Chapter 2 - The $8 Million Buyer
The synthesized voice of my virtual assistant chimed softly in the quiet bedroom. “You have one unread encrypted message from Marcus Vance, Esq., received twenty minutes ago. Subject: Verification Protocol Activated.”
A cold shiver ran down my spine, but a grim satisfaction steadied my pulse. Marcus Vance was not just any lawyer; he was a senior partner at Vance & Sterling, a firm that specialized in high-stakes intellectual property litigation and hostile entertainment acquisitions. He was the man I had secretly retained three months ago when Daniel first suggested consolidating my assets under his personal management fund.
"Read it aloud," I instructed, keeping my voice low enough to stay beneath the hum of the air purifier in the corner.
“Lena,” Marcus’s crisp, synthesized reading began. “We intercepted the routing ping from the Greenwich registry. Your brother’s conglomerate is attempting an illegal asset sweep using a forged power of attorney and a fraudulent medical incapacitation rider. The buyer is Apex Media Group, fronted by Julian Cross. They are currently wiring an eight-million-dollar advance into Daniel’s offshore account. The closing is scheduled for tonight at the estate. If you remain silent, the transfer clears at midnight, and your catalog becomes legally irretrievable. State your authorization level to trigger the emergency injunction.”
Eight million dollars. That was all my life’s work—eleven years of chart-topping ballads, soul-baring anthems, and deeply personal master recordings—was worth to Daniel. A drop in the bucket for Apex Media, but enough to clear his debts and trap me in a gilded cage for the rest of my life.
I sat up against the headboard, the bandages pressing tightly against my temples. In the next room, I heard the heavy thud of footsteps approaching my door, followed by the clinking of crystal glasses. Daniel had brought someone important upstairs.
“Lena?” Daniel’s voice called out through the heavy oak, laced with forced joviality. “Are you awake in there? I have a very special guest who wants to meet the golden goose.”
The lock clicked. The door creaked open, admitting a sliver of warm hallway light that cut sharply across the darkness of my room. Even through the heavy gauze wrapped around my eyes, I could sense the shift in illumination.
Daniel walked in first, his silhouette tall and imposing against the doorway. Behind him stepped a taller, broader man wearing an impeccably tailored bespoke suit that practically radiated wealth and arrogance. Julian Cross—the billionaire predator who bought up distressed music catalogs like discarded furniture.
“Julian, this is my wonderful sister, Lena,” Daniel purred, stepping to the side and gesturing toward the bed as if presenting a prized racehorse at an auction. “As you can see, she’s recovering from a minor optical procedure, but her mind is as sharp as ever. She just signed the global rights transfer moments ago.”
Julian Cross stepped further into the room, his expensive leather shoes clicking softly against the floorboards. He didn't look at me with sympathy; he looked at me like an accountant evaluating depreciation on industrial machinery.
“Shame about the eyes,” Julian said, his voice smooth, cold, and dripping with condescension. He didn't bother addressing me directly, treating me as a fixture of the room rather than a human being. He turned to Daniel. “Are we certain the master tapes are in the vault? My board doesn’t like loose ends, especially with independent artists who think they own their art.”
“Absolute certainty,” Daniel laughed, walking over to the edge of the bed and casually resting a heavy hand on my covered shoulder, pressing down just enough to remind me of his grip. “She’s completely dependent on my care right now. Nobody wants a blind singer who’s difficult, Julian. She knows which side her bread is buttered on.”
Beneath my bandages, my eyes burned with a mixture of grief and pure, unadulterated fury. For eleven years, I had made this man rich. I had bled my soul into microphones while he skimmed royalties, lied to journalists, and plotted my obsolescence. And now, standing in my dark prison, he thought he had won.
He expected me to sit quietly, fold my hands, and let them steal my life's work.
I tilted my head up, turning my bandaged face directly toward Julian Cross.
“Ask him who owns the songs,” I told the buyer.
The silence that fell over the room was absolute. The casual swagger vanished from Daniel’s posture instantly. The heavy hand pressing on my shoulder went rigid.
Julian Cross stopped mid-stride, his sharp gaze flicking from me to Daniel, whose face had suddenly drained of all color.
“What did she say?” Julian asked, his voice narrowing dangerously.
Papers rustled as Daniel hastily fumbled with the folder in his hands, trying to cover the sudden shift in atmosphere. “She’s still disoriented from the anesthesia, Julian. Don’t mind her. The medication causes hallucinations and—adjustment issues.”
Nobody answered me directly. The tension in the room grew so thick you could cut it with a knife. Daniel was sweating now; I could smell the sharp tang of panic spiking his cologne. He leaned down, his face inches from mine, his voice dropping into a vicious, ragged hiss.
“Shut your mouth, Lena, or I swear to God—"
Before he could finish his threat, my bedside speaker chimed loudly, cutting through the heavy air like a gunshot.
“Incoming high-priority transmission from Vance & Sterling Legal Counsel,” the automated voice announced clearly into the quiet room. “Notice of federal injunction served to Apex Media Group and associated holding entities. All asset transfers frozen effective immediately. Federal marshals are en route to the premises.”
May you like
The color vanished entirely from Daniel’s face. He froze, his mouth half-open, staring in sheer terror at the small metal speaker.
And then, my brother suddenly wanted everyone very, very far away from the room.
