Run: 2026-03-11-01KKFE49EVAM01MFMXY06XSYJ8

The van idled behind a hedge three houses down from the address on the invitation Molly had fished out of a neighbor's recycling bin. She studied the front yard through a pair of binoculars she had absolutely shoplifted from a sporting goods store. "How many candles on that cake?" she asked. Bill squinted at the scene from the passenger seat. "I can't see the cake from here, Moll." "Then what good are you?" "I'm here for moral support. And I drove." "Thrilling contributions, both of them." Molly lowered the binoculars. "There's one inflatable slide, two coolers full of Capri Suns, and what I estimate to be a minimum of twenty-three wrapped gifts under that tree." "Twenty-three?" "The Henderson kid is turning seven. That's a prime demographic for grandparent overspending." Bill rubbed his palms together. "So we wait until the parents crack open the first bottle of wine, the kids are sugar-crashed on the floor, and we roll in through the back gate?" "You think like a child, Bill, and I mean that in the worst possible way." Molly flipped open a spiral notebook covered in diagrams. "Phase One begins at two-fifteen. That's when Mister Henderson fires up the grill. The smoke alarm goes off every single time. It's on YouTube. Three separate occasions." "So he's distracted." "Everyone's distracted. The mom herds the kids inside. That's our six-minute window." "What about the golden retriever?" Molly looked up. "What golden retriever?" "The one sitting right next to the back gate, Bill. The one licking its own paw." She grabbed the binoculars again and swore under her breath. "Nobody mentioned a dog." "Maybe we can bribe it. I've got half a肉饼 left from lunch." "We are not bribing a dog with road meat, Bill." "Then what?" Molly reached into the back seat and produced a tennis ball. "Phase Two. I throw this over the fence, into the yard beyond. Dog chases it. We slip through the gate. Simple." "And if the dog doesn't care about tennis balls?" "Every dog cares about tennis balls. That's science." "And if it barks?" Molly paused. "Then we're fast." "Define fast." "Fast enough that by the time anyone checks the yard, we're loading presents into the van and pretending to be Uber drivers picking up a food delivery." "Nobody ordered an Uber to a backyard." "Nobody verifies anything, Bill. That's the beauty of the human condition." He leaned back in his seat and exhaled slowly. "I just want to say, for the record, that this is the worst plan we've ever executed." "The bank vault in Tucson was worse." "The bank vault in Tucson was noble. This is petty." "Petty pays the rent." Molly tucked the notebook into her jacket. "Two-thirteen. Get your shoes tied. We move in sixty seconds." Bill looked down at his untied sneakers, then back at the house, where a child screamed with delight at the sight of a balloon animal. He sighed the sigh of a man who had made choices. "Fifty seconds," Molly corrected. He tied his shoes.