Run: 2026-09-23-01M36W22K0R1P2TSXKNRNT72DB

Bill spread the napkin across the table and smoothed it flat with his palm, revealing a crude drawing of a suburban backyard. He pointed to the swing set circled in red crayon. That was the gift table. Molly studied the layout, eyes narrowing at the tiny crayon figures he had drawn around the bounce house. He had labeled one party clown (potential witness) and another aggressive mother (do not engage). She admired the thoroughness. In twenty years she had never planned on a napkin. Molly traced the garden fence line and looked up. "How many presents exactly?" Bill checked his clipboard with deadly seriousness. "At least forty. Possibly a piñata." Forty presents. From six-year-olds. Molly had knocked over a diamond exchange in Antwerp and once hot-wired a hearse during a funeral procession, yet somehow this was the most psychologically complex job of her career. The problem was not the security. The problem was stealing from children, and children had a particular way of wailing that no pair of noise-canceling headphones could suppress. She inhaled deeply, steeling herself. "Fine. But we leave the piñata." "I know the risks," Bill said quietly. Bill nodded and tucked the napkin map into his jacket.