Run: 2026-03-18-01KM08R37MHCF469RNCDFXEMWG

Molly and Bill crouched behind a large potted plant, peering through the foliage at the chaos of the children’s party. Streamers hung from the ceiling like colorful spiderwebs, and a piñata shaped like a dinosaur dangled ominously above the gift table. Molly adjusted her oversized sunglasses—a necessary part of her disguise as a befuddled aunt—and tapped her fingers against her thigh. “We’ve got about twenty minutes before the cake comes out,” Molly whispered. “That’s our window.” Bill scratched his fake mustache, which was already peeling slightly at the edges. “You sure about that? Kids don’t run on schedules. One of them could scream the place down any second.” “Relax. I overheard the mom say the cake’s coming at four-thirty sharp. Timed it to the T.” Molly pulled out a crumpled napkin with scribbles—a rough floor plan of the party room. “Presents are by the back wall, near the teacher who’s supposed to be watching them. But she’s too busy yelling at Jimmy to stop poking his finger in the punch bowl.” Bill squinted. “That’s the teacher? She looks like she’s one bad day away from quitting.” “Exactly. Distracted authority is our best friend.” Molly folded the napkin and tucked it into her pocket. “Here’s the plan: You walk in like you own the place—” “I own the place?” Bill interrupted. “Why do I always get the ‘I own the place’ bit? That’s how people get recognized.” “Because you’ve got that look,” Molly said, gesturing vaguely at his face. “Like you’ve never once considered the concept of subtlety.” Bill scowled. “Fine. What’s my cover?” “Santa’s helper. You’re supposed to be passing out the goodie bags.” Molly grinned. “Which conveniently have holes in them. You slip the presents out through the handles.” “What about you?” “I’m the janitor. Mop bucket, feather duster—I’ll be crying about my back the whole time. You’d never suspect a janitor of being a master thief.” She winked. “Plus, everyone ignores janitors. We’re invisible.” Bill rubbed his temples. “What if the mom notices her presents are missing before we’re out the door?” “Unlikely. She’s got, like, three screaming kids running around. She won’t notice anything until after the party.” Molly checked her watch. “We move when the clown starts the ‘Hot Potato’ game. That’s when all eyes are on the dance floor.” Bill sighed. “And if the clown gets distracted and the game doesn’t start?” “Then we improvise.” Molly suddenly sobered. “But it’ll start. I paid off the clown to do it at four-thirty precisely.” “You what?” Bill’s voice was a loud stage whisper. Several kids glanced their way. Molly yanked Bill back by his sleeve. “Lower the volume, genius. Yes, I paid off the clown. It’s not like we’re walking into a bank heist. These people are loaded with disposable income.” She rolled her eyes. “Also, I sold some of the mom’s jewelry last week to get the cash. She won’t notice that either.” Bill opened his mouth, then closed it. “You’ve thought of everything.” “Not everything.” Molly tapped the napkin. “We need to be out the back door by four forty-five. That’s when the parents start arriving to pick up their kids. We blend in with the crowd.” Bill nodded, though his jaw was set tight. “Fine. But if this goes south, I’m blaming you.” Molly clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit. Now, let’s go steal some toys before these kids develop actual criminal instincts.”