Run: 2026-07-01-01KWE98CTHVW4S2X0FTPB52TK4

The van smelled like feet and stale donuts, which seemed appropriate given the caliber of criminal enterprise about to unfold. Molly spread the blueprints across her lap—actual blueprints, stolen from a birthday planning website, complete with a bounce house rendered in suspicious detail. "Six-year-old's birthday party," she said. "Backyard. Two dozen presents, minimum. Frozen theme, so expect glitter. Lots of glitter." Bill adjusted his clown wig, the one he insisted was "tactical." "Glitter's a liability," he said. "Sticks to everything. Forensic nightmare." "You're worried about forensics at a six-year-old's birthday party." "I'm worried about everything, Molly. That's why I'm still alive." She rolled her eyes and highlighted the fence line. The plan was elegant in its stupidity: Bill would distract the parents with balloon animals while Molly slipped through the side gate and loaded presents into a wagon disguised as party decor. "What if a kid sees you?" Bill asked. "Kids don't remember faces. They remember snacks." "That's terrifying." "That's parenting." He nodded solemnly, as though she'd revealed some ancient truth. Outside, the sun was setting on a quiet suburban street, utterly unprepared for the chaos about to arrive in a rented clown costume and a getaway wagon shaped like a pumpkin.