Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0G3SFR5FC4HD94MTWPBGY1

Molly spread the blueprint across the sticky diner table, anchoring the corners with ketchup bottles and a half-eaten plate of hash browns. "Okay, Bill. The target is a single-story colonial in Scarsdale. Birthday girl turns seven on Saturday. Theme is unicorns." Bill squinted at the paper. "That's not a blueprint. That's a Chuck E. Cheese placemat." "It's the spirit of a blueprint." "Molly." "Bill." "We are grown adults," he said, slowly, "planning to rob a child." "We're planning to rob a *party*. There's a distinction." "Is there?" "Legally? Probably not. Morally? Absolutely." She tapped the placemat. "Think about it. These kids get spoiled rotten. A dozen presents each? It builds character to lose a few." "You sound like my father." "Was your father a thief?" "He was an accountant, which is worse." Molly rolled her eyes and produced a spiral notebook labeled OPERATION: PIÑATA. "Here's the plan. You enter through the back gate dressed as the clown." "Absolutely not." "Bill." "I have a documented phobia." "Of clowns?" "Of *being* one. It's a dignity thing." "You stole a kidney from a hospital last April." "Yeah, and I wore scrubs. Scrubs are professional. Clowns are a cry for help." "Fine." She scratched something out. "You're the magician." "Better." "You do the magic show in the living room. Pull some scarves, saw a stuffed animal in half, whatever. Meanwhile, I slip into the dining room where they stack the gifts, and I bag them." "In what?" "A giant sack." "A *sack*, Molly? Like the Grinch?" "The Grinch had a functional model, Bill. You don't mess with a classic." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "How do we get out?" "Minivan. I rented one. It's maroon. Very mom." "And if someone notices the presents are missing?" "That's the beauty part." Molly leaned in. "Kids are stupid. I mean, sweet. But stupid. By the time they realize, we're on the Merritt Parkway eating McNuggets." "What about the parents?" "Day-drunk on chardonnay by two p.m. Trust me, I cased the mom at Pilates. She's a mess." Bill stared at her for a long moment. "You've been reconning a Pilates class." "For three weeks. My core has never looked better." "This is the saddest sentence I've ever heard." "Are you in or are you out?" He sighed the sigh of a man whose life had taken a specific and unfortunate turn. "What's the take?" "Conservative estimate? Twelve LOL Surprise Dolls, four Nintendo Switches, at least one of those singing Elsa dresses, and a check from a grandparent who doesn't understand gift etiquette." "Resale?" "Eight grand. Maybe nine if we hit a good flea market." Bill drummed his fingers on the table. "I want extra for the magician thing." "Twenty percent bump." "Thirty." "Twenty-five, and I'll buy the rabbit." "Deal." He shook her hand across the hash browns. "God help us." "God's not invited," Molly said. "It's a unicorn party."