Finders Ghost Hunting Series

Two Years Ago

Claire Westin’s office, a fortress of glass and steel, stood as a testament to power and success. Yet tonight, its sleek surfaces and panoramic city view felt oppressive, mirroring the emptiness gnawing at her soul. The walls, once symbols of achievement, now closed in, questioning the very foundation of her accomplishments.

Seated at her desk, Claire stared at a message from Janet, her ever-enthusiastic assistant: “Claire! The ratings are insane! You’re a genius!” What should have been a moment of triumph felt hollow. The accolades, soaring ratings, and financial rewards were like echoes in a vast, empty chamber. Her fingers hesitated over the keyboard before she typed a brief reply: “Thanks, Janet. See you tomorrow. Good night.”

She leaned back, her eyes drifting to the indifferent city skyline. The silence was thick with memories she had long tried to bury. Her mother’s voice whispered in her mind: “Our work should reflect our values, Claire. It’s not just about success—it’s about doing the right thing.” Those words had guided her when she first entered the media world. She had believed she could make a difference, but the industry demanded compromises that blurred the line between success and integrity. She learned to navigate the game, delivering what networks wanted, even when it gnawed at her conscience.

Her gaze shifted to the stack of papers on her desk—the contract that could either elevate her to the position of executive producer, with her own show, or end her career. Signing Finder’s Ghost Hunters meant stepping into a realm where faith, conviction, and truth mattered more than sensationalism. It meant risking everything she had worked for—her reputation, career, and the legacy inherited from her father.

If this venture failed, it wouldn’t just be a professional setback; it would be a personal one. The industry would view her as a naïve idealist who overstepped her bounds, and her boss, Executive Producer Roger Hawthorne, would ensure she never forgot it. He would tighten his grip, denying her the freedom to pursue meaningful work again.

Her thoughts wandered back to San Diego Comic-Con, where she had first encountered Grant and Jason. She had been there to promote her latest show—a lighthearted dramedy about quirky millennials navigating love in the digital age. Yet, the Finder’s Ghost Hunters booth had piqued her interest. “You don’t seem like the ghost-hunting type,” Jason had teased. Grant added, “We’ve got plenty of stories, but they’re more than just tales to us.”

What was meant to be a brief chat turned into hours of conversation. By the end of it, Claire felt compelled to join their venture. Offering them a contract had been a daring move—one Roger barely acknowledged—but she was willing to take that risk.

Her phone buzzed, interrupting her musings. It was Roger.

“Claire, sponsors are pouring money at us. What’s next?” Roger’s voice brimmed with excitement, though Claire sensed a flicker of tension, as if he were walking a tightrope.

“God only knows,” she said, half to herself. “Plans will be on your desk by morning.”

There was a pause on the other end, just long enough to prick at Claire’s unease. Then, Roger’s voice returned, the earlier lightness replaced with a colder, more calculating tone.

“Don’t burn out on me now, Claire,” he said, his tone deceptively casual. “This project could make or break us.”

Claire’s breath caught. She knew Roger too well to miss the underlying message—there was no “us” in his equation. This was a test, a pivotal moment, and he was scrutinizing her every move.

“Roger you are being paranoid,” she assured him, but even as she spoke, the weight of her commitment began to press down harder—not just to Roger or the network, but to herself.

“Good,” Roger said, his voice softening slightly, as if he had momentarily let his guard down. “Claire, you’ve got to stay focused—keep your eye on the prize. We can’t afford for you to be distracted.”

Claire hesitated, sensing the shift in Roger’s tone. He was not just invested—he was depending on her, perhaps more than he wished to admit. His next words confirmed it.

“You’re good—no, you’re better than good. A natural, and we both know why,” he said, his voice laced with subtle venom. “Your father’s name has opened many doors for you. But remember, it was me who kept them open.”

The words stung more than she wanted to acknowledge. Roger always managed to weave in just enough praise to keep her loyal while reminding her of her indebtedness. Beneath the praise lay the unspoken implication: If you fail, you’ll disappoint your father. Roger didn’t need to say it outright; the message was clear.

“I know what’s at stake,” she replied, her voice steady, though her hands trembled slightly.

“Do you?” Roger’s voice sharpened again. “I don’t need you drifting, Claire. I need you present, here, in the moment, with me.”

His words lingered, a blend of challenge and something else—perhaps concern, or was it a subtle threat? For the first time, Claire sensed more in his tone. Was it vulnerability or desperation? Either way, it gave her pause.

“I’m here, Roger.”

“Good,” he replied, though the warmth had left his voice. “Don’t forget it.”

“Roger,” Claire interjected gently, aware of the pressure he was under. “You’ve made it clear how much this project means to you. I won’t let you down.”

A brief silence filled the line before Roger sighed, the sound almost vulnerable. We’ve invested so much. I just—” He stopped himself, quickly masking his vulnerability. “Just make sure you’re not chasing ghosts, okay?”

As the call ended, Claire’s hand trembled slightly. The weight of her responsibilities felt heavier than ever. She glanced at the scattered scripts on her desk, each crafted to exploit human drama for ratings. Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind: “What does it profit a man to gain the whole world, but lose his soul?”

What if I lose my soul trying to gain the world? Claire thought, her heart heavy. The fear of failure, the fear of disappointing her parents’ memory, the fear of losing herself in the pursuit of success—it all threatened to overwhelm her. She whispered a prayer she hadn’t voiced in years, “God... if you’re there... I need help.”

The words felt foreign, as if she had forgotten how to pray, how to ask for help. A wave of shame washed over her as she realized how long it had been since she genuinely reached out to God. What had happened to her? When had she become so distant from the faith that once anchored her life? She knew the answer, though she hated to admit it. It wasn’t just her career pressures; it was the disillusionment, the disappointments, the feeling of being alone in a world that valued profit over principle. She had drifted away, bit by bit, until she wasn’t sure she could find her way back.

The silence that followed was deafening, but within it, something stirred. Whether it was hope or fear, she couldn’t tell. But it was enough to make her reach for her phone with renewed determination. She dialed Grant Henley’s number.

Just as she was about to press dial, a faint creak came from the hallway outside her office. Claire froze, her heart skipping a beat, eyes flicking toward the door. The office was quiet, too quiet, but she could have sworn she heard something.

Claire’s hand hesitated over the phone as she listened intently. Another sound—a barely perceptible shuffle—echoed down the corridor. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to remain calm. It’s probably just the building settling, she thought, trying to reassure herself.

But the uneasy feeling persisted, making the air in her office feel heavy and oppressive. Her gaze swept across the room, searching for anything out of place. The shadows cast by the city lights outside seemed longer, darker than usual. The door to her private office, usually closed, was slightly ajar.

Had she left it open?

The unease prickled at the back of her neck, but Claire forced herself to breathe deeply. This was just stress getting the better of her. But even as she tried to dismiss it, the hair on her arms stood on end. Her fingers hovered over the phone once more, but before she could dial, a sudden, loud crash echoed through the hallway.

Claire jumped, her heart thudding. Her breath caught in her throat as she whipped her head toward the door. For a moment, she was frozen, her mind racing with a thousand terrifying possibilities.

She reached for the sleek, polished door handle, her hand trembling. Slowly, she pushed it open, peering into the dimly lit corridor.

Empty. She almost sighed with relief, yet something felt amiss. The crash had been unmistakably real—loud, too loud to ignore. Claire stepped into the hallway, her heels clicking softly on the marble floor. She advanced cautiously toward the sound’s origin, every instinct heightened.

As she turned the corner, she saw it—a framed picture of her father had fallen from the wall, its glass shattered across the floor. Her pulse quickened. That picture had hung undisturbed for years. Why now?

Her mind raced as she knelt to gather the pieces, her fingers trembling. What if someone had been in her office? What if they still were? Forcing herself to stand, her breath caught in her throat. Suddenly, she felt a presence behind her. Her body tensed, every muscle frozen with fear. Slowly, she turned around, bracing for the worst.

But there was no one—only shadows.

Claire exhaled a shaky breath, her hands clenching into fists. She knew she wasn’t imagining things. Fear, however, wouldn’t serve her now. She had to stay focused, had to keep moving forward, even if it felt like navigating a nightmare.

She glanced at the shattered glass outside her office—a metaphor, perhaps, for her own fractured state of mind. But she wouldn’t let fear or uncertainty control her. This was her chance to make a difference, to find redemption.

First, though, she had to confront the shadows, both within and without, with the faith she once had but let slip away. “God, give me strength,” she whispered, her voice barely audible in the room’s stillness. Then, with renewed resolve, she picked up the phone, Grant’s number glaring back at her. It was time to move forward.

The line rang twice before Grant picked up, his voice warm and steady. “Hey, Claire, congratulations on the new show.”

“Thank you, Grant,” Claire replied, her voice steady despite her pounding heart. “I’ve reviewed the contract we negotiated, and I’m ready to take the next step. Are you still in?”

There was a pause, and for a moment, Claire’s heart thudded in her chest. Grant’s voice came through, strong and sure.

“I’m in, Claire. All the way.”

****