Run: 2026-09-23-01M36TTPP3XKSW23TMTV93EK5S

Molly pinned the floor plan of the Hendersons' house to the corkboard and smoothed it with both hands. Bill leaned against the doorframe eating a baby carrot like it was a cigar. "Alright, here's the setup," Molly said. "Birthday party, Saturday, two in the afternoon. Eight-year-old kid named Tyler. We go in while everyone's distracted by the cake situation and come out with everything wrapped and bowed on the gift table." "The cake situation," Bill repeated. "Molly, there is always a cake situation at these things. Last week I watched a clown cry behind a porta-potty at a kids' party. These events are chaos. Chaos is our friend." "Fair enough. How many presents are we talking?" "Depends on Tyler's social standing, but I'd estimate fifteen to twenty. Big ones, small ones, at least one that's clearly from a grandmother who doesn't know the kid at all and bought him a bread maker." "Kids don't want bread makers." "Grandma doesn't care. That's the beauty of it. She's operating on a completely different wavelength and we benefit from her confusion." Bill crunched the carrot. "What's the exit strategy?" "We mingle, we position near the gift table, and when they do the piñata thing, we haul the bags to the van. Simple. Clean." "Molly, we don't have a van." "Then we get a van." "With what money?" "We steal the van first." "We can't steal a van to steal kids' presents. That's just stealing twice and the first one makes the second one worse." "You have a better idea?" "Yeah, I do. We bring trash bags and walk right out the front door. Nobody stops a man with trash bags at a kids' party. They'll think we're cleaning up." "That's not a van, that's just walking with bags." "Walking with bags is its own vehicle, Molly." She stared at him. He stared back, somehow proud of himself. "Fine," she said. "Trash bags. But we wear something that says we work there. Concession stand, event staff, something. I'll get a clipboard." "A clipboard is basically a badge for adults. People see a clipboard and they just assume you're important. I'm on board with the clipboard." "What about disguises?" "What about them?" "We need disguises, Bill. You look like exactly the kind of man who steals presents from children. You have that energy." "Everyone says that." "Because it's true. Put on a Hawaiian shirt and some sunglasses. Look like a dad who wandered in from a barbecue across the street." "I don't look like a dad." "You'll look like whatever I tell you to look like if you want your cut of the bread maker." "Which cut of the bread maker?" "One hundred percent of the bread maker. I don't want it and neither will anyone else. It's the classic heist problem of only stealing things nobody wants." Bill looked at the floor plan. "What about the cake? Can we take the cake?" "Absolutely not." "Why not?" "Because we are professionals, Bill. We steal gifts from children and we have standards." Bill nodded slowly, as if this made perfect sense. "Friday, then. We recon the house." "We recon the house."