“People were trying to tell him he was a genius,” said Wendell, “Trey didn’t even do anything man, that was all your dad!”

“I know, I know. I have to let him have something, though.” I said, letting out a deep sigh.

“You can’t just let him steal your recipe, bro!” He exclaimed.

“Well what else am I supposed to do?” I answered.

“You have to stick up for yourself somehow, that recipe was mere perfection!” He shouted back.

“You’re right, maybe I shouldn’t have given it to him, but it felt correct. What do we do now?” I asked, knowing Trey was long gone at this point.

“We could ask his friends, maybe.” He said, looking off into the distance.

“There’s no way they will tell us.” I mumbled, sitting on the curb with my face in my hands.

“You never know,” he said, “Maybe they don’t like him either.”

Wendell was my best friend. He was always there for me, even in the toughest of times like this. We were living together in a log cabin in the deep woods of western Maine, because all four of our parents passed away in a car crash together. That had happened 3 years ago, though. We had moved on by now, for the most part. We were both only 19 years old, and were both unemployed, however we were looking for jobs as chefs at local kitchens. We had both pursued our passion for cooking after our parents passed away, in hopes that we could recreate my father’s alfredo sauce recipe. It may sound silly, but that alfredo sauce was life changing. Every single person I knew that tasted it simply could not stop eating it, almost like they were addicted. However, my dad never wrote down the recipe, because he was constantly paranoid of it being stolen, and then mass produced. Which, ironically, is exactly what we were trying to do.

We tried thousands of different methods, with tens of thousands of ingredients, but we simply could not match it. We even attempted to make different sauces, such as a red sauce, a hot sauce, and even a pesto, but they just didn’t compare.

Soon after our failures, we decided to hire other chefs to begin experimenting with the sauce to try to find the correct ingredients and proportions. The first helper’s name was Trey. He claimed to have had years of experience in the cooking industry, however after a few days of testing, it was evident that he had never even made Kraft Dinner in his life. Eventually, we ended up firing him, not only because he was a horrendous cook, but he was also extremely disrespectful towards me and Wendell. He often would insult us, and try to play it off by saying he was joking, so he didn’t get fired. However in the end, we had enough of the dead parent jokes. After this terrible experience with hiring other chefs, we decided it would be best to work as a pair, with no one else distracting us.

One day, however, I was going through my dad’s old belongings, when I came across a dusty, beat up box in the corner of the attic. I blew the dust off and unlatched the chest. I opened it only to see old mail from his side of the family in Italy. Many of the letters were in Italian, so I was unable to read them. Although as I reached the bottom of the chest, I noticed a small tab sticking from the side of the wood, so I pulled on it. It opened up another layer on the bottom of the box; one that I hadn’t noticed was there initially. Resting at the bottom, like a bear in its den, was a leather envelope with a gold stamp imprinted on the front. It was unopened, with the initials TB: Thomas Bernardi.
“My initials.” I muttered. It had to have been meant for me. I quickly outstretched my hand to grab the envelope, when I heard a thunderous CRASH downstairs. I pick it up and dart down the ladder to see what the noise had come from. I then see Wendell pinned to the floor by Trey, with his two friends standing beside him. He motioned for them to contain Wendell to the floor. He slowly stood up with a smirk on his face.

“Nice envelope you got there, buddy.” He said, slowly advancing towards me.

“If you just handed it over, both of you could remain unharmed.”

He reached for his pocket and pulled out a pocket knife. I nearly chuckled, considering he was so much stronger than me and Wendell combined, so I was confused as to why he even needed the knife in the first place.

Contrary to what you may have expected, I immediately handed him the envelope without hesitation. I didn’t do this out of fear, though, I did this out of generosity. Despite me and Wendell having no parents and no jobs, Trey had even less. Me and Wendell were blessed enough to have a house, even if it was just a small cabin. As I handed him the envelope, I remembered the Bible verses Matthew 5:39-42 “But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also. And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your coat as well. If anyone forces you to go one mile, go with them two miles. Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you.” This Bible verse helped me remember to love my enemies, despite their wrongdoings. Oddly enough, I was relieved as I handed it over to him, feeling as if I was doing the right thing. Flash forward to where the story began, and we were trying to figure out how to get a hold of Trey.

“Did you even look inside the envelope?” Wendell asked.

“No, but it had my initials on it. It had to be mine.” I replied.

“Well what if that wasn’t even the recipe?” He inquired, in an exhilarated tone. “Maybe there’s something else up there!”

“I doubt it, that thing was hidden in essentially the perfect spot, with all of my dads letters.” I said, still trying to reduce Wendell’s eagerness, yet failing to do so. He ran over to the ladder that leads to the attic, and jolted up the rungs.

“Dude, did you even look at the bottom of the chest after you picked it up?” He shouted from the attic.

“No, right when I picked it up I heard them breaking in!” I yelled back.

“There’s another envelope that looks exactly the same!” He hollered.

“You’re lying.” I said, sprinting over to the ladder.

When I got up to see that he was holding nearly the exact same envelope with the exact same stamp, my jaw dropped. We had found the recipe! We tore the envelope open, and there it was: The Recipe! At the top of the paper was my dad’s handwriting: “You found it son! I’m so proud of you. Below is the recipe for my world renowned alfredo sauce. If you are planning on using this recipe, you must vow to protect it with all of your heart. Thank you son, and use this recipe wisely!” Below were the ingredients for the alfredo sauce; we were going to be rich!