Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCRKVP9JVXMZHS46PN29635

Molly unrolled the blueprint across the hood of the van, smoothing it flat with the heel of her hand. It was, technically, a placemat from the Happy Otter Family Diner, but she had annotated it in three colors of crayon, and she considered that professional enough. Bill studied the layout of the Pemberton back garden: the trestle table, the piñata, the inflatable turret guarding the northern approach. "The bouncy castle is the weak point," Molly said. He chewed his thumbnail. Twenty-two years in the business, four prisons, one bank vault in Antwerp opened with nothing but patience and a dessert spoon, and now this. He looked at the crayon. He looked at the otter. "We're stealing from a six-year-old." "Correction. From a six-year-old's aunts." Molly tapped the table with a purple stub. "Six aunts. Six wrapped rectangles. Aunts buy tablets, Bill. Aunts buy jewelry for children who lose it in sandboxes." The math was, admittedly, elegant. He hated when the math was elegant. She handed him a foam clown nose and a bag of un-inflated balloons, and he accepted both the way a condemned man accepts breakfast. "Balloons," she said. "Wear the nose."