Run: 2026-09-10-01M25DTCHF8QZDJFRE25BBR18J

Outside the split-level house, a banner sagged between two helium balloons: Princess Sparkle Is Four. Molly and Bill sat in a dented delivery van, watching tiny guests arrive in tulle and tiny suits. A bouncy castle wheezed in the backyard. A clown smoked behind the shed. A table of presents glittered under the patio lights like an altar to poor decisions. "Explain the plan again," Bill said, tightening the straps on a bear costume. "But this time, pretend I'm not a genius." "We go in as party staff," Molly said. "You're the mascot. I'm the gift coordinator. At two-fifteen, the magician starts. At two-twenty, the clown does balloon animals. At two-twenty-five, the parents discover the sangria." "Ah. The golden hour." "Exactly. We swap the real presents for identical boxes filled with bricks. Then we load the van and vanish before cake." Bill peered through binoculars. "There's a grandmother on the porch. She has a cane and the eyes of a hawk that has seen crime." "I'll handle her." "Last time you handled a grandmother, she hit you with a handbag and called you a disappointing nephew." "That was a family reunion. Different stakes." Molly unrolled a crayon map of the house. "Side gate is unlocked. Dog is asleep. The presents are under the banner. We have nine minutes. Any questions?" "Yeah. Why bricks?" "Because kids remember stolen presents forever. Bricks build character." "That's terrible." "Character is terrible. Focus." Bill zipped the bear suit. "What if a kid hugs me?" "Hug back. Then keep walking." "What if the birthday girl asks for a pony?" "Tell her the pony is in the van. It's not." "What if I see cupcakes?" "Bill." "I'm just asking for the plan." "The plan is no cupcakes. The plan is no screaming. The plan is we get rich and no one calls the police." Bill nodded, then slowly picked up a paper plate with a single cupcake. "This is for reconnaissance." Molly sighed. "You're going to get us arrested by a four-year-old." "Probably. But think of the cashmere socks." Molly grabbed the cupcake and tossed it out the window, where it landed in a shrub like a tiny frosted grenade. She then checked the van's glove compartment, confirming the duplicate boxes, the zip ties, and a bottle of bubble solution for emergencies. Bill adjusted his bear head, which smelled like old gym socks and regret. In the distance, the magician dropped his wand. The clown lit a cigarette. The grandmother tapped her cane against the porch rail, once, twice, three times, as if counting down to something biblical. Molly felt the familiar flutter of a terrible idea working perfectly. "Ready?" she asked. "Born ready," Bill said. "You were born in a mall food court." "Still ready." They bumped fists, opened the van doors, and stepped into the sunshine, two professionals about to commit the least dignified crime of their careers. Then they walked toward the side gate, each silently praying the other remembered how to run fast.