A successful corporate executive, highly respected in his workplace and one who carried tremendous influence in the business world, was the picture of the ultimate power broker. Everyone knew his name. He had his own parking place, and whenever he entered a crowded elevator, people would respectfully move to the side in order to give him greater standing space.

His power in the corporate world was nearly palpable. When he entered a room, his reputation proceeded him. A fierce businessman, his colleagues admired him and feared him. His temper was the stuff of myths. Prone to moodiness, his staff worked hard to keep things moving smoothly. He was a man of power.

But, what no one in his high-powered corporate world knew was that this iconic-like figure was living a double life. They did not have a clue about his secret, his hidden passion. They would have been shocked had they known how this intimidating figure of a power broker spent his Sundays.

He'd been doing it for years, these secretive liasons, unbeknownst to even his closest confidants.

Every Sunday, for the past four years, this corporate executive, who lived alone, took off his expensive clothes and traded them for a pair of worn out blue jeans and comfortably faded t-shirt. He would slick back his $200 a pop styled hair and don a Yankees baseball cap. He'd grab a pair of sunglasses, reaching for the cheap pair he'd bought at a corner market rather than his high-end expensive pair.

Then he'd call a cab to come fetch him from his luxurious home in his exclusive neighborhood. He'd direct the taxi to take him to a working class neighborhood on the other side of town, far removed from his wealthy neighborhood. Then he'd walk a few blocks towards a strip mall where to a bus stop for city bus number five. Quietly he would sit on the bus stop bench, an anonymous everyday man just waiting for the bus. If any of his colleagues had passed by they would not have recognized the simple, regular guy as the high-powered corporate exec they were familiar with.

One Sunday, one of the cleaning staff sat down on the bench, He recognized her from the night cleaning crew from the many nights he had worked clear through to meet an impossible deadline. He did not know her name. She sat down, two kids in tow, and glanced over at him, giving him a polite smile and nod. He smiled back. She had no idea.

Every Sunday he lived this double life. He told no one about it and went to special lengths to conceal his secret.

That secret was that every Sunday, while his colleagues played golf or drank expensive whiskey to while away the afternoon at the golf club, he was secretly helping out at a small soup kitchen operated by a group of Benedictine nuns.

He'd show up, put on an apron, and get to work helping with prep in the kitchen for the six o'clock meal. Then, when it was serving time, he would go from table to table, ladling up generous helpings of hot, home cooked food for destitute guests who counted on that Sunday meal.

It was his life's biggest secret. He reveled in it. He reveled in his secret Sundays of living a life unnoticed along side some of the most invisible citizens of his city.

The big corporate executive, for a few hours each week, went unnoticed.