First Performance
Arell nodded, a determined glint in his eye. "Born ready, man. This crowd's gonna get lit tonight."
They walked together towards the backstage area, discussing las
t-minute details.
"DJ's all set up," Geoffrey informed him. "He's got your tracklist and he's ready to go. Remember, start with Blue Balenciagas - it's climbing the charts, and the crowd's gonna go wild for it."
Arell nodded, taking it all in. "Got it. Man, I can feel the energy already. It's like electricity in the air."
Geoffrey smiled. "That's the magic. Use it. Let it fuel you."
With a grin and a nod, Arell bounded onto the stage. Geoffrey watched as Arell grabbed the mic. "What's good, Austin?" Arell shouted, and the crowd roared in response. The opening beat of Blue Balenciagas began to play, and just like that, Arell was in his element, moving with the rhythm.
Satisfied that Arell had everything under control, Geoffrey made his way back to the VIP section. He settled into a comfortable chair, pulling out his laptop. As much as he enjoyed watching Arell perform, there was always work to be done.
He opened up his stock portfolio, eyes scanning the numbers.
Geoffrey spent the next hour moving money around, making calculated bets on the market's future. He was good at this game, he understood money, how it moved, how to make it grow.
As he closed his laptop, his mind wandered to Arell. He had been through a lot lately, experiencing things that most people his age couldn't even imagine. The music industry was a harsh teacher, and Arell was learning its lessons at breakneck speed.
Geoffrey leaned back in his chair, nursing a glass of whiskey. He could provide Arell with guidance, with connections, with opportunities. But there were some things Arell needed to learn on his own. The weight of fame, the pressure of expectations, the balance between artistry and commercial success - these were lessons that couldn't be taught, only experienced. He'd been carefully nudging Arell in certain directions without majorly sniffling his creativity or decision making.
Geoffrey took another sip of his whiskey, savoring the rich flavor as he continued to plan out the coming months in his mind. The album, he knew, would be the real test. Finishing it by December was only the first step. After that would come months of painstaking editing, tweaking, and perfecting. With any luck, they'd have it ready for release by April of the following year.
But before all that, there was the more immediate future to consider. A sly smile played across Geoffrey's lips as he thought about the weekend ahead. Arell would be dropping Fair Trade, and the promotion for it needed to be perfect. That's where things got interesting.
Just yesterday, Craig Kallman, had called with some intriguing news. Miley Cyrus was planning a surprise appearance at SXSW, and he wanted to use Arell to tease her presence. It was an opportunity too good to pass up.
Geoffrey's mind raced with the possibilities. They'd agreed to have Arell and Miley take a picture together at a major SXSW location. But why stop there? He'd suggested that Miley wear an unreleased Infinity jacket in the photo. It was a masterstroke, he thought. Not only would it promote Arell's music, but it would also give a boost to Infinity. And the speculation it would generate? Priceless.
He could see the headlines now: "New Hip-Hop Star and Pop Princess: Romance Brewing?" The thought made him chuckle. Let them wonder, he mused. The more questions, the better.
But that was just the beginning. Geoffrey's plan went deeper, like a game of chess where he was always three moves ahead. Just as people would be scrambling to figure out who this newcomer was that had caught Miley's attention, the Breakfast Club would drop their interview with Arell the very next day.
It was perfect timing. The curiosity would already be there, and the interview would satisfy that hunger for information while simultaneously raising Arell's profile even further. Geoffrey could almost taste the success.
As he sat there, plotting and planning, a question nagged at the back of Geoffrey's mind. How would Arell handle all of this? The sudden fame, the scrutiny, the pressure? Geoffrey had seen artists crumble under less. And yet, he had faith in Arell. He had something special, a fire that couldn't be extinguished.
Geoffrey's thoughts were interrupted by a particularly loud cheer from the crowd. He glanced at the stage, where Arell was in full flow, the audience eating out of the palm of his hand. Maybe he was worrying too much, Geoffrey thought. Maybe Arell was more than ready for what was coming.
Geoffrey's mind drifted to his recent conversation with Arell about P. Diddy. Arell had mentioned, with a mix of excitement and wariness, how Diddy had approached him and even extended a party invitation. Arell had sensed something off about the interaction, describing Diddy as being "too friendly."
"Good instincts," Geoffrey muttered to himself, taking another sip of whiskey. He'd been quick to warn Arell to stay far away from Diddy, and now, alone with his thoughts, he pondered the reasons behind his caution.
Geoffrey's mind raced through a catalog of incidents involving Diddy over the years. The kettlebell incident at UCLA, where Diddy had allegedly assaulted a football coach, stood out vividly.
"And that was just the tip of the iceberg," Geoffrey mused, his brow furrowing.
He recalled the numerous lawsuits from former Bad Boy artists, alleging financial exploitation and unfair contracts. The whispers of intimidation tactics, of artists feeling trapped and controlled. The way young, impressionable talents seemed to gravitate towards Diddy, only to emerge years later with tales of manipulation and abuse.
Geoffrey's eyes narrowed as he considered the pattern. "Why does he always target the young ones?" he wondered aloud. "What's really happening at those infamous parties of his?"
A chill ran down Geoffrey's spine as darker thoughts invaded his mind. The rumors of drugging, of compromising situations, of blackmail material being collected. He'd heard whispers, always whispers, but never anything concrete enough to act on.
"But patterns don't lie," Geoffrey muttered, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "And Diddy's pattern is troubling, to say the least."
As he sat there, piecing together the puzzle of Diddy's past behavior, Geoffrey found himself making a chilling prediction about the future.
"Mark my words," he said to the empty VIP section, his voice barely above a whisper. "If he truly is as I think he is, within the next decade, it's all going to come crashing down. The empire, the reputation, all of it."
Sexual assault allegations, human trafficking charges, racketeering - the possibilities swirled in Geoffrey's mind like a toxic cocktail.
"How many victims are out there, too scared to come forward?" Geoffrey wondered, a knot forming in his stomach. "How long before one of them finally breaks the silence?"
He thought about the power dynamics in the industry, the way figures like Diddy seemed untouchable. But times were changing. Even the mightiest could fall. He'd make sure of that.
"It's only a matter of time," Geoffrey mused. "The lawsuits will start rolling in. Former associates will turn state's evidence. The carefully constructed image will crumble."
"Knowledge is power," Geoffrey said firmly, making a mental note to have a longer, more detailed conversation with Arell about the dangers that lurked behind the glitz and glamour of the music world.
As if on cue, Arell's voice boomed through the speakers, full of life and energy. The crowd's response was electric, a reminder of why they were all here.
"We're going to change this game," Geoffrey said, raising his glass in a silent toast to Arell on stage. "And I'll be damned if I let anyone take advantage of you along the way."
Geoffrey's mind shifted gears, moving from the dark predictions about Diddy to the brighter prospects of Arell's future. He pulled out a small notebook, flipping through pages filled with calculations and projections.
"Fifteen million in the bank by year's end, minimum, and even more in assets," he murmured, tapping his pen against the paper. "Ambitious, but not impossible."
He began to break down the revenue streams in his mind. Infinity, was already going to grow exponentially. The team was working on new designs, pushing the boundaries of streetwear while maintaining that essential connection to Arell's music and persona.
"What if we introduced limited edition drops?" Geoffrey mused. "Create scarcity, drive up demand. Maybe tie them to the mixtape release or tour dates?"
His mind raced with possibilities. He thought about the upcoming colorway with Puma, the sports clothes collaboration that was in the works. He prided himself on having his finger on the pulse of emerging trends. "What's the next big thing?" he wondered aloud.
He thought about the rise of streaming services, the way music consumption was changing. "We need to be ahead of this curve," he muttered. "Maybe develop an app that enhances the listening experience?"
His mind wandered to other industries that were on the cusp of explosive growth. "Cryptocurrency," he said suddenly, sitting up straighter. "It's still niche now, but give it a few years.."
He scribbled furiously in his notebook, ideas flowing faster than he could write them down. "Virtual reality concerts," he wrote, underlining it twice. "Augmented reality album experiences. A line of smart devices with Arell's voice as the AI assistant."
Geoffrey paused, taking a sip of his whiskey as he considered the companies they already had stakes in - Notion, Figma, GitLab. All showing promise, all with potential for massive growth.
"We need to be more active," he decided. "Work with the other shareholders, push for innovations. What if we integrated Notion into our fan engagement strategy? Use Figma to let fans collaborate on merch designs? GitLab for a community-driven music production platform?"
The possibilities seemed endless, and Geoffrey felt a rush of excitement. This was why he loved the music industry - it wasn't just about the music anymore. It was about building empires, creating ecosystems of products and experiences.
His thoughts turned to the deals with Puma and Atlantic. A sly smile played across his lips as he remembered the carefully crafted clauses, the milestones that seemed ambitious at the time.
"They have no idea what's coming," he chuckled. "We're not just going to hit those milestones - we're going to shatter them."
He envisioned the looks on their faces when they realized just how much they'd underestimated Arell's potential. The renegotiations that would follow, the leveraging of their success for even better terms.
<>
Arell was in his element. The lights blazed down, illuminating the sea of fans jumping and shouting the lyrics to his songs. He felt the energy surge through him as he moved across the stage, his voice strong and clear.
"Turn up!" Arell shouted, and the crowd echoed back, their collective voice a tidal wave of sound. He was jumping now, the beat pounding in his chest, and the adrenaline coursed through his veins like fire.
The set was wrapping up, and Arell gave it everything he had, pouring his heart into the final chorus.
As the last note faded, Arell stood on the edge of the stage, looking out over the crowd. "Thank you, Austin! Y'all have been incredible!" The applause was deafening, and Arell took a deep breath, savoring the moment before running off stage.
Another artist took his place, and Arell could hear the next track starting up as he made his way backstage. He was sweating, his shirt sticking to his skin, but he felt exhilarated.
"That was lit," he muttered to himself, wiping his face with a towel. He looked around, expecting to see Geoffrey, but his manager was nowhere in sight.
Arell pulled out his phone and shot Geoffrey a quick text: "Just finished. Where you at?"
Geoffrey's reply was almost instant: "Busy with something. Will catch up later."
Arell frowned but shrugged it off. He needed some fresh air, the energy of the performance still buzzing in his veins. He made his way outside, slipping through a side door into the cool night air.
The streets around Stubb's BBQ were packed with people, the vibrant nightlife of Austin in full swing. He walked a few blocks, letting the noise and excitement of the crowd wash over him.
Feeling the need for some quiet, he turned into a nearly empty parking lot. He could still hear the distant hum of the city, but here it was calmer. He leaned against the parked car, his breath visible in the cool night air.
As he stood there, catching his breath and reliving the high of the performance, he noticed a group of people entering the lot. They were a rough-looking bunch, their demeanor exuding an air of aggression. Arell tensed slightly, his eyes narrowing as he watched them.
The group moved closer, and he could see a few of them pull out their phones, clearly planning to record whatever was about to happen. They were looking at him with expressions that ranged from amusement to disdain, sizing him up like he was a joke.
The leader of the group was a tall, Arell didn't recognize, but his stance and the way the others followed him made it clear he was the one in charge.
"Yo, ain't this that rapper?" one of them called out, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The one who's always frontin' like he really bout' that?"
A few others chuckled, their eyes glinting with malice. Arell clenched his fists, ready for whatever was about to go down. He could feel the weight of his gun pressing against his side, a comforting reminder that he wasn't completely defenseless.
The leader stepped forward, his gaze locked onto Arell. "I seen you beefin' with Lil Reese," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You ain't check in before comin' to Austin, though."
Arell stayed calm, his expression impassive. "Word?" he replied, watching them closely. He could tell they were looking for clout, trying to make a scene for their followers.
The leader smirked, his eyes narrowing. "Yeah, word. I ain't like Lil Reese, though. I'll beat your ass right here."
Arell raised an eyebrow, a mixture of amusement and wariness in his expression. "Oh, for real?" he said, his voice laced with sarcasm.
"Yeah, for real. Name's J Soulja, remember it," he declared, glancing sideways at the camera phones recording the scene. It was clear he was playing to an audience, trying to create a viral moment at Arell's expense.
Arell watched the performance with a bemused expression, saying nothing. He'd seen this type before - all talk, no action, just looking for attention.
J Soulja, emboldened by Arell's silence, took another step forward. In a sudden move, he pumpfaked a punch, his fist coming within inches of Arell's face before pulling back.
Instinctively, Arell's body tensed, his own fist cocking back ready to swing. But as quickly as it had started, the moment passed. J Soulja stumbled backward, a look of surprise flashing across his face at Arell's readiness to fight.
Arell relaxed his stance, reaching down to hitch up his pants. He looked around at the group surrounding him, then back at J Soulja. "Man, there's like ten of y'all here, and I'm alone. Yet you're out here pump faking? That's weak."
J Soulja, trying to save face, continued his taunts. "Big talk. Go ahead and run them pockets and sign you permission slip."
Arell's eyes hardened, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. "You want what's in my pockets? Come and get it."
The challenge hung in the air, heavy and electric. For a moment, no one moved. The group looked at each other, then back at J Soulja, waiting for his lead. But J Soulja hesitated.
Seeing their reluctance, Arell shook his head. "That's what I thought. Y'all better head on from here before this turns into something you can't handle." His hand moving towards his concealed Glock.
The group shuffled uncomfortably, the atmosphere shifting from confrontational to uncertain. J Soulja, realizing he was losing control of the situation, tried one last time to save face. "You think you're tough, huh? Aight homeboy, I'ma see you."
Arell stood his ground, his gaze steady. "Nah, it is over. You had your chance. Now take your niggas and bounce before shit gets real."
For a tense moment, it seemed like J Soulja might push further. But then, with a final glare at Arell, he motioned to his group. "Let's go."
As the group began to disperse, muttering and casting glances back at Arell, he remained where he was, watching them leave. Only when they had disappeared around the corner did he allow himself to relax, letting out a long breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
Arell leaned back against the car, his heart racing from the adrenaline. He knew he'd just dodged a potentially dangerous situation, but he couldn't help feeling a sense of pride. He'd stood his ground, hadn't shown fear, and had come out on top without throwing a single punch.
While he was still processing what had just happened, he heard quick footsteps approaching. He turned to see Geoffrey striding towards him, a concerned look on his face.
"Arell! There you are. I've been looking all over for you," Geoffrey said, slightly out of breath. "What happened? Are you alright?"
Arell nodded, the adrenaline slowly fading from his system. He recounted the encounter with J Soulja and his crew, detailing the confrontation and how he had managed to defuse the situation without it escalating to violence.
Geoffrey listened intently. When Arell finished, Geoffrey simply hummed, a thoughtful look in his eyes.
"So, what now?" Arell asked, suddenly feeling drained from the night's events.
Geoffrey checked his watch and then looked back at Arell. "Now, we've got a penthouse to visit."
Arell's brow furrowed in confusion. "A penthouse? For what?"
"Just a few photos, nothing much," Geoffrey replied with a casual shrug, but there was a glint in his eye that suggested there was more to it.
Arell studied his manager for a moment, trying to read between the lines. "Photos? With who?"
Geoffrey smiled enigmatically. "You'll see when we get there. It's all part of the plan we discussed earlier. Trust me, this is going to be big for your career."
Arell nodded slowly, still curious but willing to follow Geoffrey's lead. He trusted Geoffrey completely, even when he didn't fully understand the strategy.
"Alright, let's do it," Arell said, pushing himself off the car. "But first, I need a shower and a change of clothes. Can't be showing up to a penthouse looking like I just came off stage."
Geoffrey nodded approvingly. "That's the spirit. I've already got a change of clothes for you in the car. We'll stop by the hotel quickly so you can freshen up, then head straight to the penthouse."
Geoffrey placed a hand on Arell's shoulder. "You handled that situation with J Soulja well, by the way. Kept your cool, didn't let it escalate. You're maturing."
Arell felt a surge of pride at Geoffrey's words. "Thanks, man. I just did what felt right in the moment."
"Well, keep trusting those instincts," Geoffrey said. "Now, let's go get you ready for your next big move."