The beef between Kendrick Lamar and Drake had been dragging on for half a year, and the fans' enthusiasm for the drama had cooled down significantly.
Kendrick released two diss tracks at the beginning, but neither made much of a splash in the market. The beef gradually degenerated into a war of words on social media.
Now it seemed the climax of this beef was coming. Not Like Us would end this battle of the new generation and kill the competition completely.
Besides the usual profanity attacks and digging up old dirt, the lyrics destroyed Drake—who was half-black, half-white, and of Jewish descent—from the heights of history, race, and class.
When mentioning the hard times of black people on Southern plantations, rappers generally use "enslave" in their lyrics to describe slavery, while Drake's works have always explicitly used "slave" directly.
This indicated that Drake and the ghostwriters behind him didn't consider themselves black.
Not Like Us nailed Drake—this monster built by capital and money using Atlanta gimmicks to make money—to the pillar of shame.
In the past in Atlanta, plantation owners made big money by enslaving black people; Drake was doing something similar.
A hybrid born in Canada with Jewish blood labeled himself as an authentic black man, completely commodifying black culture, stripping away the history of suffering and connotation, and then selling it for money.
Leon picked up his phone and called Kendrick. "Buddy, good news for you. You're going to have a new work."
"What? You're not joking, are you!"
On the other end of the phone, Kendrick, who was halfway through "drilling," was overwhelmed with joy and pushed away the fat ass of the black girl on the bed.
"Of course. You're about to become the true Son of Compton, the Black Saint, the second Tupac..."
"Holy fck!" A bombardment of legendary titles left Kendrick dizzy. "Bro, I want it now! Give it to me quickly!"
"Wait... You'll get what you want next time we meet in Los Angeles."
After hanging up, Leon thought about how to maximize the benefits of Not Like Us. Modifying the lyrics in this song that didn't fit the current era's background was the first step.
Next, register the lyrics with ASCAP, then seek professional help to hammer out the beat first.
Kendrick didn't need to do anything; he only needed to be responsible for performing. At most, he would get 10% of the songwriting copyright and a symbolic creator status.
Leon had already suffered a loss in the collaboration of Billy before; Aftermath Entertainment took 40% of the record sales share. Although they were responsible for recording, MV shooting, printing, promotion, etc., he still felt it was a losing decision.
There was a high probability that Not Like Us would be put into Kendrick's new album good kid, m.A.A.d city by him.
If the other party really did this, then Leon could completely give up the sales share—but he must own 100% of the master rights!
With 90% of the songwriting copyright plus the master rights, Kendrick would have little to do with this work except for possessing the performance rights.
Given the current situation, he would have to accept even harsher conditions.
At 8 AM the next morning, Taylor got up and cuddled with Leon for more than half an hour, kissing and lingering for a while before leaving reluctantly to continue her next performance schedule.
In the CEO's office of Apocalypse Music, Leon put his feet on the desk, drinking coffee while talking to his financial advisor on the phone.
"After the market opens, buy $6 million worth of Tesla stock at market price!"
Counting the $1.5 million taken from Las Vegas and the $4.5 million Tesla was about to pay in a lump sum, this money was just idle cash for him; putting it in the stock market was a good choice.
"This... Mr. Leon, are you sure you don't want to reconsider?"
Tesla stock had risen from $30 two weeks ago to $38 a share. Wall Street analysts generally believed this was already the limit value for 2011.
Stock fluctuations have certain cyclical laws; expanding like a balloon will eventually burst one day. Buying low and selling high versus long-term holding are two different investment methods.
Font believed that high-risk stocks like Tesla were not suitable for long-term holding. It would be better to sell the previously held stocks while the value was high, rather than courting death by adding positions at a high level.
"Do as I say, understand? I don't want to hear your long-winded analysis now..."
Leon raised his volume by three notches, and Font on the other end of the phone could only obediently do as told.
Just a few seconds after putting down the phone, the ringtone rang again. The caller was Sean.
"Boss! We found that bastard Gary's office! You don't know how cunning that guy is! He has three shell offices just in New York. We've locked onto his location now!"
"Very good! Keep an eye on him! I'll be right there!"
With the deepening of the investigation, more information about Gary surfaced.
This guy mostly did gray-area businesses, so he was exceptionally low-key and basically didn't show his face in public.
His business scope covered almost all aspects of the entertainment industry's gray zone.
Selling celebrity information; forcing girls unexpectedly pregnant with celebrities' children to have abortions; helping married female stars teach mistresses a lesson; providing illegitimate child custody services for celebrities, etc.
In New York, he was called the "Empire Rat," and in Los Angeles, he had the nickname "Maggot of LA."
Leon was a bit more curious about such a sewer rat despised by everyone, so he decided to talk to the other party personally.
An hour later, Leon and Jorge led the minions to a neighborhood in Jackson Heights, Queens, known as the "Sweetheart Market."
It was known for rampant streetwalkers and harboring filth, even described as having "more brothels than grocery stores." One could even see hall-of-fame-level sex workers over 60 years old on the streets.
"Boss, this is it. I've had people watching for more than two hours! But no one has come out!" Sean pointed to a dilapidated apartment building. "Should we smash the door open and drag that bastard out directly?"
"Be patient and wait a bit longer."
Considering that Gary worked in the gray industry and likely carried weapons, Leon didn't want the other party to jump over the wall in desperation and stage a street shootout in a crowded neighborhood.
"How do we confirm which one is Gary? No one has seen his photo." Jorge got out of the car and stood in the apartment hallway waiting with Sean.
"I've already figured it out. There have been more than ten murders in this damn broken house in the past five years; very few people live here now." Sean pinched his throat and said, "If we see a middle-aged white man walking out later, there's a high probability it's Gary!"
Click-clack—
The two leaned against the wall smoking, chatting more and more vigorously, so much so that they didn't hear the approaching footsteps clearly.
By the time they reacted, they bumped right into a white man in a suit.
The other party, carrying a leather bag and holding a cigarette in his mouth, looked the two up and down. Just as he wanted to open his mouth to say something, his collar was tightly grabbed by Sean's big hand.
"Gary Ferson, right!"
"Wait, damn it, let go of me quickly. Why are you looking for that bastard Gary?" The man in the suit patted Jorge's big hand lightly. "Fck, why are people always looking for that goddamn bastard recently?"
Jorge let go, looked at Sean, and remained silent for more than ten seconds before realizing, asking:
"You know Gary?"
"I'd recognize that bastard even if he turned to ash. I live right here. Every night I can hear the heart-wrenching screams of hookers from his room. He's more of a beast than Tyson!"
Saying that, he tilted his head, walked to the door of a room without a number plate, knocked, and shouted at the top of his lungs: "Gary! Damn it, someone is looking for you. Looking at these gentlemen, they must be big clients!"
"Excuse me, passing through." He then squeezed past Jorge and Sean, leaving dashingly with his leather bag.
After walking downstairs, the man in the suit immediately switched states, his legs wound up like clockwork, sprinting wildly on the street.
This scene happened to be seen by Leon in the car, who quickly ordered his minions: "Follow him!"
Two-legged carbon-based life forms can't outrun four-wheeled machines no matter what. The man in the suit hadn't run 100 meters before being intercepted by the commercial van. Before he could speak, he was immediately stuffed into the car.
No one on the street paid attention to this scene at all. Drug dealers chasing and killing, robberies, and debt disputes happened here every day. Street chase scenes were nothing new.
Smack—"Damn it! We were tricked by this bastard!" Jorge crawled into the commercial van and slapped the man in the suit.
"Hey hey hey, don't be impulsive, brother. I have two children with Mexican blood; we are practically family!" The man in the suit parried while protecting his head.
"You are Gary Ferson, right?" Leon asked.
The man in the suit wanted to say something, but the moment he saw this face, he was completely stunned. Street Jesus's revenge was just like the rumors—it might be late, but never absent.
Now any quibbling was pale. The man in the suit sighed, "Can I smoke a cigarette, boss?"
"You cunning rat still want to smoke?" Jorge roared, staring wide-eyed.
"Here." Leon took out a Chunghwa cigarette and handed it over.
"Thanks, oh my God, I love this. Many East Asians live in Queens; this cigarette is their favorite!"
"Stop running your mouth, bastard. Tell me, who made you give Monteith $300,000?"
Gary took a deep drag of the cigarette, burning half of it in one go. "Braun. Scooter Braun. Have you heard of SB Projects?"
According to his account, in September this year, Justin Bieber, a singer under SB Projects, had an accident. He met a girl in a nightclub, and the two had sexual relations in a hotel.
Afterward, the girl threatened with a video recording, demanding $1 million in hush money.
Bieber debuted with the image of a pure boy. The exposure of the video would surely deal a devastating blow to his singing career.
Braun pretended to agree to this request and privately found Gary through twists and turns, asking him to solve this girl's problem once and for all.
In the end, Gary settled the matter with only $500,000. The video in the girl's phone and multiple backups were deleted, and he was appreciated by Braun for this.
Last month, he received another big project from Braun—make Monteith publicly slander Taylor and her current boyfriend Leon!
"I knew I shouldn't have taken this job... You don't know how hard Monteith was to deal with. I only got a $50,000 kickback from this deal..." Gary held his head in pain, pretending to be regretful:
"Boss, I'll give this money to you. Can we pretend this never happened?"
"If anyone mentions your black PR in front of me in the future, I won't hesitate to pick up a shotgun and blow his head off!"