The definition of malignant became obvious to Asher the moment he stepped through Sublevel three.
He crossed the threshold into the hallway. An iron pipe hit the concrete floor with a loud clang, right where he had been.
Asher glanced at it. It was heavy enough to have knocked him unconscious. It didn't look coincidental.
He frowned. But headed in.
Sublevel three was an array of crumbling hallways, tunnels and restricted areas. At a glance, it looked like it had been evacuated in a hurry and tagged for a demolition that had stalled after half a day.
There was a mini gate fence demarcating the hallways from the exit points leading into the actual stadium.
The Sublevel was silent, save for scurrying rodents and a distant moan. The wind?
It was difficult to say. This looked like a choice haunted den for vengeful ghosts. And it felt like it too.
He did not have to search long to find his destination. He ventured towards the restricted area with the sign 'VIP only', because it just made perfect sense.
If he was a billionaire, dead or alive, he wouldn't be found anywhere but designated places for people of his calibre.
Right. He was one now.
The door to the lounge swayed open after a gentle push, slamming into the wall so hard, the ground shook.
It caught him off guard. He was certain he didn't apply that much force.
Bracing himself, he stepped in. He distantly wondered why a ghost would take residence in a waiting room when he had an empire, businesses or at least a home he must have left behind.
What could make a ghost attach itself to a stadium? Its favourite football club?
But it wasn't his job to be curious.
The first thing that greeted him was the ghostly chill. A freezing cold that was not of this world.
It was similar to Marrick's penthouse, but different in its own, strange, disturbing way.
The door slammed shut behind him, of its own accord. No warning. Nothing.
The room swayed, Asher lost his footing and fell headfirst to the ground. When he glanced up, the sharp edge of the marble table that would very easily have cracked his skull open stared back at him, glinting and sharp.
Getting up to his feet, he dusted his hands and smoothened his coat.
Appearance was everything. To play the part, you first have to look the part, Marrick had said.
"I am here with a proposal and you should be expecting me." Asher called out into the darkness. "I would prefer we have a civil conversation and avoid... The 'kill the broker' haze?"
No response. The curtain rail crashed a short distance to Asher's right. And then another crash to his left.
It reminded him of the tantrums Emmy would play when she didn't get her way.
Though he wasn't certain this ghost would approve of being compared to his little sister in her toddler phase.
Another crash echoed somewhere further into the darkness.
What would Julian say?
"Let's face it. You need me more than I need you."
The distant moan of the wind grew into a howl. Furious and close by.
Perhaps that wasn't the best approach. Provoking a ghost was not a very smart move.
Especially not a malignant one.
Asher racked his brain for a different thing to say. Something that could convince this ghost to reveal himself.
"I believe you might have more company soon." He tried. "There was a hit-and-run just outside the stadium."
He waited. Still nothing.
Asher turned to leave. Today was not his day and now that he was still in one piece, it was better to fight another day than to push his luck.
"The name's Knox." He hesitated. "CEO, Knox Holdings. When you're ready to talk, you know where to find me."
He contemplated his words. It sounded like an invitation and he didn't want to find out if this ghost could actually leave its place of residence and visit his home. "I meant, you know who to call. The union will reach me if you express further interest."
They wouldn't. Asher wasn't at liberty to refuse a mission. He was duty bound to convince this ghost to sign his contract by any means possible or he would end up a ghost on the sidewalk soon.
He had seen them. It wasn't a fate he wanted for himself.
He was desperate, yes. But this ghost didn't need to know that.
Julian's journal had said; The party most willing to walk away from a deal holds the most power.
He needed the signature, but he wouldn't grovel for it. His pants cost a few thousand dollars too much for that.
He hadn't gotten a chance to look into Dominic Tates either. He would return home, make his findings and return only when he was certain of convincing him.
Tomorrow was a big day. He would be handling his first business meeting as CEO of Knox Holdings. He needed an early start.
With that, Asher headed for the door. Turning the knob, he realized with unease that it was jarred shut.
Locked. And it wouldn't budge.
'This isn't funny anymore.' He murmured beneath his breath.
Inhaling sharply, he put on his best poker face and spun around, only to find himself face to beard with a spectral giant.
Literally.
Dominique Tates glared down at him, eyes narrowed and furious. How tall was he? 6ft7?
Asher was 6ft1. He didn't feel like it at the moment.
He gulped.
"Asher Knox. Your assigned Broker." He stuttered. "A pleasure, Mr Tates."
Tates glowered. His breath engulfed Asher with a freezing bite and a stench of tobacco.
"The hit-and-run you met outside..." Tates finally spoke. "The victim stole a few iron pipes here some days back."
"It took me a few days to decide how to deal with him. But today, when I sensed him coming back, I figured it out."
The victim had been impaled by the pole of a sign post.
Asher's heart threatened to fail him. But somehow, he got the next words out.
"Ah... fine work you did there. I applaud your refined tastes..Mr Tates."