"You embarrassed me in front of everyone!" Pamela cried, her face rubbed raw with a cloth, her expensive makeup smeared along with the ectoplasm she tried to scrub out at the kitchen sink. "Don't say you didn't do it! I know you did! Are you doing this just to hurt me?!"

Pamela veered away from the sink, allowing Jeremy to wash next. She glared at Sam, eyes watery with tearful rage.

"I change the school menu for you, I buy you beautiful dresses that you ruin, I pay for the best doctors when you're sick—"

"None of that's got anything to do with this," Sam cut in, seated at the kitchen table and tipping her cheek in her hand.

"It has everything to do with this!"

"Why don't you take it as a sign that we shouldn't merge with VladCo.?"

"I take it as a sign that my daughter is trying to sabotage us!" Pamela shrieked, her dulcet tones all but dissolved in her fit of rage. "You can't appreciate what you have! You've got money and privilege and a family that loves you, and yet you go traipsing around in dark tones and spiky accessories and clunky boots like—"

"What's this?" Ida strolled through on her wheelchair, eyeing her parents up and down, noting the ectoplasm staining their ensembles, dripping from their hair. "Why do you all look like you went skinny dipping in a radioactive lake, and why was I not invited?"

Sam couldn't help grinning.

"That's what we're trying to find out." Jeremy towel-dried his face, looking pointedly at Sam.

"How did you do it?!" Pamela asked again.

"Do what?" Ida asked.

"Our party took a rain check," her dad explained. "Someone thought it would be funny to rain ectoplasm all over us."

Sam shrugged. "Maybe Vlad's got a poltergeist."

"Vlad never has problems like this away from the Fentons' influence!" Pamela snapped, rounding on Sam with her face too close for comfort. "Were you using one of their weird contraptions?! Did you ask a friend to do it?"

"How could anyone get through Vlad's security, Mom?" Sam raised her eyebrows, feigning shock and innocence. "You're kinda reaching here…"

"So neither of you have proof Sam did this?" Ida looked between them.

"She's smart enough to hide the evidence! You know that!" She threw her hands up in exasperation. "I am not letting her get away with humiliating our entire family like this!"

Jeremy nodded. "We've been too lenient with you, Sam. Under that Fenton boy's influence, you've been sneaking out, missing our events, playing juvenile pranks—"

"I'm not influenced by anyone, least of all you!"

"That's going to change." Pamela raised her chin. "No more screamo concerts and freaky circus shows. From now on, you will start attending our events. We're also going to enroll you in etiquette classes—"

She fixed a gothic scowl on her. "Etiquette classes? Waste of money."

"You've got to start acting like an heiress if you intend on taking over this company!"

"That's the fun part—I don't!" She laughed derisively. "I'd rather sell your corporation and donate the proceeds to rainforest conservation!"

Her mother's eyes widened at the suggestion. "Philanthropy?! You want to squander all our hard earnings on philanthropy?! Not even for tax evasion?!"

Ida steered to Sam's side, slightly alarmed at where the conversation had turned. "Pam, she's entitled to spend that money on whatever cause she likes."

Pam shot her a withering look, further provoking Sam. Don't be throwing dirty looks at my granny!

She slammed her hands on the table. "Or maybe the Make a Wish Foundation, or ASPCA, or–maybe I'll buy the shares for Fenton Works!"

At this, Pamela panicked. "Ida, you can't let her do that!"

"And why not?" she asked, raising a challenging eyebrow.

"It's reckless spending! She's spitting on all of our hard work!"

"Unfortunately, Pam, I will not be rewriting conditions into my will on how Sam uses her money." She cracked a smile, wrinkles curling at the corners. "And besides, I doubt you can force her to cooperate with etiquette classes or what have you, without her making a scene or 'embarrassing' you again."

Pamela shook her head, only to stop when it sprayed gobs of ectoplasm from her bob. "So what? We should just let her do what she wants? Vlad's right. What if this prank escalates into something worse?!"

Willing her son to speak up, Ida peered over at Jeremy. "A prank, hm? Was anyone hurt?"

"That's not the point!" Pamela snapped. "She did it to embarrass us and undermine our authority!" She pointed an accusing finger at her. "Not to mention, she sabotaged the merge! Almost half of our shareholders are backing out because of what happened tonight!"

Sam shot up from her chair, matching her mother in volume. "Why are you embarrassed?! Why do you care what anyone thinks? Calling me ungrateful?" She swept a hand around their lavish kitchen. "You've got money, you've got looks, you've got everything but it's still not enough!"

"What are you talking about?!"

"Allow me to channel my inner Holden Caulfield," Sam drawled. "You're a phony. You don your pretty pearls and bat your eyelashes and talk in that ear-bleeding girly voice, and you know what? It works! You've got everyone wrapped around your finger, especially that henpecked husband of yours!"

At first, she tried to stop herself. Recalling her parents' vicious gossip about the Fentons, however, her rage rekindled.

"And yet, despite all of that, you're still miserable underneath that phony smile! I can tell! You don't feel anything—you just perform!" Her chest heaved; her gothic pallor had gone red. "Sometimes I wonder if you can feel anything, if you've ever felt anything in your life! Or are you a cardboard character starring in a 1950's sitcom?!"

Silence reigned. Her mother's face sank. Her heart sank with it.

"I just—" she broke the silence after a moment, scrambling for something akin to apology. "I don't understand why you run yourself ragged trying to please everyone… if it's making you miserable."

"Pleasing everyone is how we became successful." Her mother's watery eyes were finally leaking, quiet tears that rolled to her chin. "One day you'll understand the privileges we have afforded you with our 'performances.' And for your information—" She gestured wildly at her tears. "—I do feel!"

Sam winced. Her mother stormed out of the room, leaving her to wallow in the resounding silence of her disappointed father and sullen grandmother.

"Pam, darling." Ida's wheelchair whirred as she strolled up to her bedroom door. It hung slightly ajar, a ray of light poking through the gap. Hearing the hysterical sobs, she dared not peek.

"What?!" Pam managed, tone ringing sharp.

"Let me in, will you? I believe a mother-daughter talk is in order."

"Let yourself in!" Pam barked, subduing her sobs momentarily. "You're only Sam's favorite because of your mollycoddling, you know! I have to be the villain, the one who regulates and disciplines! It's not fair!"

Ida's shoulders fell in a sigh. Pushing the door aside, she rolled through announced. "That's why I try not to step in unless it's necessary, Pam."

"Step in to defend her, you mean!" She looked up from her hands, her complexion inflamed. "Undermining my authority in front of her!"

"Please understand, Pam. Your efforts to control her will only spark further rebellion." She smirked slightly. "Speaking from experience."

"Ugh! That just sounds like an excuse to let her run wild!"

"Unfortunately, that's what you've got to do." She shrugged humorlessly. "Let 'em run wild until they lose their stamina."

"Did you come here to console me or reinforce your beliefs?" She sniffled, plucking a tissue from the box on her nightstand. "You can see yourself out if it's the latter."

Ida sighed, looking away for a moment. "Unfortunately, we've got a matter to settle."

"Oh!" Pamela scoffed, blowing into the tissue and discarding it in a nearby trash can. "And what's that, pray tell?"

"I won't allow you to file a restraining order against Danny." Ida broached the topic with gentleness, trying to appeal to reason. "For one thing, you've got no proof of his involvement in this prank, nor Sam's. Like she said earlier, I'm not sure how Danny would've snuck past Vlad's security, unless he's capable of scaling the walls like Spider-Man or something."

"She's crafty. She delegates to keep her hands clean. I know you know that!"

"She's got a certain gothic charm, Pam, but she's not a witch. You owe her a fair trial."

Pam huffed, pressing the heel of her palms into her eyes, trying to staunch the tears.

"And besides, once you throw down the trump card, you've got nothing left."

"Oh please." Pamela's nostrils flared like a bull intending to charge. "I can offer to rescind it."

"She'll rebel anyway out of spite. Haven't you learned?" Met with only a glare, Ida frowned. "Allow me to use a trick from your book, Pam. You will not see a cent of my inheritance if you reinstate that RO. I will allocate its entirety to Sam. While I'd hate to cut off my son, I know he would share the spoils with you."

Pamela's lips flat-lined, her cheeks ruddy with rage. "You're bluffing. You wouldn't!"

"Don't force my hand, Pam." The old lady's lips sagged, wrinkles crinkling. "You know she cherishes that boy. You're toying with her emotions when you try to restrain her. I don't like it."

Pam's tears dried, evaporating under the heat of her ire. Almost like she could cry on command, Ida thought. Strange.

"Fine then! I'll let your son know what you've done."

"I'm sure you will."

"Why didn't you try this before?" Pam asked, tone acerbic.

"I prefer not to undermine your authority," Ida replied, "and I'll admit I found his behavior a tad suspicious in the beginning, but he's cleaned up his act since then, wouldn't you say?"

"Hmmmph. Doesn't look that way to me." She crossed her arms tightly, looking towards the wall. "Get out."

Ida shut her eyes, nodding once. She departed from the room with a mechanical hiss, wishing her a polite goodnight. Pam responded with cold silence.

Jeremy found his wife in their master bedroom later that night. She sat on the edge of her bed, reddish hair falling to her shoulders, flattened and soggy from her recent shower. Her make-up had been scrubbed away, revealing the cracks of age in her expression. She wore a pink velvet robe, a cursive 'P' stitched on the breast pocket.

"Pam?" He peered at her as he stepped into the room, wondering briefly why her eyes weren't red-rimmed or swollen. Hadn't she been crying for a while? "How are you feeling?"

She looked up from the picture frame she'd been hunched over. "Humiliated."

"Oh no, I meant about—Sam calling you a 'phony' and whatnot." He strode over to the bedside, sitting adjacent to her and looking over her shoulder at the family photo she was staring at. A younger Sam beamed at the camera, hands joined with her parents'. She wore one of her mother's floral print dresses, her dark hair curled like it had been for the party.

"Oh, that." Pam waved a hand dismissively. "She doesn't understand how the real world works."

His eyebrows knit together in confusion. "You weren't upset by that comment?"

"Of course not. Why should I be?" She tapped a manicured nail on her daughter's head. "Look at her smiling. Doesn't she look happy here? What happened?"

He looked at the backdrop, recalling when they had visited the Grand Canyon. In that picture, Sam had recently turned eight.

"Didn't you bribe her with sundaes for that smile?" he asked. "I can't recall her ever smiling for pictures unless we coerced it somehow."

She snorted. "Who cares why she's smiling? She looks pretty, doesn't she?"

"Of course, darling. She's got your looks." Then he frowned contemplatively. "Why were you crying if you're not upset about that phony comment?"

"Because she embarrassed us," Pam repeated, shooting him a bewildered look. "Why else? He even had journalists there to report on the event! Don't you remember talking with Miss Chin?"

"Oh… Yes, but, I think it's concerning that Sam believes… or doesn't believe that you feel anything. Don't you?"

Pam scoffed, propping the photograph back on her nightstand. "If you ask me, Samantha feels too much—far too much to be successful in business."

Said daughter in question was also still awake at this moment. Clad in her favorite black pajamas, the goth girl was lying in bed, texting with her friends about the series of events that had occurred that night. She was about to shoot another message when there came a knock on her door.

"Sammy?"

Sam paused, putting down her phone. Getting up, she opened the door to see her grandmother, clad in her own pajamas.

"Hey Granny." She smiled warmly at the one member of her family that didn't drive her crazy.

"I know it's late, but mind if I pop in for a moment?"

Sam moved aside. "Be my guest."

Ida drove her way in and the two made their way back over to the bed. Sitting down, Sam turned to face her grandma, taking notice of the concern on Ida's face. It didn't take long for the eco-vegetarian to guess why.

"Hey, I'm sorry I blew up at Mom in front of you. I may have gotten a little-"

Ida waved her hand. "Oh honey, knock it off with that baloney! I've been telling her the same thing for years." She placed a hand on her granddaughter's knee. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

"What do you mean?"

"I heard you missed out on time with your friends, that Pam actually brought up that ridiculous restraining order again to make you go to that party."

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Tell me," Ida asked, "was it as boring as the others?"

"Oh, snore fest."

"I lost my appetite for those kinds of parties about twenty years ago," she agreed. "All just a bunch of snooty, stuffy folk laughing at their own jokes. I don't blame you for pulling that prank."

Now Sam was a bit surprised. "Granny, I didn't-"

"Oh, whatever. Just take a picture next time." The two chuckled. "Honestly, I'm not a fan of this merge either. That Vlad Masters just seems like a pompous, arrogant fool to me."

"Oh, I could tell you some stories." Sam laughed. At her granny's curious look, she amended, "I mean, from Danny's side."

"Well, even still, he's hardly the person I'd want messing around with my family's fortune." Ida went on. "Oh, but of course, Pam and Jeremy were eating out of his hands."

"Yeah, they all really seemed to get along just fine."

"But enough about them," Ida said. "I just want to make sure they didn't give you too much of a hard time."

"It was just what you heard," Sam replied. "Legacy this, reputation that."

"As if they didn't owe literally everything to Isaac," Ida said. "Sam, I don't want you to ever feel like you need to listen to them, okay? The pleasing, the privilege, it's all just a load of hooey. Nothing worth changing yourself over."

"I just wish Mom and Dad thought the same way," Sam replied, a touch of sadness creeping in. "I mean, I feel like I can't go one day without them trying to 'fix' me or 'correct' me. Everything I like or do is 'wrong' or 'inappropriate for an heiress.'"

"Wow."

"And it burns my butt that they don't even give me a chance." Her hands clenched into fists as she rambled on. "Every time I try to prove that something I like isn't as bad as they think, they turn up their noses and act like they know better." Her eyes brimmed with frustrated tears. "It's just so-!"

"Bubbala."

Sam paused, looking into her grandma's concerned face. Reaching up, the elderly woman wiped the tears from her granddaughter's eyes.

"I swear, it's like looking into a mirror sometimes." She chuckled. "The pants, the short hair, the motor-scooters. 'All that rubbish isn't fitting for a lady!' Oh, I heard that so many times." She placed her hands on her granddaughter's shoulders. "Honey, everyone likes to think they know better. They assume that what worked for them works for everyone."

She reflected on the instance where she'd tried to force a ultra-recyclo diet on her school. "Yeah, I can definitely relate to that."

"I'd be lying if I said I completely understood this whole goth thing too." She looked around at the dark and morbid posters that covered the walls. "But I know that it makes you happy and I think you're smart enough to make your own decisions. Maybe you'll grow tired of it, maybe not. It's not for me to decide and it isn't Pam or Jeremy's either. It's yours and I know you'll make the right call when the time comes."

WIth that, she enveloped her in a hug. "And actually, I think donating everything to Make-A-Wish would be rather nice."

Chuckling, Sam returned the hug. Then she planted a kiss on her wrinkly cheek, her heart thawing a few degrees. "Thanks, Granny. I love you."

"As do I you, Bubbala. Now, I better get going. Pro-wrestling's on at 10." She reversed out of the room. "Good night, Sam."

"Sweet nightmares," she quipped, crawling under the covers and pulling the chain on her bedside lamp. Mollified by their chat, she drifted off to sleep.

"Maddie, I've given a name to my pain." Vlad stepped into his lab, dressed down in a silk robe. "Teenagers."

In front of him flashed a hologram of his beloved Maddie AI program, the closest approximation to his long-lost love for the moment.

"They are a nuisance, aren't they, sweetie?" she piped up. "Especially when they cost you 45% of your shareholders in one night."

A scowling Vlad went to his computer. A number of camera feeds appeared on-screen, all of the ballroom. He eyed the one focused on the orchestra in particular. One press of the "Ecto-Vision" button led to the appearance of a certain ghost boy, brandishing a thermos filled to the brim with ectoplasm. As expected, the percussion hit and he began spraying it all over the room.

"I should have anticipated this," he sighed. "Young Daniel at the bidding of his little girlfriend."

"Aw, he really seems to care about her."

"And seizing control of her entire family fortune will no doubt spawn a much-deserved thorn in his side." Vlad's smile faded as he watched the guests flee the room. "Sadly, this will never come to fruition if the two lovebirds have their way."

"Well, maybe you could use Danny's feelings for Sam against him."

"If only it were that simple." The millionaire's hand bunched into a fist. "Sadly Daniel has proven to be far less gullible than his father. If I threaten or overshadow Ms. Manson, he will no doubt suspect me. And I can't win back our shareholders while also fending him off every minute of every day."

"Skulker?"

Vlad snorted. "He's lost enough times to Daniel that I can't rely on him."

"The vultures?"

"Please." His own eyes glowed red as he gazed at the look of self-satisfied triumph on the boy's face on the screen. "Brats," he spat. "I wish I could find a way to make them both miserable without revealing my hand!"

"Wish?" Holo-Maddie asked, before perking up and clapping her hands. "I have an idea, honey!"

Vlad turned back to her, somewhat intrigued. "And what would that be, my dear?"

"Pam and Jeremy clearly want Sam to be more like them, right?"

"Preppy, money-hungry, and brain-dead agreeable?" Vlad replied.

"Your favorite! Why don't you recommend them to find Desiree?"

Vlad raised an eyebrow. "Desiree?"

"The genie ghost, sweetie." On cue, the screen in front of him changed to a display of the aforementioned ghost.

"Oh yes." He scrutinized the image. "Her."

He'd encountered the Arabian apparition some time ago. She'd offered him a wish, but he'd turned her down. While the opportunity to simply wish Jack dead and Maddie (the real one) onto his arm had been tempting, his ego wouldn't allow it. Those were things he wanted to accomplish by himself.

This, on the other hand…

"Hmmm." Cogs whirred in his head. He smiled nastily, a plan formulating in his mind.

"Maddie," he instructed. "Reserve me three seats at Monique's."