Run: 2026-09-23-01M37NT7YPNRHRXKXKH8W383DC

Molly spread the blueprint across the kitchen table, weighting the corners with a bag of gummy bears and a ceramic cat. "Okay," she said, tapping the paper. "The party starts at two. Bouncy castle goes up at one. That's our window." Bill squinted at the blueprint. "Molly, this is a floor plan of a Chuck E. Cheese." "It's the same layout. Practically." "It's not remotely the same layout. Where'd you even get this?" "I know a guy." "Your nephew." "He owes me. I bailed him out of a laser tag incident." Molly jabbed a finger at the drawing. "The presents will be stacked on the gift table, which according to this diagram is right here, next to the ball pit." "Is there a ball pit at the actual party?" "There will be. I'm bringing one." Bill rubbed his temples. "You can't just deploy a ball pit, Molly. That's not a thing that happens." "Everything is a thing if you commit." She pulled out a notepad. "Now. Disguises. I'm thinking we go as caterers." "The party has caterers?" "It will. I'm also bringing caterers." "You're just adding things to this party. You're improving the party. We're supposed to be stealing from it." "Chaos is a ladder, Bill." She flipped a page. "You'll handle the presents. I'll handle the parents." "Handle them how?" "I'll stand by the snack table and talk about my divorce. Loudly. Nobody approaches a snack table near a divorce story. It's a scientific fact. They'll evacuate a fifteen-foot radius." Bill nodded slowly. "That's... actually not terrible." "I've done it at three funerals. Works every time. Meanwhile you load the presents into the getaway vehicle." "Which is?" "The minivan." "Whose minivan?" "Mine. I put stickers on it. It says 'Party Services' on the side." "Party Services," Bill repeated. "That's your fake company name?" "I made business cards." She fanned them out like a magician. "Look. Laminated." "Okay, but here's my question. These are presents for children. What are we even going to fence? A plastic dinosaur? A junior chemistry set? What's the resale value on a Paw Patrol tower?" Molly paused, gummy bear halfway to her mouth. "I hadn't thought about the fence." "You have an entire laminated card operation but no fence." "There's a collector in the city who pays top dollar for vintage action figures. Some of these kids have rich grandparents. Rich grandparents buy first-edition collectibles. It's basically an unguarded museum where everyone's wearing paper hats." Bill leaned back. "Fine. Fine. But we're not stealing from the actual kids. That's my one condition. We swap the presents with decoys. Same size, same weight, wrapped identically." Molly stared at him. "That's insane." "You're deploying a ball pit and I'm insane?" "Where do we even get decoy presents?" "My garage is full of my ex-wife's Yankee Candle haul. I'll wrap those. Kids shake a box, they feel hopeful, they open it later at home, they're disappointed in private. It's victimless." "That's the saddest crime I've ever heard." "It's the perfect crime," Bill said, standing. "I'll get the wrapping paper." Molly grinned and folded up the blueprint. "One more thing. The birthday girl's turning seven. Her name's Madison." "Why do I need to know that?" "Because when we sing happy birthday, we shouldn't get the name wrong. We're professionals, Bill. Not monsters."