Run: 2026-07-01-01KWEA4FS8HVABW59MRKVK7R3D

Bill leaned against the van, arms crossed. "So we're really doing this. Robbing a six-year-old's birthday party." "Not robbing," Molly said. "Redistributing. There's a difference." "Enlighten me." "Redistributing sounds classy. Robbing sounds like we need therapy." "We do need therapy." "Fine, we're classy criminals who need therapy. Now, focus. The presents are on the table by the bounce house. Twenty minutes, tops, before the clown finishes his balloon animal bit." "You scouted a clown's set list?" "I scouted everything, Bill. The clown does dogs, then swords, then he does this thing with a giraffe that takes forever because his hands are sweaty." "How do you know his hands are sweaty?" "Because I was standing three feet away yesterday pretending to be somebody's aunt." "You don't have any nieces." "I do now. Her name's Karen and she loves horses." Bill rubbed his temples. "And if someone recognizes you?" "They won't. I've got a wig." "A wig." "A blonde one. Very aunt-like." "Molly, we're stealing birthday presents from children." "Rich children, Bill. Their dad owns a yacht company. That kid's getting a pony next week regardless." "That does not make me feel better." "It should. Ponies are expensive. Grab the bag."