Run: 2026-05-29-01KSSJEQQS17JQW98EDKWDNCQF

Molly spread the blueprints across the table, smoothing them with reverent care. They were drawn in crayon. "The bouncy castle is our entry point," she said, tapping it. "Security's lax around the inflatables." Bill squinted. "Why's the cake circled in red?" "That's the diversion. While they're singing, we slip in through the ball pit and grab the gift table." "There's a clown," he whispered, pointing. "I hate clowns, Molly." "Everyone hates clowns. That's why nobody watches them. He's perfect cover." Bill rubbed his temples. "We're forty-two years old. We rob banks. Why are we stealing a six-year-old's presents?" "Because," Molly said, eyes gleaming, "nobody suspects the catering staff. And little Timothy's parents are loaded. There's a PlayStation in that pile. Possibly two." "And the piñata?" "Insurance. We bust it open, candy goes everywhere, chaos erupts, and we walk out with the loot disguised as party favors." Bill considered this for a long, troubled moment. "What if they make us wear name tags?" "Then we wear name tags," she snapped. "Honestly, Bill, where's your professionalism?" "My professionalism doesn't usually involve juice boxes and face painting." Molly stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Grab the balloons. We're going to a party."