The Potluck Scam: Twenty Times the "Compensation" Chapter 1

My colleagues started holding all our company potlucks at my place after they discovered I was a good cook.

And since Mandy, the new girl in accounting, offered to have everyone chip in for groceries, I didn't have the heart to say no.

On my last day of work, we had one final get-together at my house.

Mandy was all smiles.

"Clara, you're seriously an amazing cook," she said. "As a little thank you, we each sent you seventy-five bucks."

But the next day, she sent me a message.

"Clara, running an unpermitted food business is illegal. Not only can they shut down your home, but since the total value of transactions is over fifteen hundred dollars, you'll have to pay a fine of twenty times that amount."

"But since we're all colleagues, we won't report you. We can handle this privately."

"Just give us the twenty times fine as compensation."

That's when I realized it. Up to that final dinner, the total amount of money they had all chipped in for groceries was exactly one thousand five hundred and one dollars.

* * *

Mandy had barely started her job in accounting, but she was already showing off her new designer handbag to everyone in the office.

My coworkers oohed and aahed, telling her how rich she must be. It was exactly the reaction she wanted.

She covered her mouth with her hand, giggling.

"Oh, you guys will be able to afford one soon, too," she said.

She set the expensive bag on her desk and then wrapped her arms around mine, her voice turning pleading and sweet.

"Clara, I heard you're resigning. We should have one last get-together, right? I mean, who knows when we'll ever get to taste your amazing cooking again."

I told her it was no problem and asked everyone to make a list of what they wanted to eat so I could prep. I planned a huge feast: her favorite sweet and sour pork ribs, a whole roasted salmon, slow-braised short ribs, and a few light vegetable dishes—all things they'd raved about before. It was a lot of work, but it was the last time.

When she heard me agree, she gave me a huge hug.

"You're the best, Clara! With skills like yours, you could totally be a professional chef!"

I smiled, still a little uncomfortable with her being so touchy-feely, and gently eased away.

My best friend, Kate, picked me up from work that day and saw the menu I'd jotted down in my phone's notes. She knew all about my dinner parties for my colleagues and couldn't help but lecture me.

"You're about to leave, why are you still bothering with them?" she grumbled. "It's not like you need the grocery money. It's so much work, and what if something goes wrong? They'll just blame you."

Kate owned a restaurant, so she’d seen her fair share of people trying to scam free meals. She was worried I'd get taken advantage of.

"After you quit, come stay with me for a few days. Just relax. Stop being everyone's free personal chef."

I figured it was just one last dinner, a nice way to say goodbye to my colleagues. What could possibly go wrong? I promised Kate it would be the absolute last time.

The next morning at work, Mandy rushed over to my desk.

"Clara, Clara! I told everyone about the party!" she announced. Her voice wasn't loud, but it was enough to catch the attention of a few nearby coworkers, who all chimed in about how excited they were for the weekend.

Then, Mandy sent me the menu. It was long.

"I already asked everyone what they wanted, so you can just follow this list. No need to stress about it!"

My eyes widened when I saw Lobster Thermidor on the list. My smile faltered.

"Mandy, some of these dishes are really complicated, and the ingredients are not cheap…"

Before I could finish, Mandy's face fell into a pout.

"Clara, are you saying you think we're just a bunch of freeloaders?"

I immediately denied it.

She looked at me with puppy-dog eyes.

"It's just... after you leave, we won't get to eat your food anymore. We wanted to try some new things," she wheedled. "Don't worry, we'll all chip in for the groceries, just like always."

I felt cornered. I finally gave in.

"Okay, but this time, you'll all need to send me the money first. I'll refund you whatever is left over."

A corner of Mandy's mouth twitched. She was still smiling, but her tone had an edge to it.

"And here I thought we were all good friends. Guess it was just one-sided."

I frowned. Usually, a dinner party cost maybe twenty or thirty dollars per person for groceries. This time, it was going to be in the hundreds. I wasn't about to front that kind of cash.

"Money's just a bit tight for me right now," I said simply. "I probably don't have enough to cover all the ingredients myself."

Her expression changed to one of understanding. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I totally misunderstood. I'll definitely come over early on the weekend to help you out!"

That night, Mandy was active in the work group chat, asking about food allergies and telling everyone to send me the money. Seeing their excited messages, the uneasy feeling in my gut started to fade.

On the weekend, Mandy showed up late, saying something had come up. I didn't think much of it.

Everyone had a wonderful time.

At the end of the night, when I tried to refund them the leftover money, they all refused. Instead, each of them transferred another seventy-five dollars directly to my bank account.

Mandy beamed, telling me it was just a little token of their appreciation.

I was genuinely touched.

But later that night, after I'd finished cleaning the kitchen and finally sat down to rest, I got a notification. Mandy had added my personal phone number to a new group chat. It was called "The Final Withdrawal."