Asher's life didn't change overnight.
Not even after he died, came back to life and won the lottery, three days ago.
"Sometimes, the world turns while you're asleep, and by morning, nothing is the same."
Someone had said these words to him one night on security duty, he laughed, but it was only to suppress the urge to swing his baton at them.
He should have just swung.
As he woke up to his threadbare sheets and his mattress that creaked with every motion,
He still wasn't sure if it had all been a hallucination brought on by blood loss. The limo. The man with golden teeth. The ghost rave ceiling. The contract signed with a pen that levitated. The ghost pact.
Maybe he'd just hit his head harder than he thought.
Except... Emmy's medical debts were gone.
Every last cent.
He checked it twice. And then ten more times. He even called the hospital, prepared for reality to hit. But the woman on the other end had simply said, "Paid in full. Shall we expect the deposit for the next clotting factor infusion, Mr. Knox?"
Mr. Knox. Without a trace of irony.
Nobody had ever said his name like that before. Like it belonged to someone important, like he didn't steal cafeteria leftovers and sell his body fluids to fund prescriptions.
He hadn't heard from the man in the limo since the contract was signed.
Now, he sat on the edge of his mattress. In his dingy apartment, with only the rhythmic dripping of water from the leaky roof as company, and a fridge with a left over take out and half a protein bar as groceries.
The leaky faucet, the neighbor screaming through drywall. The cigarette smoke crawling under the door from down the hall.
Other than Emmy's medical bills, nothing else had changed.
One would think after winning the lottery, things would begin looking up. He had money now, or more accurately...had.
He checked his bank account and nearly passed out again. He did not need to wait for the other shoe to drop, because it had immediately.
The lottery money? It had been the exact amount of the debt he owed.
He had woken up a multimillionaire for only a second, before a transaction he had not authorized was initiated, directly to the hospital.
Along with the long overdue credit card debts his parents had accumulated and the money they owed to loan sharks... the list was endless.
He was completely debt free.
And still dirt poor.
Emmy was still sick, he still didn't have a concrete job, or any other source of income.
Was this the catch?
Asher should have known better when he heard the word 'incentive'.
Something shot at him in a quick black flash. His hand shot up to protect his face, only to close around a glossy black envelope.
It was eerily similar to the one from three nights ago. And just like then, Asher hesitated for only a moment before he opened it.
WELCOME TO THE GHOST BROKER PROGRAM
Congratulations, Mr. Knox. You are now legally (and spiritually) bound as a Broker of the Dead.
In good faith, your financial status has been upgraded from a multimillionaire in negative to... zero.
Your job is simple:
Locate troubled spirits
Secure soul contracts
Resolve unfinished business (or die trying)
Tools will be provided. Training is not.
You are expected to maintain professionalism, punctuality, and possession of your physical body.
Note: Union protection does not extend to death by poltergeist, vengeful specter, soul combustion, or sudden wealth syndrome.
Questions? Too late. Your first client has been assigned.
»GHOST BROKER EMPLOYEE CARD
USER RANK: NOVICE BROKER
AUTHORIZED ABILITIES: GHOSTSIGHT. SOUL CONTRACT (LIMITED USE)
SECTOR ACCESS: HAUNTED ESTATES
CLIENT CATEGORIES UNLOCKED: REAL ESTATE MOGULS.
> Breach of contract voids resurrection clause.
He stared at the parchment for a full minute. Then another.
Rubbing his temples, he tried to calm the pulse beating behind his eyes. He hadn't slept properly in the past three days since he woke up here, with no recollection of how he spent all his winnings to clear his debts.
Every night, he half-expected the universe would press the undo button, and he would open a door and find himself back on that street, bloodied and broken,
But it hadn't.
The money was spent, the loan sharks hadn't come knocking yet. Emmy was still okay.
And now... the job.
Asher got up to his feet, toes curling against the mouldy rug. He walked to the window, staring out to the streets like it might offer answers. But all he got was glass and distance.
A second flash, Asher caught it with intent this time.
It contained only a name and an address.
CLIENT: JULIAN MARRICK
LOCATION: MARRICK TOWER, 34 LORIMER PLACE, UNIT 8B
Only 12% of novice brokers don't make it past Day 1.
Good luck, Mr. Knox.
He didn't feel all that lucky.
"Alright. Time to earn my haunted paycheck."
---
The address was a two hour drive away. He had taken the bus and it cost a reasonable sum. Asher hoped whatever this was would be worth it.
On his way, Asher had looked up the name 'Julian Marrick'. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to see, none of this felt real to him yet
Not until he saw an entire blog dedicated to the Tyrant of Towers, a renowned real estate tycoon who had passed on two decades ago.
The name? You guessed it.
Julian Marrick.
Asher wasn't sure if to feel relieved that someone fit the profile, or be worried he was losing his mind, paying a visit to a dead man.
Walking the rest of the way from the bus stop, the street grew more desolate the farther he went.
And right at the end of the street was a towering structure that should have been condemned years ago.
Asher stood across the street, staring up at the carcass of Marrick Tower. A 70-story skeleton of steel and broken glass. The name, once bold and bronzed, now hung in crooked letters across the entryway. The "M" had fallen off. All that remained was ARRICK TOWER, which felt appropriate, like even the building didn't want to be associated with its own past.
There were no lights. No guards. No locks. Just open glass doors swaying like a dare.
"This has lawsuit written all over it," Asher muttered, gripping the strap of his duffel bag like it was some assurance. Inside: a flashlight, a half-eaten protein bar, and a pen Emmy had once bought off a charlatan who claimed it glowed faintly when it got close to dead things.
Because that's how his life worked now.