Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCSFJ1E8JNJKPWE3NR8G8DX

Molly kicked the van door shut and threw a folder onto the dashboard. "Read it back to me, Bill. The part where this isn't the dumbest idea you've ever had." Bill chewed a pencil. "The Johnson kid is turning six. Six years of accumulated guilt gifts stacked in one room. It's a goldmine." "It's a bounce house with a dinosaur theme." "Exactly. Dinosaurs are extinct. Nobody expects a heist during extinction." Molly rubbed her temples. "We are professional thieves." "Semiprofessional." "We do not rob children." "We're not robbing the children. We're liberating the presents from the tyranny of tiny fists. Those kids don't remember half that junk by Tuesday." Molly leaned over and snatched the folder. "Page three says there's a magician." "Magician means misdirection. I thrive on misdirection." "You thrive on frozen burritos." Bill pointed at the window. "Look. Balloons. A piñata shaped like a unicorn. Do you know how much a unicorn piñata costs? Forty bucks. That's forty dollars hanging there, filled with candy and regret." "We're stealing presents, not the piñata." "Why not both?" "Because we have a truck, Bill, not a parade float." He scratched his neck. "Okay, fine. Presents only. But I'm telling you, that piñata is taunting us." Molly flipped the page. "The parents hired a face painter. A face painter, Bill. That's security with glitter." "Glitter is not security." "It's psychological warfare. You try committing a felony with a butterfly on your cheek." Bill grinned. "I'd wear it with pride." "You're impossible." "I'm committed." "You're committed, all right." Bill pulled out a crumpled map. "We go in through the garden gate at four-fifteen, right after the cake but before the sugar crash. The parents will be distracted by the candle song. The magician will be pulling a rabbit out of a hat—probably not a real one, but still, eyes are elsewhere. I pose as the uncle who brought the ice cream cake. You pose as the aunt who fixes the sound system." "I don't know anything about sound systems." "Exactly. If you act confused, people help you. It's called social engineering." Molly sighed. "What if the kids scream?" "Kids scream for joy, Molly. We'll be the heroes who bring extra balloons." "We're stealing." "Redistributing." "With a duffel bag." "With a festive duffel bag. I bought ribbons." Molly stared at him. "You bought ribbons." "Red ones. Holiday spirit." "It's June." "Summer spirit, then." She folded her arms. "And the getaway?" Bill started the van. "We back out through the alley, toss the goods into the trunk, and drive to the drop. Simple. Elegant. Like Ocean's Eleven but with juice boxes." "Ocean's Eleven didn't have juice boxes." "They should have. Better hydration." Molly shook her head but smiled. "You really think we can pull this off?" Bill adjusted the rearview mirror. "Molly, I've stolen art, diamonds, a llama once—" "You stole a llama?" "Briefly. The point is, this party is just a room full of wrapped boxes and optimistic parents. We walk in, we walk out, we retire." "We don't retire. We split the take and lay low." "Right. Retirement was a metaphor." Molly opened the door. "If we get caught, I'm blaming you." "If we get caught, I'll blame the magician. Now put on your aunt face." Molly glanced in the mirror, fixing her hair. "How's this?" "Terrifying," Bill said. "Perfect." She slid out of the van and adjusted her collar. "Let's get this birthday disaster started." Bill grabbed the festive duffel bag and followed. "After you, Auntie Mol."