July
Pharrell greeted him with a wide smile and a firm handshake. "Arell, my man. Good to see you."
"Likewise, Pharrell," Arell replied, returning the smile. "Thanks for having me."
Pharrell led him into the studio, a space that blended cutting-edge technology with comfortable, lived-in warmth. Vintage synthesizers shared space with state-of-the-art mixing boards, while well-worn leather couches invited relaxation and creativity in equal measure.
"This is quite a setup," Arell remarked, running his fingers lightly over a nearby keyboard.
Pharrell nodded, pride evident in his voice. "It's my home away from home. Now, before we dive in, I wanted to apologize again for what happened in Florida. That wasn't cool, and it won't happen again."
Arell waved a hand dismissively. "Water under the bridge, man. I appreciate you saying that, though. It wasn't even about the beat, you know? It was the disrespect."
"I get it," Pharrell said, his tone serious. "And you're right to feel that way. This industry can be cutthroat, but that doesn't make it okay."
They settled into their seats, the familiar hum of equipment filling the air. Pharrell pulled up the tracks for Arell's mixtape, his fingers dancing over the controls with ease.
"Alright, let's review this beast," Pharrell said, a hint of excitement in his voice. "I've got to say, Arell, I'm impressed. I've heard top ten Billboard 200 albums that weren't this good in their raw state."
Arell felt a surge of pride but kept his expression neutral. "Thanks, man. That means a lot coming from you."
As they worked through the tracks, making notes and adjustments, Pharrell kept the conversation flowing. "So, how are things with you and India? You two still going strong?"
Arell hesitated for a moment, weighing his words. Pharrell had always been straight with him, and he decided to return the trust. "Actually, we've got some news. India's pregnant. About four weeks along now."
Pharrell's eyebrows shot up, a grin spreading across his face. "No way! Congratulations, man! That's huge news. How are you feeling about it?"
"Thanks," Arell said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "It's... a lot. Exciting, terrifying, all of that. We've even started tossing around some name ideas."
"Oh yeah? Hit me," Pharrell said, leaning back in his chair.
Arell chuckled. "Well, we've got Caleon Caponé Rose for a boy. Or maybe Indell Rose. For a girl, we're thinking Red Rose or Skyloré."
Pharrell nodded approvingly. "Those are some unique names. I like them. Especially Caleon Caponé – that's got a real flow to it."
As they continued working, Pharrell's expression grew thoughtful. "Hey, Arell, can I ask you something? How did you celebrate when you found out about the baby?"
Arell blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Celebrate?"
Pharrell turned to face him fully, his eyes intense. "Yeah, celebrate. Did you do anything special when you released Fair Trade? When it cracked the top 50 on Billboard? What about when you made your first million, or bought your mansion?"
Arell opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again, realization dawning on his face.
Pharrell continued, his voice gentle but firm. "Did you celebrate when you got out of prison? When you got your first plaque, it got delivered yesterday not so?"
Arell's silence was answer enough.
Pharrell leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Arell, my man, you've got to take time to enjoy your success. To really feel it. You're living a life most people only dream about, but are you actually living it?"
The words hit Arell like a physical force. He thought back to the whirlwind of the past few months – the music, the deals, the constant grind. Had he really taken a moment to just... breathe?
"I... I guess I haven't," Arell admitted, his voice quiet. "It's just been go, go, go, you know? There's always the next thing, the next goal."
Pharrell nodded, understanding in his eyes. "I get it, believe me. But you've got to find balance. Especially now, with a baby on the way. You need to spend time with India, really be present with her. This is a huge moment in both your lives."
Arell nodded slowly, absorbing Pharrell's words. "Yeah, you're right. I've been so focused on everything else, I haven't given myself time to just... enjoy it all."
A memory surfaced, unbidden. "You know, it reminds me of something from back in Chicago. Me and my boys – Malik, Kenny, and Devon – we didn't have much growing up. But sometimes, my grandmother would make this incredible shepherd's pie. We'd take it to the park, share it between us, and watch basketball. Just... existing in the moment, you know?"
Pharrell smiled warmly. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. Those moments, they're what life's all about. You've got to make time for them, even now – especially now."
They fell into a comfortable silence, the music from the speakers filling the air. After a few moments, Pharrell spoke again, his tone thoughtful.
"You mentioned you're going to therapy, right? That's good, man. It's important to take care of your mental health, especially in this industry. But I want to talk to you about something else, something that I think is just as important for your growth."
Arell leaned forward, intrigued. "What's that?"
"Black history," Pharrell said, his eyes intense. "Our history. The stuff they don't teach you in school, the stories that get buried or twisted."
Arell nodded, thinking back to his conversation with Geoffrey. "Yeah, I've been thinking about that a lot lately. About how the narrative is controlled, how history is written by the victors."
Pharrell's eyebrows raised slightly, a look of approval crossing his face. "Exactly. You're already on the right track. But there's so much more to learn, so many layers to unpack."
He leaned back in his chair, his gaze distant. "Did you know that before the transatlantic slave trade, there were thriving African empires with advanced mathematics, astronomy, and medicine? The University of Timbuktu was a center of learning that rivaled Oxford and Cambridge."
Arell shook his head, fascinated. "I had no idea."
"Most people don't," Pharrell continued. "We're taught that Africa was all jungle and primitive tribes before Europeans arrived. But that's far from the truth. The Kingdom of Kush, the Mali Empire, Great Zimbabwe – these were sophisticated civilizations with complex political systems and incredible wealth."
As Pharrell spoke, Arell felt a growing sense of pride. Pride in the accomplishments of his ancestors, anger at how this history had been hidden from him.
"But it's not just ancient history," Pharrell said, his voice growing more passionate. "Look at the Tulsa Race Massacre of 1921. A thriving Black community, known as Black Wall Street, was burned to the ground by white mobs. Hundreds killed, thousands left homeless. And for decades, it was barely mentioned in history books."
Arell's mind was racing, connecting dots he'd never seen before. "It's like... they want to keep us ignorant of our own power, our own potential."
Pharrell nodded vigorously. "Exactly. Because knowledge is power. When you know your history – your true history – you start to see the world differently. You start to question things."
They delved deeper into discussion, touching on topics from the Haitian Revolution to the Civil Rights Movement, from ancient African philosophies to modern-day systemic racism.
Finally, after a long moment of contemplative silence, Arell spoke, his voice thoughtful. "Pharrell, I've been thinking... We talk about representation in music, in movies, all that. But what about representation in terms of wealth and power? Not just having Black faces in high places, but actually changing the system from within?"
Pharrell leaned forward, his eyes shining with interest. "Go on."
"Like, what if we could create a network of Black-owned businesses, not just in entertainment, but in tech, finance, real estate? What if we could pool our resources, our knowledge, to create real, lasting change? Not just for us, but for our communities, for future generations?"
Pharrell's face broke into a wide grin. "Now you're thinking, Arell. That's the kind of vision we need. It's not just about making hit records or getting rich. It's about building something lasting, something that can lift up our people."
As their conversation wound down, Pharrell turned his attention back to the mixing board. "Now, about this mixtape. It's fire, no doubt about that. But I think we should take our time with the mixing and mastering. Instead of rushing to finish by the end of May, what do you say we aim for July?"
Arell considered for a moment. The delay would push the release closer to September, when he and Geoffrey planned to ramp up their business efforts. It could work out perfectly.
"You sure?" Arell asked. "I don't want to take up too much of your time."
Pharrell waved off his concern. "Trust me, this is worth taking the time to get right. We've got something special here, and I want to make sure it shines."
Arell nodded, a smile spreading across his face. "Alright, July it is."
<>
As the SUV cut through the dusky Georgia backroads, Geoffrey reclined in the backseat, his sharp eyes scanning the scenery.
They were on the outskirts of Savannah, heading towards a secluded location for a shoot. Geoffrey had arranged everything meticulously. He always did.
"Everything lined up for tonight?" Geoffrey asked, his voice calm but carrying the weight of expectation.
The driver nodded, eyes forward. "Yes, sir. Cole and the crew are already set up. Cars are there, location secured."
Geoffrey glanced over at his phone, checking the time. There was always something to be done, always a fire to be put out, but tonight was about Post Malone. It had to be perfect. Geoffrey had taken the reins on the project, knowing how crucial it was to launch him right.
As the SUV rolled to a stop near an old barn, illuminated by the soft glow of strategically placed lights, Geoffrey stepped out into the warm night air. The scent of pine and earth filled his lungs as he surveyed the scene. Cole Bennett was in the thick of it, orchestrating the setup with the kind of manic energy that came from knowing you were on the brink of something big. The rented luxury cars—a Ferrari, a Lamborghini, and a classic Mustang—were positioned around the barn.
Geoffrey approached Cole, who was adjusting a camera rig. The young director looked up, his eyes shining with excitement.
"Geoffrey, we're about to start the first take. The lighting's perfect right now. This video's gonna be iconic, I can feel it."
Geoffrey nodded, appreciating Cole's passion. "Good work. Cole, remember this is you're big chance, you're recording a video that could put your company on the map."
Cole's smile faltered slightly under Geoffrey's intense gaze. "I know, man. I've got it covered. Trust me."
Geoffrey's expression softened. "I do trust you. That's why you're here. Just keep the focus where it needs to be—on Post. Everything else is just window dressing."
Cole nodded, reassured but aware of the stakes. Geoffrey gave him a pat on the back before stepping away, his mind already shifting to other matters.
As he moved through the set, Geoffrey's phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, the screen casting a cold light on his face. It was a message from one of his contacts at the precinct in Atlanta. Geoffrey's lips curled into a tight smile as he read the update. Tyson Johnson was set to be released by the morning while the investigation went on, just as Geoffrey had orchestrated.
As soon as Johnson was released, Geoffrey would move to file a series of motions. The first would be a motion to dismiss the charges altogether, based on the lack of evidence and the improper procedures used during the search. Without a valid warrant, the evidence found at Johnson's place was shaky at best, and Geoffrey intended to argue for its exclusion.
He would also file motions to suppress any additional evidence that the prosecution might try to introduce, effectively hamstringing their case before it even reached the courtroom. A strong defense started with weakening the prosecution's position as much as possible.
His next move would be to approach the prosecutor, leveraging the weaknesses in their case to negotiate a favorable outcome for Johnson. He knew that most prosecutors were not interested in pursuing cases that could end in an embarrassing loss, especially against someone with his legal acumen.
He would offer the prosecutor a way out—a quiet resolution that would allow them to save face while letting Johnson walk away with minimal consequences. Most would struggle coordinate their moves but Geoffrey knew how to handle it—discreetly and efficiently.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket as he approached Post Malone, who was lounging against the Mustang, cigarette in hand, eyes half-lidded as he soaked in the vibe of the shoot. Geoffrey admired the way Post could look so relaxed, so at ease, even in the middle of a major production.
"Looking good, Post," Geoffrey said, his voice smooth.
Post nodded, taking a drag. "Thanks. You sure this is the right place for the shoot? I'm feeling it, but it's kinda different from what I expected."
Geoffrey smiled, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Trust me, Post. This location is perfect. It's got that raw, unpolished edge that fits your image."
Post exhaled a cloud of smoke, looking thoughtful. "You're always thinking ahead, huh?"
Geoffrey's smile widened. "Always. But let's keep our focus on tonight. We've got work to do."
Post nodded, extinguishing his cigarette under his boot.
The camera started rolling, and Geoffrey watched as Post slipped into his element, effortlessly embodying the vibe that they were crafting for him. The shoot went smoothly, Cole directing with an almost feverish energy, capturing every angle, every moment. The cars gleamed under the lights, the dust kicking up around them, creating a surreal, dreamlike atmosphere.
During a break, Geoffrey pulled Cole aside, away from the bustle of the crew. "Cole, you're doing great work here. I want you to keep pushing your vision. This is just the beginning. We're building something special with Infinity Records, and you're a part of that."
Cole nodded, his eyes alight with excitement. "I'm in, Geoffrey. Whatever you need, I'm here for it."
Geoffrey gave him an approving nod. "Good. Just remember, the key to staying in this game is control. Control your art, your image, your story. Don't let anyone else dictate the terms."
As the shoot continued into the night, Geoffrey's phone buzzed again. He glanced at it—a message from one of his associates. The paperwork for Johnson's release was in order, just as planned. Geoffrey's mind began to turn over the next steps. Getting Johnson out of jail was just one move in a larger game. He needed to ensure that the situation didn't escalate further, that Johnson kept his head down and didn't attract any more attention.
Geoffrey considered his options carefully. The best approach was to keep Johnson close, to ensure that he didn't become a liability. They couldn't afford any loose ends—not with everything they were building.
After the final take was wrapped, Geoffrey approached Post, who was leaning against the Mustang once again, a satisfied grin on his face. "That was tight, G. I think we nailed it."
Geoffrey smiled, but his mind was elsewhere. "We did. But remember, Post, this is just one step. The real work begins when the video drops. We need to control the narrative, guide the public's perception. Don't let anyone else steer the ship."
Post nodded, his expression serious. "I hear you. I'm ready."
As the crew began packing up, Geoffrey's phone buzzed one last time. He glanced at the message—a confirmation that everything was set for Johnson's release. Geoffrey allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction. Everything was moving according to plan.
Before he could pocket the phone, Geoffrey felt a presence beside him. He turned to see Cole, his face flushed with excitement.
"Hey, Geoffrey, I was thinking… What if we added a few more shots in the next location? I've got some ideas that could really push this video to the next level."
Geoffrey considered it for a moment before nodding. "I like the initiative, Cole. But let's wrap this up first. We'll review the footage and see what's needed. Remember, we don't want to overdo it. Sometimes less is more."
Cole nodded, absorbing the advice. "Got it. Thanks, Geoffrey."
As the night began to wane and the crew packed up the last of the equipment, Geoffrey took a rare moment to look out over the expanse of the desert. The stars were beginning to emerge, twinkling faintly against the darkening sky.
As they piled back into the SUVs for the drive back to the city, Geoffrey glanced at Arell's name on his phone. He debated calling him, updating him on the situation with Johnson, but decided against it. There was no need to worry Arell with the details on this, he had enough on his plate and Geoffrey had everything under control.
<>
I don't want to drop this but...