Chapter 1: The Case of Mistaken Identity
Leo had never considered himself an adventurous man. He liked things predictable. As a clerk at the town’s humble post office, he enjoyed his daily routines of sorting mail, sipping lukewarm coffee, and occasionally chatting with Mrs. Haggerty, who was convinced every single one of her neighbors was a secret agent. The most excitement he usually encountered was trying to decipher some terribly messy handwriting.
But today, things would be different. And it all began with a simple mix-up.
Leo was taking his lunch break at Moe’s Diner, a cozy, well-worn establishment famous for its bottomless coffee and burgers that seemed to defy the laws of cholesterol. He was halfway through a tuna sandwich when the doors swung open, and in strode a man who looked like he’d just escaped a magazine cover—sharp suit, polished shoes, and sunglasses that didn’t seem entirely necessary for the cloudy day.
The man scanned the room, his gaze landing on Leo, who was mid-chew. Leo swallowed quickly, wondering why he felt a sudden urge to wipe the crumbs off his shirt.
“There you are,” the man said, his voice smooth as silk. He slid into the booth opposite Leo, who froze, sandwich halfway to his mouth.
“Uh…me?” Leo blinked, looking around. Maybe there was another guy who looked like he belonged in a corporate ad campaign sitting somewhere behind him?
“Yes, you,” the man replied, as if Leo should’ve known. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I’m with the agency. You’re needed.”
Leo’s brain went through several stages of confusion before settling on mild panic. “Agency?” he stammered. The only agency he knew was the Travel and Tourism office down the street, and last he checked, they weren’t recruiting post office clerks for…whatever this was.
The man’s brow furrowed. “You are Leo Caden, right? Chef Leo Caden?”
“Uh, Leo Caden, yes,” he said slowly. “But chef? No. I’m a clerk. At the post office.”
The man’s expression didn’t change, but he gave a small, impatient sigh. “You can drop the act. Listen, we’re on a tight schedule. There’s a high-profile banquet happening tomorrow night, and we need you to step in. We’ve heard legendary things about your cooking.”
Leo’s jaw dropped. Legendary? The last time he’d tried to cook, he’d set off the fire alarm making toast. Clearly, there had been a mistake—a colossal, possibly life-altering mistake.
“You’re kidding, right?” he asked, a hint of hope in his voice.
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” the man replied, dead serious.
Leo took a long, hard look at the man. No, he didn’t look like he was kidding. In fact, he looked like the kind of guy who’d probably never made a joke in his life.
“Look, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I’m not a chef,” Leo insisted. “I don’t even own a decent frying pan. The closest I get to ‘culinary skills’ is reheating pizza.”
The man frowned, as if Leo’s lack of chef credentials was nothing more than an inconvenience. He pulled out a shiny business card, slid it across the table, and fixed Leo with an unblinking stare.
“Here’s the address. Be there by seven. I’ll expect you to bring your ‘special ingredients’—don’t worry, I’ll make sure the kitchen is stocked with everything else. Just…do what you do best.”
Leo gawked at the card. It was embossed, with a sleek black-and-gold logo that he didn’t recognize. A mixture of dread and curiosity washed over him. “What I do best? I don’t—”
But the man was already standing up, tipping an imaginary hat before walking out the door without another word.
Leo sat there, staring at the card, his brain still struggling to process what had just happened. The whole interaction had felt like one of those surreal dreams where everything made sense, but only until you woke up.
A banquet. Tomorrow night. And apparently, he was supposed to cater it? There had to be some kind of misunderstanding, a way he could clear this up. But a tiny, ridiculous part of him felt a flutter of excitement. After all, he’d spent years in the same routine. Sorting mail. Talking to Mrs. Haggerty about her neighbor theories. Reheating pizza.
Maybe he could just…show up. Explain the mistake. Laugh it off.
And who knew? Maybe they’d even give him a free meal out of it.
