Run: 2026-06-01-01KT1H6DAVKQZXP3BV286P7MJW

Molly spread the blueprint across the table, smoothing out the crinkles with theatrical reverence. "Behold," she said. "The Hendersons' backyard. Site of Timmy's seventh birthday extravaganza." Bill squinted at the paper. "That's a napkin." "It's a *tactical* napkin. I sketched it from the bushes." "You were in their bushes?" "For reconnaissance, Bill. Now focus." She tapped the napkin. "Twelve children. One bouncy castle. And a mountain of unguarded presents." Bill leaned back, arms crossed. "Molly, we robbed a casino last month. We're really doing children's birthday parties now?" "That casino was a disaster. You set off the sprinklers." "I panicked!" "You panicked because a *waiter* looked at you funny." She jabbed a finger toward the napkin again. "This is foolproof. Kids don't call the cops. They cry, sure, but crying isn't admissible in court." "I don't love stealing from children." "We're not stealing from children, we're stealing from their *parents' poor financial decisions.* Did you know the average kid gets forty dollars of presents they'll forget about by Tuesday? We're practically doing them a favor. Teaching them about loss. Building character." Bill rubbed his temples. "What's the plan?" "So glad you asked." Molly produced a second napkin. "You'll be the entertainment. A clown." "Absolutely not." "A *magician,* then." "Molly—" "You distract the children with cheap card tricks while I, disguised as a caterer, load the presents into the minivan." "We don't have a minivan." "We'll steal a minivan." "So now we're stealing *two* things." "It's a layered operation, Bill. Heists have layers. Like onions. Or that lasagna we couldn't afford because *somebody* set off the sprinklers." Bill held up a hand. "Okay. Say I'm the magician. What if a kid asks me to do an actual trick?" "Pull a coin from his ear." "And if I don't have a coin?" "Pull *lint* from his ear. Children are stupid. They'll applaud." "That's offensive to children." "Everything's offensive to someone, Bill. That's why we work alone." She rolled up the napkins and tucked them into her jacket. "We strike at three o'clock. Cake time. Maximum distraction. Every adult will be busy pretending the store-bought sheet cake is homemade." Bill sighed the sigh of a man who had made several poor life choices in a row. "And the getaway?" "We bounce." "We *what?*" "The bouncy castle. It deflates. We hide inside, they pack it up, transport us off-site, and we emerge like heist butterflies." "That is the dumbest plan I have ever heard." "It's *avant-garde.*" Bill stood, grabbing his coat. "Fine. But if I get attacked by a seven-year-old, I'm retiring." "Noted." Molly beamed. "Oh, and Bill?" "What?" "Wear something festive. We're professionals." He paused at the door. "Molly, we're stealing presents from a child named Timmy." "And Timmy," she said solemnly, "will grow up stronger for it. One day he'll thank us." "He'll never know we existed." "The best thieves never do." She winked. "Now go practice your lint trick."