A Ghost Cooked For Me

I was the only one left in the office as I worked overtime. My head was pounding from staring at the endless spread of data on my screen.

I did not get back to my apartment until it was almost one in the morning.

A bowl of chicken soup was waiting for me on the table, still warm.

A wave of gratitude washed over me. I drank the soup and passed out on my bed.

The next morning, my alarm blared. I opened my eyes, and the memory of my unfinished work hit me immediately.

I groaned, dragged myself out of bed, and booted up my laptop.

When I looked at the screen, I froze.

My project file was open.

It was supposed to show the half-finished data analysis.

But what I saw was the complete version. Someone had finished it for me.

And it was perfect.

The model construction, data comparison, and conclusion derivation were all clearer, more precise, and more insightful than anything I could have produced.

It had been completed at a standard beyond my own capabilities.

A small, yellow sticky note was attached to the bottom corner of my screen.

It was in Nathaniel’s familiar handwriting.

[Get more sleep.]

I beheld the miraculous proposal. I was not sure how to feel.

During the meeting on Monday, I gritted my teeth and presented the data.

I watched the director’s expression change from bland indifference to surprise, and finally, to genuine approval.

“Casey, this is outstanding work. The analysis is incredibly sharp. I had no idea you had this in you.”

I looked down as I blushed.

Whitley, who was sitting at the meeting table, scowled.

The moment the meeting adjourned, she cornered me in the pantry.

“Quite the little star, aren’t we, Casey? So, who did you steal it from? Or did you just pay someone to do your work for you?”

She was clearly jealous.

“Let me be clear. Don’t expect to climb the corporate ladder with these cheap tricks. I’ll be watching you.”

I could not be bothered to argue with her.

But the incident also served as a wake-up call for me.

Nathaniel was extremely capable.

Who was he, really?

What did he do for a living before this?

That night, for the first time, I did not talk about work. I asked about his past.

“Nathaniel, what did you do before this?

“Why do you remain in this house?

“How did you die?”

I asked a stream of questions into the still air.

The room fell completely silent.

Just when I assumed I would not get an answer, my laptop screen flickered on by itself.

A single search bar glowed in the center of the screen.

The letters appeared on the search bar one by one, typed by an unseen hand.

N-A-T-H-A-N-I-E-L S-I-M-M-O-N-S.

Nathaniel Simmons.

The results loaded instantly.

The top link was a news article from five years ago.

The headline read, [Tragedy Claims Rising Finance Star Nathaniel Simmons in Fatal Crash.]

The article was accompanied by a photo of a young man in a crisp white shirt.

He had sharp, intelligent features and an air of quiet confidence. His gaze was both calm and intensely focused, hinting at a mind that was always working.

His profile identified him as the lead analyst for Meridian Ventures.

Meridian Ventures.

That was the firm I worked for.

According to the article, the accident had occurred right outside this apartment building.