JOSH. “This is the place?” she asked. “The invitation said six. It’s six-thirty.” Bill checked his watch. “We’re late.” “Late for a birthday?” She tapped the steering wheel. “Why steal from toddlers?” “The payout. Look at that drone. That’s a DJI. Worth three hundred.” Molly sighed. “And the cake? We can’t eat the evidence.” “We’re bagging it. For the fence. He loves fondant.” Bill leaned forward. “Security?” “One dad sleeping. One mom dancing. Two uncles drinking beer.” “Easy.” “Too easy.” “You’re paranoid.” “I’m professional.” Molly grabbed the duffel bag. “Kitchen. Back door is unlocked.” “How do you know?” “I checked the lock. It was loose.” “You picked it before we got here?” “I’m thorough.” Bill nodded. “Extraction point?” “The van. Right here.” “What if they wake up?” “We run. We don’t fight kids. Bad PR.” “Agreed. No wrestling six-year-olds.” “Exactly. We grab boxes. Leave paper. It’s messy.” “We need the paper. It proves value.” “No. Paper is trash.” “The paper has the brand names.” “So? We know what’s inside.” Molly opened the door. Humid air smelled of sugar. “Ready?” “Born ready.” “You were born in a hospital.” “Metaphorically.” They stepped out. Music thumped. “Happy Birthday” played on a loop. “It’s too loud,” Bill whispered. “Good. Covers footsteps.” “My boots squeak.” “Lube them.” “I don’t have lube.” “Use frosting.” “Disgusting.” “Sticky. Works.” “Fine. Frosting it is.” They crept toward the house. Sugar smell hit them. “Do you smell that?” Bill asked. “Strawberries.” “And fear.” “There’s no fear.” “The kids are sleeping. That’s fear.” “They’re napping. It’s a nap.” “A tactical nap.” Molly stopped. “Wait. What’s that?” “A balloon?” “It’s a laser grid.” “It’s a string of lights.” “It’s a trap.” “It’s Christmas lights. It’s July.” “Exactly. Suspicious.” “It’s decoration.” “Okay. Move.” They slipped inside. Living room was a minefield of toys. “Don’t step on the blocks,” Bill warned. “I know.” “That’s a Rube Goldberg machine.” “It’s a fort.” “It’s a trap.” “Just grab the pile.” “The pile is guarded.” “By a dog?” “By a cat.” “A cat? We’re afraid of a cat?” “It’s a Maine Coon. It’s a tiger.” “Fine. I’ll distract it.” “With what?” “A laser pointer.” “You have a laser pointer?” “I’m prepared.” Bill smiled. “You’re good.” “I’m the best.” “Let’s go.” They moved toward the mountain of gifts. “This is it,” Molly said. “The jackpot.” “Don’t jinx it.” “I didn’t.” “You thought it.” “Okay. Grab and go.”