Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD7DTHBQMK7W765AB5486YT

Molly spread the hand-drawn map across Bill's dashboard. "Okay. Party starts at two. The clown arrives at two-fifteen." "A clown?" Bill whispered. "Nobody said anything about a clown." "Focus. The presents get piled on the gift table by the patio. That's our window." "And the clown?" "The clown is a wildcard, Bill. Every job has a wildcard." Bill squinted at the map. "Is that a crayon drawing of a bouncy castle?" "It's called casing the target, and yes, Timmy's birthday party has a bouncy castle. Which is good. Bouncy castles mean distracted parents." "What if the kids see us?" "They're six years old, Bill. We tell them we're gift inspectors." "That's a thing?" "It's a thing now. You wear the badge, you carry the clipboard, you look official." Molly tapped the map. "We grab the presents, load them in the van, and we're gone before the cake comes out." "Can we stay for cake?" "We are not staying for cake." "Chocolate, though. I heard the mom say chocolate." Molly sighed. "Fine. One slice. But if that clown looks at me funny, we're leaving, presents or no presents." "Deal. Wait—why do I have to wear the badge?" "Because you have the face of a gift inspector." "That's not a compliment, is it?"