Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ015BG25E6QX9WV55T07GFH

The blueprint was spread across Molly's kitchen table, held down at the corners by a half-eaten bagel and a coffee mug that had seen better decades. It wasn't really a blueprint, of course. It was a hand-drawn map of the Hargrove community center, sketched on the back of a grocery receipt by Bill, whose artistic talents had clearly peaked in second grade. "Walk me through it one more time," Molly said, tapping the area marked with a crude smiley face. "That's where the presents go. The kids open them during cake time, and the parents stack everything on the gift table by the north wall." Bill adjusted his reading glasses, which he wore not because he needed them but because he felt they projected intelligence. "The party starts at two. Cake cutting is scheduled for three fifteen. That gives us exactly four minutes before someone notices." "Four minutes to grab thirty-odd presents from a table surrounded by a hundred sugar-crazed six-year-olds." "That's why we need a distraction." Molly leaned back in her chair and studied the ceiling. She had pulled off some memorable jobs in her twelve-year career. She had once walked out of a jewelry store wearing a diamond necklace that the owner didn't realize was missing for six hours. She had successfully emptied a university safe during a faculty meeting being held in the same room. But stealing birthday presents from children felt like entering uncharted moral territory, even for her. "The birthday kid is named Olivia," Bill continued, consulting a folded party invitation he had fished out of someone's recycling bin. "Theme is unicorns." "Of course it is." "I already rented the costume." Molly slowly turned her head to look at him. "You rented a unicorn costume." "It's a full-body suit. Very convincing. Horn, rainbow mane, the works. I walk in as the entertainment, do a lap around the room, wave at the kids, and by the time anyone thinks twice about it, you're out the back door with the goods." "And where exactly am I during all this?" "Behind the gift table. You come in through the kitchen. The caterer's entrance is around back, no lock, just a sliding bolt. I checked." Molly studied the map again. She traced a path from the kitchen door to the gift table with her finger, then to the emergency exit on the east side. It was clean. Disturbingly clean. "What about parents?" "Helicopter moms will be parked by the bouncy castle. Dads will be pretending to watch football on their phones. Nobody guards the gift table. That's human nature." "You've really thought this through." "I've been planning this for three weeks, Molly." She picked up the bagel and took a bite. It was stale. She chewed it anyway and stared at the map for another long moment before swallowing. "Fine," she said. "But if I have to wear a costume, you're paying for dry cleaning." Bill grinned and pulled a second folded paper from his pocket. It was an order confirmation for a pink butterfly outfit. Molly closed her eyes and wondered, not for the first time, why she hadn't gone into accounting.