Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ09D18FDT4XRE3X97HJA55P

Molly spread the blueprints across the table, though they weren't blueprints at all. They were crayon drawings she'd fished out of a recycling bin behind a kindergarten. Bill squinted at a crude rendering of what appeared to be a house, or possibly a turtle. "Is that the target?" he asked, pointing at what he hoped was a building. "That's the bouncy castle," Molly corrected. "This is the target." She tapped a different drawing, this one featuring a stick figure labeled MOMMY with an explosion of colorful rectangles nearby. "The presents." Bill leaned back. "We're robbing a children's birthday party." "It's a heist," Molly said, crossing her arms. "A sophisticated operation." "Sophie turns six on Saturday. She's having a princess theme. Her mother posted the whole layout on social media." Bill rubbed his temples. "I used to do bank vaults, Molly. I once disabled a laser grid in Monaco. Now you're asking me to steal from toddlers." "The parents spend a fortune on these things. We're talking premium toys, limited edition dolls, electronics. There's a Nintendo Switch in that pile, Bill. A Nintendo Switch." She let that hang in the air like a revelation. Bill stared at the crayon drawing again. His eye twitched. "What's our entry strategy?" Molly pulled out another sheet. This one had glitter on it. "We go in as entertainment. I'll dress as Princess Penelope." "That's not a real princess." "It is now. You'll be Sir Reginald the Brave. We perform for thirty minutes, make friends with the kids, gain trust, and then we slip into the living room where the presents are stacked." Bill considered this. "And the security?" "Their dog is a twelve-pound Pomeranian named Mr. Sprinkles." "That could be a problem." "I already neutralized the threat." Molly reached into her bag and produced a small bag of gourmet treats. "These will keep Mr. Sprinkles busy for at least an hour." Bill looked at the treats, then at Molly, then at the crayon blueprints. He let out a long, slow breath. "What about the adults?" "Three of them will be busy arguing about organic snack options. Two will be photographing every moment. One will be crying because her child just hit another child with a plastic scepter. Nobody will notice us." "Your attention to detail is terrifying," Bill admitted. "You didn't let me finish. After the switch, we need to move the goods to the getaway vehicle." "Your minivan?" "It's inconspicuous. It has a child seat in it already. Nothing says 'suspicious' less than a child seat." Bill picked up a crayon. It was purple and smelled faintly of grape. He looked at Molly, who was studying the layout with the same intensity she'd once reserved for reading thermal imaging reports. "Same split as always?" he asked. "Sixty-forty. Me sixty." "Since when?" "Since I did all the planning." Bill opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. The crayon drawing stared back at him, mocking everything he'd ever known about professional theft. He uncapped the purple crayon and drew a small arrow toward the present pile. "Fine," he said. "But I get to keep whatever stuffed animals are in there." Molly smiled the kind of smile that made security guards nervous. "Deal."