Chapter 7: “Ghost Protocol”

Lila hadn't dared touch the file all morning.

It sat on the farthest corner of her desk like a cursed paperweight, exuding bad energy and unresolved spiritual grudges. She'd placed a motivational sticky note on top of it—"You've Got This!"—as if passive-aggressive optimism could neutralize a haunted document.

So far, it hasn't.

"Stop staring at it," Mr. Hawkins said, materializing beside the copier with a dramatic sigh. "You're going to give it a complex."

"I'm not staring," Lila muttered, eyes still glued to the file. "I'm supervising it. In case it starts whispering Latin or spontaneously combusts."

"Ah yes, classic haunted behavior," Hawkins said dryly. "Next, it'll demand a corner office and stock options."

"It's just... sitting there. Like it's waiting for something."

"Maybe it wants coffee. I know I do."

Lila clutched her mug tighter, even though the coffee had long gone cold. "You're dead. You don't need caffeine."

"And yet, I'm still more alert than half this staff." He floated closer, squinting at the folder. "That the same one from yesterday? The ghosty grandpa file?"

"Yep. Still creepy. Still making my skin crawl."

Hawkins shrugged. "So talk to it. Ask what it wants."

"Great idea. I'll just interview the haunted document while Victor walks by. 'Excuse me, sir, don't mind me—I'm just chatting with the afterlife.'"

"Embrace the weird, Monroe."

She turned back to her screen, trying to ignore the folder like a toddler ignoring broccoli. Her inbox was full of normal things: meeting invites, petulant calendar nudges, and a group-wide memo about someone microwaving fish again.

But none of it stuck.

The only thing on her mind was the file—and the ghost who might be watching her from somewhere just out of view.

When Victor Sterling passed her desk, she stiffened so hard her pen launched itself into the void.

"You're quiet today," he said, pausing beside her desk.

"I'm always quiet!" she replied way too fast. "Quiet is my brand. I'm the human version of a library sign."

Victor blinked. Slowly. "Right."

She smiled too hard, then bent to retrieve the pen—only to knock over her water bottle with a clatter loud enough to startle Hawkins into phasing through the desk.

"Gravity hates me," she mumbled, cheeks on fire.

Victor bent down, picked up the bottle, and placed it back on her desk with a strangely gentle touch. His eyes lingered on her face for a beat too long. Curiosity, concern, or maybe just the beginnings of an HR complaint.

"Thanks," she said.

He nodded and walked away.

The second he turned the corner, she collapsed into her chair with a groan. "Cool. Very normal. Great recovery."

Hawkins reappeared, smirking. "Ten out of ten for awkward. If you faint in front of him, I'll be emotionally fulfilled for weeks."

"Please go haunt someone else."

"I tried. The new guy in Legal has holy water in his coffee mug."

Lila opened a new browser tab, determined to do something normal. Instead, her monitor flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Then the screen blinked—flashed an image of the file. Scanned. Digitized. A familiar title and a scan date from two days ago, though she hadn't touched it since last night.

Her cursor moved on its own.

A message typed itself at the bottom of the PDF, in faded, ghostly gray:

Just want to see him. Just once.

Lila's heart leapt into her throat. She turned sharply to Hawkins.

"Was that you?"

He frowned. "Nope. That's not my flair. Too sentimental."

Why this file? Why now? Did ghosts really stick around for unfinished paperwork?

Or maybe… he never stopped working, even after death.

Another flicker. Her other monitor blinked awake, displaying a Reddit thread she read earlier.

"The Forgotten Founder of Sterling & Co."

She clicked, hands trembling slightly.

The same old photo stared back at her: a man in a gray suit standing in front of the original Sterling & Co. building—brick façade, bronze plaque, grainy image from a local historical archive.

Victor Raymond Sterling. Died in 1997. Survived by his daughter and newborn grandson, Victor Jr., whom he never had the chance to meet.

The same lines blinked.

Lila leaned back, her stomach flipping.

That was it. The connection.

Maybe he died while reviewing it. Maybe that was the last thing he touched—unfinished work tied to the family he left behind.

He never met Victor Jr.

He was probably working on that final report—her haunted report—when he died. And now he was… stuck. Watching. Waiting. Still trying to finish something or pass it on.

Another line appeared in the file margin, written in ghostly pen strokes:

Let me go. Let him know I was proud. Even if he never knew me.

"Okay," she breathed. "Alright. I can do this. But it has to be subtle."

Hawkins perked up. "Ooh, ghost matchmaking. I'm in."

"You're staying out of this."

"Too late. I'm emotionally invested now."

Ten minutes later, Lila cornered Victor near the conference rooms like a caffeinated intern on a mission.

"Hey, quick thing—found an old file tied to the 1997 merger. Might need a signature for compliance. Random audit."

Victor frowned. "Why would something that old need reviewing now?"

"New protocols," Andrea told me to get it signed she said. "Paper trails. The usual corporate paranoia."

He studied her, gaze steady and unreadable. "You've been acting off."

"I'm always off. I'm basically off-brand human."

After a pause, he sighed. "Conference Room B. Five minutes."

She arrived early, holding the file like it might bite her.

The room was quiet. Cold. The lights hummed overhead.

Lila whispered into the silence. "Okay, Victor Sr. This is your shot. Be cool."

The air dipped in temperature.

Victor arrived, shutting the door behind him.

"What's the issue?"

"Just a signature. Top page."

He took the folder, opened it, and flipped through in silence.

Then—he signed.

A second passed.

Then another.

And behind him, reflected faintly in the glass wall, stood Victor Sterling Sr.

Lila stared, frozen.

The older ghost looked at his grandson with calm eyes. No anger. No unfinished rage. Just quiet recognition.

A longing.

A goodbye.

His form flickered gently in the glass—then slowly, softly, disappeared.

Victor blinked, eyes flicking to the reflection.

He turned slightly, brows drawn. "What was that?"

"What was what?"

"I thought I saw someone behind me."

He glanced again, this time slower. Something in his expression 

shifted—confused, distant.

Like a memory brushing past.

But he said nothing more.

Lila laughed—far too high-pitched. "Your reflection? Ghost of mergers past?"

"You're pale."

"I'm always pale. It's part of the admin aesthetic."

"You're shaking."

"Too much… printer toner exposure."

Another long pause.

"We're done here," he said, closing the folder.

Lila nodded and bolted like someone escaping a tax audit.

Back at her desk, she placed the folder down carefully.

No flickers.

No ghostly notes.

No hovering presence.

Gone.

She leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

"Goodbye, Victor Senior. Rest well."

A sticky note fluttered down onto her desk, seemingly from nowhere.

She didn't have to guess who it was from. Victor's handwriting—sharp, precise.

MEETING TOMORROW – 10 A.M. – MY OFFICE.

BRING NOTES ON THE HOLLAND FILE.

P.S. Fix your chair. It squeaks like it's haunted.

Hawkins chuckled beside her. "He's definitely onto you."

"Not unless you tell him."

"I'd never betray you," Hawkins said with faux solemnity. "Unless he offers me a better office."

The printer made a sudden, violent cough and spat out a single blank page.

Hawkins hovered closer, peering at it like it had insulted his afterlife. "Technology's clearly possessed. You need sage. Or fire."

Lila groaned and rubbed her temples.

Maybe haunted office supplies weren't the worst thing in her life right now.