The scent of sugar and warm bread wafted through the cozy bakery, enticing the few early morning customers. Soft chatter and the clinking of dishes filled the air as the sun peeked through the windows, casting a golden glow. "You hear the news about Mr. Jenkins' prize-winning pie?" "Oh, I think I heard it was a fake recipe." "A fake recipe? That's preposterous. He's been making that pie for the county fair for years." "Apparently, his niece said he bought the recipe from a local chef. She claimed it wasn't even his idea." "That's quite an accusation, especially from his own family member. I always thought his niece was a bit of a troublemaker." "Be that as it may, the judges are reevaluating all the entries. The real winner could be announced next week." A batch of fresh croissants slid out of the oven, and the baker slid them onto a wire rack. "Well, if he's stripped of his title, it'll be quite the scandal." "I just hope the real winner gets the recognition they deserve."