A Order

My name is Jake Miller. I work part-time as a freelance errand runner.

Most of my jobs are pet sitting visits—feeding cats and dogs while their owners are away. The work is simple, flexible, and clients usually trust me to follow a checklist: refill water, top off food, take photos, and send updates.

One day, I picked up a high-paying errand. The address was in one of the city’s most exclusive neighborhoods. The note was short: Feed Mimi. Key available at the front gate. Follow instructions once inside.

I checked in at the security booth, got a temporary pass and the house key. The guard verified my order before letting me in. I turned on my phone’s audio recorder right away—better safe than sorry, especially in a wealthy community with strict rules. I didn’t want trouble over a simple errand.

When I opened the front door of the modern mansion, the living room was completely quiet. No barking, no litter box, no food bowls, no leashes—nothing you’d expect for a pet. A neatly dressed woman stood near the sofa, looking tense, as if she’d been waiting for me.

I paused politely. “Hi, I’m with the errand service here to feed Mimi. Where’s the pet?”

The woman didn’t answer right away. She looked me up and down, as if sizing me up. She wore a Bluetooth earpiece, and someone was clearly talking to her on the other end.

After a few seconds, she spoke. “You’re Jake?”

I nodded. “Yes. The job says pet feeding. If there’s no pet here, I’ll need you to confirm the change on the app.”

She suddenly smiled. “Mimi isn’t in the living room. Come in and help me check something first.”

I stayed at the door. Company rules forbid errand runners from entering private areas unrelated to the job. “If this isn’t pet care, I have to contact the person who booked the job first to confirm.”

Her expression flickered, then she calmed down. “Don’t be nervous. Just help me unpack a few boxes. That’s what errand runners do, right?”

Something felt off. The job was listed as pet care, but there was no sign of an animal. The woman kept avoiding the topic. Even stranger: a small security camera in the corner of the room was pointed directly at the entrance and the sofa.

I tensed up and stepped back. “Sorry, the job description doesn’t match what’s here. I can’t continue. You can update the order on the app, and I’ll decide if I can take it.”

She realized I was leaving and quickly blocked me. “Wait, don’t go. Help me unpack these delivery boxes, and I’ll give you a great review plus extra cash.”

She pointed to several cardboard boxes near the coffee table. No pet supply labels—they looked like expensive gift boxes and document folders.

I didn’t touch them. Instead, I took a few photos of the scene to file a report with the app. Just then, a delivery driver knocked at the front door. The woman hurried to sign for the package, and I slipped toward the exit.

By the time she turned around, I was already standing outside.

“Ma’am, I can’t complete this order today. I’ll file an incident report with the app. If you really need pet care, please place a new order with clear details.”

I left immediately.

At the time, I thought it was just a weird mix-up. I had no idea that from the moment I stepped into that mansion, I was already being targeted.