Run: 2026-07-01-01KWE9SWGHVHGGF5P7J7V4PWRP

The warehouse smelled like old cardboard and Bill's cheap cologne, which Molly had complained about approximately four hundred times since Tuesday. Spread across the folding table between them was a hand-drawn map of the Whitfield mansion, complete with a crayon rendering of a bounce house that Bill had insisted on adding for "accuracy." Molly traced a finger along the service entrance. "The party starts at two. Clowns arrive at one-thirty. That's our window." Bill leaned back in his chair, boots propped on a crate marked FRAGILE. "You really think dressing as clowns is the move here?" "You have a better idea?" He didn't. He never did, not really, but he liked pretending otherwise for at least thirty seconds before agreeing with her. The plan was simple, elegant even, in the way only truly ridiculous plans could be. Sneak in with the entertainment, wait for cake time when every parent's attention narrowed to a single flaming candle, then vanish with three trash bags of unwrapped birthday loot before anyone noticed the balloon animals had wandered off. "Six-year-olds got good instincts," Bill muttered, chewing his pen cap. Molly smiled, sliding a rubber nose across the table. "Then we better be very convincing clowns."