Run: 2026-03-18-01KM0A6XKNM67AGRCT8TRTNKMG

Molly spread the party invitation on the kitchen table as if it were a military map. It was covered in glitter, a cartoon dinosaur, and enough cheerful handwriting to make a hardened burglar feel a pang of guilt. “Saturday, 2 p.m., Emma’s Seventh Birthday Bash,” she read aloud. “Bounce house. Cupcakes. Presents in the den.” Bill leaned over her shoulder, squinting through his spectacles. “Seventh birthday,” he said. “That’s ambitious. I was still eating glue at seven.” “You may still be emotionally eating glue,” Molly said, tapping the address with one lacquered nail. “The key is the timing. Parents arrive with gifts, lose their minds around the cake, and then the presents are stacked near the fireplace like a consumerist altar.” Bill nodded slowly. “And we go in as what? Clowns?” “No.” “Mimes?” “No.” “Two deeply concerned uncles?” Molly gave him a look. “We are not dressing as uncles. We’re going in as party entertainers.” Bill straightened. “I can juggle.” “You can juggle one apple and immediate panic.” “That is still juggling.” “It’s not enough.” Molly pulled a sketchbook toward her and flipped it open to a page covered in costume ideas. “We’ll be The Amazing Balloon Twins. Bright vests, happy faces, and a portable balloon arch. Everyone trusts people with balloons.” Bill frowned. “That seems suspiciously specific.” “It’s brilliant. We’ll arrive early, offer free balloon animals, and while the children scream in delight, we’ll create a distraction near the gift table.” Bill scratched his chin. “And the presents?” “While you’re making a giraffe that looks like a tax audit, I’ll swap the real gifts into our hamper.” He looked up. “A hamper?” “A tasteful wicker hamper with a tea towel over it.” “Because thieves are famous for their taste.” “They are when they’re successful.” Bill considered this. “Do we know what kind of presents?” “No. But children’s parties are a field of opportunities: toys, books, remote-control cars, tiny drum kits, things that make noise, things that leak glitter. We’re not stealing treasure. We’re stealing volume.” Bill grinned despite himself. “I do love a noisy haul.” Molly rolled out a floor plan of the house, drawn from memory and a brief, illegal glance through the front window the night before. “Front entrance here. Kitchen there. Den at the back. The mother is likely to be stationed near the cake with the focus of a battlefield medic.” “And the father?” “Hovering helplessly by the drinks.” “Excellent. Men of the household are always one paper plate away from collapse.” Molly gave a short laugh. “At 2:15, the magician begins. That’s our cue.” “Magician?” “We hired one.” “You hired a magician?” “We need him to make the adults look away.” Bill put a hand to his forehead. “You brought in a third criminal.” “He’s not a criminal. He thinks this is for the birthday girl.” Bill lowered his hand. “I’ve been in bad jobs before, Molly, but this one has a special kind of moral inconvenience.” “Try to keep your conscience in the hamper with the presents.” He pointed at the invitation. “What if there’s a dog?” “There is always a dog.” “What if it bites me?” “Then it’ll be doing us both a favor by giving you a reason to leave quickly.” Bill opened his mouth, then closed it again. He watched Molly fold the map with crisp confidence, and for a moment the room seemed to tidy itself around her certainty. “So,” he said at last, “we’re stealing from children.” Molly slid the invitation into her coat pocket. “We’re relocating poorly supervised gift assets.” Bill smiled, impressed and slightly ashamed. “That sounds much cleaner.” “It is,” she said. “Now finish your tea and practice looking approachable. We have a birthday to ruin.”