Run: 2026-10-07-01M4ATSPSTGAMXETH1164984KG

Molly spread the crayon-drawn map across the diner table. "Timmy Morrison's eighth birthday. Saturday. Three o'clock. Twenty screaming spawn." Bill wiped syrup off his chin. "Twenty kids?" "Twenty kids, a bounce house, and a gift table that looks like Christmas morning at Macy's." "What's the entry point?" "The garage. Parents will be in the kitchen drinking boxed wine and pretending they don't hate each other." "Security?" "A clown. An actual clown with a unicycle." "Unicycles are unstable. Good." "And a magician. He does that dove thing." "Doves are witnesses, Molly. They see everything." "Then we blind them with confetti." Bill leaned back. "I need gear. Candy necklaces for bribery, a fake mustache, and a bag that looks like a diaper pail." "Classy." "We go in as Uncle Buck and Uncle... what's your name again?" "Uncle Molly." "Uncle Molly and Uncle Bill. Rich uncles from out of town." "What if they check the presents?" "We take the cards. Destroy the evidence. No names, no case." "And the birthday boy? He'll remember the creepy uncles." "We give him a king-size candy bar. The good chocolate. He'll love us forever." Bill grinned. "I like your style." "It's not a style. It's survival." "Same thing, darlin'. Same thing."