King Von was completely immersed in his street vibe, eyes closed, arms spread wide, his mouth firing off lyrics like a machine gun.
"Damn, this is the real deal... this is straight fire," Lil Durk muttered from the sidelines, swallowing hard, a mix of emotions churning in his gut.
They had both joined the Walking Dead label at the same time—hell, he had even known Leon longer—but his homie was the one eating the cake first.
There's a universal truth in the hood: You want your brothers to do well, but you hate seeing them pull up in a Range Rover while you're still walking.
Today's outcome wasn't exactly a surprise. Although they came from similar backgrounds, there was a massive gap in talent and persona.
Lil Durk actually used his brain when he moved; King Von was a total loose cannon. He did whatever he felt like, whenever he felt like it.
Clap, clap, clap.
As the track finished, Max applauded continuously, practically seeing dollar signs reflecting in his eyes.
For the production of Panda, he had demanded his royalty share be bumped up to 20%—double what he got for We Don't Talk Anymore.
Leon had hesitated for a long time before agreeing. Sure, Leon provided the inspiration for the lyrics and the beat—down to the specific drum patterns—but Max handled the actual beat-making, arrangement, and post-production engineering.
It's rare for a producer to demand songwriting royalties; usually, only the top-tier hitmakers have that privilege. Ordinary producers just take a production fee and maybe some producer points.
But undoubtedly, Max was top-tier. With his frequent collaborations with divas like Katy Perry, Taylor Swift, and Britney Spears, his status was skyrocketing. Nowadays, when he produced an album, he could demand a cut of the gross sales directly from the record label.
"Boss, how did I sound?" King Von bounced out of the recording booth, excited as a monkey on caffeine. "I feel like Papillon escaping Alcatraz! That felt good from head to toe!"
"It was alright. But the studio is one thing; performing live is another animal entirely..." Leon reminded him. "Don't choke during the finals. You're gonna have over a million people glued to their screens watching you."
"Don't worry, Boss! Wait... did you say a million people?" King Von's eyes lit up with laser-like intensity. "Sht... does that mean I'm about to be a millionaire?"
Leon curled his lips into a faint smile and didn't answer, but his expression said it all.
"Fk! I'm gonna buy Mustangs for all the homies! I'm gonna buy a nightclub in Southside Chicago and let the boys party until the end of the world!"
King Von was floating. The crippled leg that made him unstable just a few hours ago had miraculously healed.
Growing up in the projects limited his imagination; even his dreams were conservative.
Although Apocalypse Music's strategy for him was primarily online, debuting a track like Panda on a live broadcast watched by millions was enough to make every hip-hop fan lose their mind.
Forget Mustangs—if he wanted to, he could buy every one of his gang brothers an AMG.
---
Back in the office after the session, Leon called a brief management meeting.
After signing with Columbia Records, he couldn't just sit in his swivel chair micromanaging the company like before. The lead single for the new album was dropping soon, and his schedule was about to be packed.
Commercials, promo runs, interviews, radio tours—an endless loop. It was back to the grind, just like when he first debuted.
After the meeting, he kept Bonnie and Aisha behind for a quick debrief.
Bonnie was his most trusted confidante. When he was busy jet-setting around the world, Bonnie would be his eyes and ears in the company.
"The books are a mess lately..." Leon complained, looking at the financial reports spread out on the table. The monthly statement was now as thick as a novel.
The good news was that he was inching closer to his goal of becoming a billionaire.
Originally, he had $46 million in liquid assets, but he had injected $10 million into Lion's Den Media to produce The Rap of America. That money was quickly replenished by Apocalypse Music's record sales and royalty income, pushing his liquidity back over the $50 million mark.
And after signing the three-year deal with Columbia, another massive $30 million hit his account.
The only regret was that after jumping ship, he would no longer see any sales or streaming revenue from Demons. He'd only be collecting songwriting and mechanical royalties.
Once the audit for Straight Outta Compton wrapped up, hitting the nine-figure mark was a done deal.
Looking across the music industry, his asset portfolio might not yet rival godfathers like Jay-Z, Diddy, or Dr. Dre, but he was definitely a top-tier player.
"I've done my best." Aisha waved her hand, looking equally resentful. "I'm even hugging a damn calculator when I'm in bed with my boyfriend..."
Honestly, the chaotic financials weren't her fault. The finance department only had five people, and record label accounting is notoriously complex. Calculating royalties for various rights holders is enough to make anyone's scalp tingle. Even professional accounting firms find it a headache.
Aisha continued, "Forgive me for being blunt, but this mess is actually your fault, Boss."
"Me?" Leon took his feet off the desk and sat up straight.
"Exactly. If you separated the recording business from the publishing business, the books would look much cleaner and be way easier to calculate. The current situation is torture for everyone."
Leon nodded. "You're right."
Establishing a separate publishing administration company was part of the plan when the label was first built. Back then, he didn't have many copyrights, and the small scale made it manageable. Plus, he was broke, so it got shelved.
Aisha suggested, "It won't cost much. You just need finance staff and lawyers who specialize in copyright law."
Setting up a publishing company wasn't just about management; the compensation from copyright infringement lawsuits was also a significant revenue stream.
Luca would definitely be interested. In his contract with Leon, the $500,000 was just a retainer fee; litigation cost extra.
Apocalypse Music held nothing but hits. Unauthorized use was inevitable. With ASCAP (American Society of Composers, Authors, and Publishers) backing them, those lawsuits were slam dunks.
"I'll handle this immediately." Leon nodded and looked to the side. "Did you get that down, Bonnie?"
"I'll have it sorted within a week."
Aisha waved and walked out of the office. "I think it's time for a raise. Just because I'm Mexican doesn't mean I'm a mule..."
"Keep grinding, and you'll get what you want."
Aisha rolled her eyes and walked away, her hips swaying. She had heard that corporate pep talk so many times her ears were calloused.
---
Leon took the coffee Bonnie handed him and leaned back on the sofa, enjoying a rare moment of downtime.
The TV was playing entertainment news. The host, wearing a sleazy grin, was pontificating: "According to inside sources obtained by our reporter, the famous singer known as 'Street Jesus,' Leon Smith, is preparing to release a new single, We Don't Talk Anymore..."
The so-called "inside source" was, unsurprisingly, Columbia Records. Leaking info early was standard marketing procedure.
Next, the screen unexpectedly flashed a photo—the one taken by a waiter during Leon and Taylor Swift's first date.
"Rumor has it that although this song was a collaboration between Leon and Robbie, all signs point to cracks in their relationship..."
Bonnie stared at the screen and asked, "Is the release date for We Don't Talk Anymore set? I need to rearrange your schedule."
"If nothing goes wrong, it's next Saturday..." Leon checked the time on his phone. He had asked Robbie to come to New York to discuss the upcoming promo plan.
Thirty minutes later, the sound of high heels echoed from the hallway.
Robbie walked in with her agent Maggie and an assistant. She was dressed in her usual clean style: oversized sunglasses, a white camisole, sneakers... just like when they first started dating.
Time flies—it had been almost a year since they met.
She took off her sunglasses. Her face was cloudless. "Long time no see. I haven't been here in a while... it feels kinda nostalgic."
She looked around, taking in the office. Her trademark smile seemed frozen on her face, looking a bit artificial.
Leon smiled with relief. For the extroverted and open Robbie, this was huge progress. Learning to hide your emotions is the passport to the adult world.
"We'll be moving out of here soon." Leon stood up and gave Robbie a warm hug. "We're moving to Downtown Brooklyn. We'll have the best recording studio in New York—AMS Neve consoles, Telefunken tube mics, Audeze monitors, walls covered in high-density diffusers and bass traps..."
The more excited Leon got, the harder it was for Robbie to maintain her expression.
New things always seemed better than the old.
"Let's not talk about that..." Leon shifted the topic at the right moment. "How have you been? You seem happy. Your Facebook is full of you eating and drinking around the world."
"Eating and drinking?" Robbie rolled her eyes. "That was work. I didn't have a single day off all summer."
Summer is peak season for music festivals. The explosion of Faded was a global phenomenon. Among all the music released this year, the only thing that could compete in terms of impact was probably Adele's Rolling in the Deep.
This kept Robbie incredibly busy—busier than Ariana and Cardi B combined.
"Alright, well, I rarely saw you post about the shows. Just lots of photos of food."
"What else am I supposed to do? You have to treat yourself well. That's what you taught me."
Leon was momentarily speechless. He laughed dryly and signaled Bonnie to bring coffee for everyone to ease the awkward atmosphere.
"Congratulations on joining Columbia Records... no, I should congratulate those guys on getting you. Stringer is a lucky man." Maggie, sharp-tongued as ever, was laying on the flattery thick.
And for good reason. As Robbie's agent, her income had increased by millions this year, all thanks to the added value of the music career. That gravy train wasn't even empty yet, and here came another gift package.
As the lead single for Leon's new album, the commercial value of We Don't Talk Anymore went without saying.
Leon couldn't be bothered with Maggie. In his view, that revenue should have been his. Even putting aside the money, he should have locked down Robbie's management contract himself, considering he single-handedly made her famous.
But that seemed unlikely in the short term. Behind Maggie stood CAA (Creative Artists Agency), the most powerful agency in Hollywood. They represented top actors, directors like Spielberg and Tom Cruise, and had deep ties with major studios.
He had enough enemies already. With Ready Player One about to turn from fantasy to reality, poaching from CAA wasn't a smart move right now.
"We plan to officially release the new song next Saturday, with the premiere performance that night on Saturday Night Live. You need to clear your schedule," Leon said.
Before he finished speaking, Maggie's eyes lit up, and she answered for Robbie. "Of course! Nothing is more important than this!"
But Robbie's gaze drifted; she didn't want to answer directly.
Saturday Night Live (SNL) was America's longest-running and most influential late-night variety show, airing on NBC since 1975. The show centered on satirical sketches and live music, featuring a different celebrity host and musical guest each week.
Due to its unmatched popularity, many big-name artists chose it to debut new songs—Nirvana's Smells Like Teen Spirit, Kanye's Love Lockdown, and so on.
Every episode was live, meaning lots of improv and potential accidents.
Going on a comedy show with her ex-boyfriend... Robbie felt weird about it no matter how she spun it. But her ex was also her boss, and with her pushy agent Maggie there, she really didn't have a choice.
After a silence of ten seconds, she spread her hands. "Fine. We haven't had a proper talk in a long time anyway..."
"This song will take your fame to another level. Acting might end up becoming your side hustle." Leon curled his lip into a mysterious smile. He planned to officially announce their breakup on the live show.
"Can I ask who the host is? Do I know them?" Robbie was most worried about the host.
SNL had no filter; they often dug into private matters. She didn't want an acquaintance interviewing her, digging into her history with Leon.
"Kanye. You probably don't know him well," Leon said.
Although the breakup news had been splashed across tabloids for months, an official announcement was a different beast entirely.
Two guests announcing their split on a live show that swept across America, while performing a new song written about the breakup?
If We Don't Talk Anymore didn't blow up after that, even God wouldn't allow it.
Originally, Tim, the A&R exec at Columbia, had an even crazier plan—he wanted to push NBC to invite Taylor Swift to host. Her rumors with Leon were currently burning hot.
When Leon heard that suggestion, his brain short-circuited for three seconds. It was a stroke of evil genius.
Having the rumored girlfriend host the show, interview the rumored boyfriend and his current girlfriend, while the couple announces their breakup?
And the kicker? The rumored girlfriend and the current girlfriend were best friends.
The best drama writers in Hollywood couldn't come up with a script that messy. If they actually pulled it off, it would go down in American entertainment history.
But that idea only lived in fantasy. First off, Taylor would never agree to it. She was hesitating to go public with Leon precisely because she didn't want to be branded a homewrecker.
She wasn't Leon. She couldn't ruthlessly hurt her best friend in front of the entire country. That wasn't just a backstab; that was a public execution.