The ink of the final contract had barely faded when Joseph began sorting through the inherited ledgers. Eight dealerships—each with its own operational documents—now lay under his name, their pages whispering softly in ghost-script.

Most were mundane: staff lists, repair accounts, insurance fees, spectral inventory.  

But one thin folder, marked with a crimson seal, caught his attention.

He opened it.

Inside was a parchment stamped by the *Underworld Transit Authority.*  

Across the top, written in sinuous script, was a phrase that made him laugh aloud.

> **"Citywide Passage Concession – Toll License #073."**

He blinked. “A toll contract?”

Taragan leaned over his shoulder, eyes widening. “Sir… that’s not just any toll contract. It’s the master concession. Every ghost who drives through this city’s major highways—every caravan, hearse, or spectral courier—pays through *this dealership’s registry.*”

Joseph raised an eyebrow. “You’re telling me that every vehicle passing through the city, every single one, pays *me* a toll?”

“Exactly, sir.” Taragan smiled, faintly impressed. “A minor sum per crossing, but… symbolically? You now own the roads themselves.”

Joseph chuckled, tossing the document onto the table. “A tiny profit, but a big statement.”

He knew the value wasn’t in the money. It was in what it represented—control.  

The power to tax meant the power to rule.

Every highway, every underworld transport, every spirit behind a wheel was, in a way, crossing *his* domain.  

He stood, rolling up his sleeves. “Funny, isn’t it? A week ago I was taking out a loan from a living bank. Now, even the dead pay me to move.”

Taragan bowed. “Congratulations, sir. You’ve effectively purchased the city’s bloodstream.”

Joseph smiled. “Then let’s keep the heart pumping.”

---

That night, he drove the *Gui Baojini* back through the burning streets.  

The ghost car moved like liquid lightning, its wheels tracing blue fire through the air. Along the way, every toll gate pulsed faintly as he passed—each one opening without charge, whispering his name through the comm-lines of the dead.

He arrived at the *Hundred Ghosts Boutique* just before dawn.

The building shimmered faintly under the pale sky, runes pulsing along its windows. Taragan was already waiting by the door, bowing as the car rolled to a stop.

“Welcome back, sir,” the manager said. “I take it the negotiations went well?”

Joseph smirked. “You could say that. The car dealer’s crying in relief somewhere. Turns out, his company owned a toll contract. I’m now the city’s gatekeeper.”

Taragan blinked, stunned, then broke into a slow grin. “Impressive, sir. That means the entire transport network is tied to your name.”

Joseph shrugged, stepping out of the car. “Pocket change, really. But it’s not about the money—it’s about who pays it.”

He loosened his collar, looking around the boutique. “Now, let’s keep going. You mentioned a hotel before. A five-star one?”

“Yes, sir,” Taragan said instantly. “The *Obsidian Star Hotel.* Premier clientele—ghost nobility, collectors, the high caste of the dead.”

“Perfect,” Joseph said. “Call them.”

Taragan hesitated. “Now, sir?”

Joseph gave him a look. “Now. Tell them I’m buying. Not negotiating, not testing. Buying.”

The manager nodded and began whispering into a dark communication sigil.  

After a pause, faint echoes drifted through the air—static voices on the other end, curious and cautious.

Joseph stood at the window, staring at the city skyline—his city now—burning faintly blue under the half-dead sun.  

“Tell them this,” he said slowly.  

“If they want to sell, I’ll pay fair. But if they plan to make me jump through hoops—quests, rituals, ‘prove your worth’ nonsense—I’ll move on to the next one.”

He turned slightly, his reflection overlapping the skyline in the glass. “I don’t have time to play their games. I’m not earning approval. I’m buying their world.”

Taragan smiled faintly as the sigil pulsed. “Understood, sir. I’ll make that clear.”

Joseph adjusted the GHOULLEX on his wrist—the second hand ticking backward, faint light glowing beneath his skin.

“Good,” he said quietly. “Now let’s see which of the dead still understands the meaning of business.”