I floated around Janine's head, making faces at her even though she couldn't see me.
At least, Amelia laughed through her tears.
That single smile seemed to ignite Denver's fury all over again.
"Amelia, so what if you have the title of Mrs. Fletcher? Only Janine can give birth to the Fletcher family's heir. You'll never have anything!"
With that, he called security and had her "escorted" out.
A while later, Amelia sat down on the curb outside the company, staring blankly ahead. Her eyes were red but empty.
"Sherry," she whispered, "I'm sorry. I probably can't help you repay that one hundred million."
Her voice cracked. "I'm useless. I couldn't save you six years ago... and I can't save you now."
Her tears fell, heavy and silent, splashing onto her hands.
I reached out instinctively to wipe them away, but my hand passed straight through. Still, I stubbornly tried again and again.
"Amelia," I said softly, "whether you can help me or not doesn't matter. I just want you to be brave—like you were six years ago."
She looked up at me, her dazed expression slowly clearing. A hint of determination flickered in her eyes.
"Sherry, there are still nine days left. I'll definitely find a way!"
As soon as Amelia said that, the sharp sound of brakes pierced the air.
A familiar, lazy voice followed from the shiny Porsche parked beside her.
"Sister-in-law, even if you sit under the company building all day, my brother still won't notice. Want me to help... hey, what's that ghost thing floating next to you?!"
I turned toward Donald, who was sitting in the driver's seat, and accidentally let my eyeballs fly right out of their sockets.
How unlucky—one of them smacked him right in the face.
"Ah, sorry! I've been dead for a while, and, uh... some of my parts are past their warranty."
I hurriedly grabbed my eyeballs, popped them back in, and blinked.
When my vision cleared, Donald was already foaming at the mouth and fainting dead away.
By the time he woke up again, we were already at Amelia's house.
I waved cheerfully. "Hey there!"
He blinked, then screamed, "G-Ghost!!"
"Donald, she's not a ghost, she's my good—" Amelia began, but I quickly winked at her.
Being my best friend for years, she instantly caught on.
"Yes," she said firmly. "She is a ghost."
Donald was speechless.
For some reason, hearing her admit it so bluntly made it sound less terrifying.