The lobby greeted him with the kind of cold that didn't come from broken AC, it seeped from the crevices of a place marked by something otherworldly.
The marble tiles were faded with time and covered with a thick layer of dust. Even so, it wasn't hard to tell every brick in this expanse had cost twice his net worth.
The air smelled stale. A toppled desk leaned against one wall, decorated by the remains of a potted plant still clinging to its cracked ceramic.
A quiet whoosh and Asher's hand shot up on instinct.
A black letter envelope.
He was getting good at this.
[Ghost Broker Dispatch]:
Welcome, Agent Knox.
Client: Julian Marrick.
Manifestation Level: Hostile.
Suggested entry: Penthouse, 42nd floor.
Signature required to begin contract. Avoid provoking client. Do not mention net worth.
"Of course it doesn't work." Asher muttered, eyeing the busted elevator. "Stairs it is."
Forty-two floors later, he was gasping, drenched in sweat, and reevaluating every life choice. But Asher stood before a double door lined in black lacquer, untouched by decay.
The name J. MARRICK was carved into it in gold.
He braced himself and stepped in.
The penthouse wasn't just untouched, it was curated. Like time had stopped out of respect.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked a dead skyline. Crystal chandeliers hung unshaken. There was still half a glass of bourbon on the bar cart.
And seated in a high-backed chair facing the window, like the embodiment of old money and cold vengeance, was Julian Marrick.
He was still dressed in the exact same three-piece suit he'd died in. Not a wrinkle in sight. His hair was slicked back with the kind of precision that should've died with him.
Julian Marrick hadn't aged a day. Because, well. He was dead.
"Hello?" Asher tried.
"Mr. Knox," Julian said in a monotone. "You're late."
Asher blinked. "I wasn't aware ghosts kept schedules."
"We do when we have the afterlife waiting. And unpaid grudges rotting in the floorboards."
Julian turned slowly, eyes sharp, expression cold.
"You're the help?" he asked flatly. "God help me."
"Ghost broker," Asher corrected, stepping inside. "Asher Knox. Here to negotiate your unfinished business and facilitate your...uh...transition."
His gaze raked Asher top to bottom and the disapproval came in thick waves.
"You're wearing sneakers."
"And you look like you get your clothes from a lost-and-found bin."
Asher blinked. "I...uh...don't see how that's relevant."
"I requested someone professional. Competent. Not a broke millennial."
"You look poor." Julian asserted.
"I am."
"That's unfortunate."
"Yeah. Try dying broke." Asher grumbled.
Julian's lips curled faintly...not quite a smile, more like a grimace.
He rose from the chair in one fluid, unnatural motion. His body didn't move so much as glide, like the laws of physics refused to apply to someone so rich.
He walked a slow circle around Asher, gaze assessing. "You smell like hospital detergent. And despair."
Asher exhaled. "Okay. You're hostile. Got it."
"Hostile? I'm dead. Murdered. Reputation destroyed. Assets stolen. And now the afterlife sends me... you."
"I'm very affordable," Asher said without thinking.
Julian gave him a look so icy it dropped the room temperature ten degrees. "Say 'affordable' again and I'll throw you through a wall."
Asher cleared his throat and reached for the contract template in his back pocket. "Look, Mr. Marrick. I get it. You're mad. But if you sign this provisional soul contract, I can start the case, find out who wronged you, and maybe even restore your legacy. Isn't that worth..."
Julian held up a hand. "Do you know what I built, Mr. Knox?"
"Uh...yes. Luxury towers. Many of which are...well...still technically... kind of standing."
"I built empires out of steel and concrete. I crushed competition with a handshake. I made billions before your generation figured out how to install TikTok."
Asher opened his mouth. Then closed it. "Okay, sure. Impressive. But none of that changes the fact that you're dead, your penthouse is a graveyard, and your legacy is... let's just say in need of a brand refresh."
Julian blinked once. Slowly. "Are you mocking me?"
The temperature dropped even further.
"No. I'm pitching you."
He scoffed. "There are rats in my walls, Knox. They weren't here before I died."
"I want this tower reclaimed," he said. "There's squatters. Vagrants. Spiritual vermin. I want them gone. I want my name back."
Asher frowned. "And in return?"
Julian's eyes glinted, faintly gold.
"You want my signature and a handsome fee. I know how this dance goes. You help me, I help you. Or add you to a number of ghosts roaming this tower. I'm fine with either."
No one had told Asher that ghosts could negotiate like real estate agents with vendettas. But apparently here they were.
"I'm not an exorcist," Asher said. "I'm a broker. I get things moving. Closure. Signatures. Help."
Julian leaned in. "Then start earning your haunted paycheck, Mr. Knox."
"I only hire men whose capability has been proven beyond reasonable doubt. That won't change in death."
"You want my signature? Clean up my tower. Then we'll talk."
From somewhere deep in the tower, the sound of movement echoed, scraping, chittering, the creak of things that Asher wasn't sure he wanted to meet.
He sighed. "Of course this comes with rats."
"Spiritual ones," Julian corrected. "And they bite."
Asher made to leave but then he stopped.
"I don't know much about... ghosts, but if you're the resident ghost here, then you're probably the reason this tower has the atmosphere that...these squatters can loiter in."
"You're the reason it's in such shambles. The rest of your assets are thriving..."
"And it doesn't matter how many rats I exterminate or ghosts I exorcise. They'll keep coming back if you don't give up your hold on this place... and...well move on."
Julian's eyes narrowed. The ground trembled beneath his feet.
"I don't mean that in a bad way..." Asher said quickly.
"Just saying...if you let me help you, you have nothing to lose. But yeah, I'll get right to that... extermination."
Julian turned back to the window. "They pushed me, you know. Not just literally. Vincent. My partner. I trusted him. And he pushed me."
Asher paused, his posture shifting. "That's who you want justice against?"
Julian didn't turn. "He took my company. My name. Told the press I was paranoid. Unstable. Said I leapt."
"Did you?"
Julian finally faced him again. "If I jumped, I'd have taken him with me."
Silence stretched.
Then Asher asked, carefully, "So... do we have a deal?"
Julian stepped forward, close enough to see the gleam of the penthouse in his eyes.
"You've got one week," he said. "Find the proof. Expose him. Restore my legacy."
"And then?"
Julian smirked faintly. "Then I sign your little contract. And maybe, just maybe, I won't haunt your descendants."
Asher nodded. "Fair."
Julian extended a hand. His grip was cold and solid. Ghosts with unfinished business had substance.
Asher shook it, feeling ice creep up his wrist.
"Welcome to high-end haunting, Knox," Julian said.