Run: 2026-03-18-01KM07QX2EN6GXTGYF8KQY1EXX

The rain tapped against the window of the stolen minivan like tiny, impatient fingers. Molly shifted in the passenger seat, her neon-pink ski mask crinkling with every move. Bill drummed his gloved fingers on the steering wheel, the other hand tapping away at a GPS screen that read *10:47 PM—Right on Schedule*. "You sure this place is a goldmine?" Molly asked, peeling back her mask just enough to take a sip from the flask she kept in her coat. "I mean, it's a kids' party. Not exactly Fort Knox." Bill exhaled through his nose, the sound equal parts amusement and exasperation. "Molls, Molls, Molls. You’re thinking too small. These aren’t just kids. These are *rich* kids. You ever seen a toddler’s birthday party in the Hamptons? It’s not streamers and juice boxes. It’s caviar cucumber sandwiches and *actual* gold-wrapped presents." Molly squinted out the window. "So we’re hitting a party where the kids get better snacks than we do?" "Exactly. And while those little rich brats are eating those little caviar things, we’re walking out with, what, twenty grand in toys?" Bill leaned back, grinning. "I did recon. Security’s some old guy who fell asleep by the punch bowl two years ago. Kid’s magician’s got a crush on the nanny. The caterer’s sneaking champagne to the valets. This place is softer than a marshmallow." Molly pulled the flask away and wiped her mouth. "And the presents?" "Scattered like breadcrumbs. All in one room. Unsupervised. They trust the parents *and* the kids to keep their grubby mitts off until they’re ‘ready.’" He air-quoted the last word. "Spoiler: They’re never ready. That’s our window." Molly nodded, then frowned. "What if there’s, like, a *My Little Pony* collection in there?" Bill waved a hand. "We’re not looting sentimental value. We’re hitting the *big* items. That Lego set that costs more than my first car. The stuffed unicorn with the diamond-studded horn. The *actual* diamond-studded horn, Molly." She groaned. "That’s so specific." "Priorities. But the key is we’re in and out before the cops even think about ‘pedestrian safety.’" He tapped the GPS again. "Party ends at eleven. We hit at eleven-oh-five. Tops." Molly finally pulled her mask down, her dark eyes sharp. "What if a kid sees us?" Bill barked a laugh. "A kid? That’s perfect. Kid yells ‘STRANGER DANGER!’—we’re already gone. Fastest getaway route’s through the backyard, down the alley, and into the sewer system via the broken manhole cover I *definitely* checked earlier." Molly blinked. "Wait, you *checked* the sewer?" "Scout’s honor." He made a vague gesture. "Besides, worst-case scenario, we fake a medical emergency. Nothing cuts through suspicion like a guy clutching his chest and a woman screaming ‘HELP, HE’S DYING!’ Turns out rich parents would rather surrender their own keys than risk a liability lawsuit." Molly sighed, pulling her mask back up. "You’re a monster." "And you’re the one who suggested robbing a *children’s party* first." Bill grinned, then turned the key in the ignition. "Ready?" Molly adjusted her gloves, the latex snapping against her fingers. "Let’s go steal Christmas. Or whatever this is." "Holiday of capitalism achieves maximum irony," Bill said, shifting the van into drive. "Lights out, presents out, *rollicking good time*."