Richly appointed room of an old manor - portraits, chandelier, taxidermy animal heads mounted on the wall. A man in a bathrobe sits in a fancy chair in front of the fireplace, smoking a pipe, reading a newspaper, drinking his evening wine. From the wall emerges a glowing ghost, he floats through the air, dangling his chains.

"Think about your sins and mistakes," the ghost boos, "redeem yourself, Wellington, before it is too late."

"Oh, Bartholomew, just the man I was looking for! Fetch me my fuzziest slippers, will you?" Wellington replies nonchalantly, without looking up from his newspaper.

"How dare you! I am a being from the great beyond, here to show you the error of your ways!" the ghost thunders in rage, the mounted animal heads on the wall begin to weep blood.

"Yes, yes, very menacing. But you want your allowance, don't you?" Wellington raises an eyebrow.

"Yes," the ghost growls abashedly.

"And between the two of us, who has purchased Microsoft shares in the 90s and made a fortune?"

"You did," the ghost lowers his head.

"So off you go then. Slippers, and, oh, another wine bottle, if you please. Be a good boy, and I might even let you haunt your own room in this house, for half the rent."

The ghost flits away. Wellington sips his wine. "Ahh. I love being rich."