I showed up early for the interview. The door simply read “Conference Room A.” The place wasn’t shady—just one of those rent-by-the-hour offices: clean, quiet, and clearly temporary. The kind of space professionals use when they don’t have a permanent address.

I’d already done a little digging on the company. Its “main office” turned out to be a UPS Store. The suite number? Just a mailbox. That alone had me wondering whether this whole thing was legit or some elaborate joke.

Then the door opened. In walked a man who looked like he’d been built from discipline itself—a towering Marine with a regulation haircut and a handshake that could compress steel.

“John Williams,” he said. The name sounded so ordinary it was almost suspicious.

He got right to business. “What do you know about being a private investigator?”

“My sister worked for an attorney for a little while,” I told him. “She did some fact-finding and background checks—more information gathering than what I think of as real PI work.”

He nodded slowly. Then came the pivot. “So how comfortable are you with hiding out, following people, gathering surveillance without being seen?”

I smiled. “Oh, that? I’m fine with that. I’m a ninja.”

The room went still. Then the Marine’s eyebrows shot up. “A ninja? Like fighting?”

“There’s more to it than that,” I said. “Stealth. Patience. Making people believe you’re just one of the things that go bump in the night.”

“What do you wear?” he asked, leaning forward now, more curious than cautious.

“It’s called a shozoku, but we just call it a gi. Mask, ties—everything designed to keep you hidden.”

He burst out laughing, a booming belly laugh that echoed against the whiteboard. “I prefer a ghillie suit!” he said. “You got a camera?”

“Not yet,” I admitted. “I was planning to buy one this weekend. Anything I should look for?”

He slapped the desk, still grinning. “We’ve got a model we like our investigators to use. But I can’t believe it—I’m hiring a ninja. This is great!”

And that’s how I became a private investigator—through a conversation about stealth and shadows in a borrowed conference room, between a Marine and a man who still believed in the art of vanishing.