Rewind With A Superstar System-Chapter 98: Calling Old Friends (2)

<🎧 Song Recommendation: Alone by Marshmallow>

...

Noah didn't buy his praise, so he let out a hollow, bitter laugh. "Right. So you can steal that one, too? I'm not doing it. I'm done with music."

"In return for your time," Von continued, completely ignoring Noah's refusal, "Absolute Records will pay you a fifteen-thousand-dollar flat feature fee upfront. We cover your flights, we put you up in a luxury hotel in South Beach for the week, and you get a five percent writing split on the backend royalties of the song."

Noah's breath caught in his throat.

Fifteen thousand dollars. He stood paralyzed in the freezing alleyway. That was more money than he will make pouring drinks in an entire year. That was enough to pay off his legal debts, move out of his roach-infested apartment, and actually breathe again.

Plus backend royalties on a Billboard Top 3 artist's debut album? It was a golden lottery ticket being handed to him by the man he hated most in the world.

Before Noah's stunned brain could even formulate a single syllable to respond, Von's calm voice cut through the static one last time.

"If you want to make real music, text me on Photogram by midnight if you're interested."

Noah slowly lowered the phone, staring at the cracked screen as the cold Seattle rain washed over him, completely speechless.

He shoved the phone into his pocket and pushed off the brick wall, walking the six blocks back to his apartment.

Walking past his kitchen and standing in the center of his tiny living room, he looked at his closet.

Slowly, with trembling hands, he slid the closet door open. Pushed all the way to the back, hidden behind a pile of dirty laundry and winter coats, was a black, hardshell guitar case. He hadn't opened it since the day Sarah packed her bags and walked out the front door.

He pulled the case out, laid it flat on his unmade mattress, and unlatched the silver clasps.

Inside rested his worn Yamaha acoustic guitar. The wood was slightly scuffed from years of playing in dive bars and open-mic nights.

The strings were dead and tarnished. But as Noah reached out and brushed his thumb across the strings, the soft, out-of-tune chord echoed in the quiet room, sending a painful, familiar jolt of electricity straight to his heart.

He missed it. God, he missed making music so much hurt him.

He pulled his cracked phone from his wet pocket and checked the time.

11:42 PM. Pride was a luxury for people who could afford their rent. Noah Billy couldn't.

He opened the Photogram app. His own profile was a wasteland of hate comments from Von's loyal fanbase, but he ignored it. He typed Von Varley's name into the search bar. The official page popped up instantly, a verified blue checkmark sitting proudly next to a massive follower count of 2.1 million.

Noah opened the direct messages. His thumbs hovered over the digital keyboard for a few seconds. He swallowed hard, throwing his pride away, and typed:

[I'm in... Thanks for the opportunity, bro]

Noah dropped the phone onto the bed next to his guitar, let out a long exhale, and buried his face in his hands. He didn't know if he was making a deal with the devil, but for the first time in six months, he felt a genuine spark of hope.

***

Three thousand miles away, it was nearing 3:00 AM in South Beach.

Inside the acoustic fortress of Studio A, the heavy, thumping bassline of a new track rattled the dark wood paneling.

Von stepped out of the vocal booth, pulling his headphones down around his neck, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead.

He had just spent the last two hours doing relentless vocal drills, pushing his upgraded [Vocals] to the absolute limit.

He walked over to the massive SSL mixing console where Patch was hunched over, his eyes glued to the dual monitors as his fingers rapidly adjusted the EQ levels.

Von's phone, resting next to the soundboard, suddenly lit up with a notification.

Von picked it up, swiped the lock screen, and a slow, triumphant smirk spread across his face. He turned the screen around and tapped the glass, showing it to Emily, who was curled up on the leather couch with a cup of black coffee and her Vanguard tablet.

"We got the Seattle kid," Von announced, tossing the phone back onto the desk. "Noah Billy is officially on the roster."

Emily let out a long breath, setting her coffee down on the glass table. "You actually got the guy who tried to publicly sue you for plagiarism. You are an absolute menace, Von."

Von smirked, taking a sip from his water bottle. "I knew he was a smart guy."

"Alright," Emily said, her executive persona immediately taking the reins as she picked up her Vanguard tablet. "So I'll take over from here. I'll have Zack draft the standard feature agreements, the strict NDAs, and the five percent backend royalty contracts by morning. I'll also coordinate with his local airport in Seattle to get him a ticket down here. What about the others? Have we heard back from the rest of the board?"

Von nodded, leaning back against the heavy SSL console and crossing his arms.

"Every single one of them," Von confirmed, the satisfaction evident in his voice. "Alex Hall had been working dead-end retail since the show ended. Conor Prince is completely on board, and Leo's rock band is stranded with a broken-down van in Ohio, so the upfront cash was a literal lifesaver for them. They've all sent out replies already, and every single one of them is interested. They're hungry to prove the industry wrong."

"That's fantastic from a PR standpoint," Emily noted. "But practically speaking, we can't welcome them all at once. Studio A is massive, but having four different feature artists in here at the exact same time is going to be a creative nightmare. We need staggered lock-ins. We're done with You're Gonna Come Home and the rough solo skeletons already, so what's the schedule for the rest of the tracks?"

Von's eyes lit up in agreement. "Good idea. Let's map it out."

He pushed off the console, walked over to the rolling whiteboard in the corner of the room, and uncapped the black dry-erase marker.

The satisfying squeak of the felt tip echoed through the acoustically treated room as he wiped a clean section on the right side of the board and began to write out the official recording timeline.

July 10 - 16: You're Gonna Come Home (Completed)

July 17 - 24: Track 2 — Noah

August 1 - 7: Track 3 — Leo & Co.

August 8 - 15: Track 4 — Conor Prince

August 16 - 23: Track 5 — Alex Hall

Von stopped, capping the marker and stepping back so Emily and Patch could see the board clearly.

"It's a tight window for each, but with the beats Patch is cooking up, it's more than enough time to lay down the vocals," Von explained, gesturing to the dates. "I have contacted all of them already, laid out the vision, and they're all looking forward to working with us. We have the momentum. We just need to execute."

The triumphant, fast-paced energy in the room sobered slightly.

"Now, all that's left is... Aura. She's the utmost priority for me on this album. Her voice is the anchor I need to balance out all this acoustic and rock energy. Any news?"

Emily paused with a complicated look on her face.

"About that..." Emily started, choosing her words carefully.

"I actually managed to reach her. It took calling in a few favors, but I finally got a hold of her."

"And?" Von pressed.

"I couldn't learn much over the phone," Emily admitted, shaking her head slightly. "She was incredibly guarded about her current situation. But I did learn one major detail. She's not an independent free agent like the rest of the guys on your list. She's signed to Cloudary Holdings as of now."

Von couldn't forget the Label Company owned by Rex Sterling, and backing the Project: Star contest.

"But," Emily quickly added, holding up a hand before Von could process the roadblock, "she's open to meeting and discussing the feature with you, though. Just you, personally. She's flying into the city tomorrow for some label business and asked to meet at the Setai Hotel café here in South Beach. She really wishes you'll have time to spare."