Lex walked through the streets, hands in his coat pockets, the cool night air humming with the distant sounds of city life.
The meeting spot wasn't far—a narrow door wedged between two pizza joints.
On one side, a Chicago-style deep-dish place, windows fogged with steam. On the other, a classic Italian joint, its red-and-white checkered tablecloths visible through the glass.
Lex smirked to himself. Old rivalries never died.
The sign over the door read "Wilde Audio Productions" in peeling gold lettering. The place looked more like a forgotten jazz bar than a functioning studio.
He stepped up to the door, knocked once, and pushed inside.
"This where careers are made?" Lex asked dryly, when he saw Benny.
Benny smirked. "Hey, don't let the looks fool you. Jason's got a talent for finding people before they explode. He just doesn't give a damn about aesthetics."
Fair enough.
Benny led him through a side door, down a narrow hallway that smelled of stale coffee, old wood, and the faint trace of cigarette smoke.
The low thump of bass filtered from below, the studio's heartbeat pulsing through the floorboards.
At the end of the hall, a glass-walled lounge overlooked the recording booth.
Inside, Jason Wilde stood at the mixing console, nodding in time with the track playing softly through the speakers.
He was exactly as Lex expected—leather jacket, graying hair tied back in a loose knot, a cigarette hanging from his lips. The kind of man who lived and breathed the industry for at least two decades.
Benny knocked lightly on the glass.
Jason glanced up, narrowed his eyes slightly, then waved them inside.
Lex followed Benny through the door, letting it swing shut behind him.
Jason pulled the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling slowly. His gaze landed on Lex, sharp and measuring.
"Well, if it isn't the young Latham." Jason stepped forward, shaking Lex's hand. "I've been hearing your name more than usual lately."
Lex smiled faintly. "I'm working on that."
Jason chuckled. "Good answer." He leaned back against the console. "Benny tells me you're interested in The Black Wall."
"I am." Lex's tone was smooth, deliberate. "I heard the leads aren't locked yet. I want in—with creative control and rights to tie down the talent for the sequel."
Jason arched a brow, intrigued but guarded.
"You haven't even read the full script."
Lex didn't blink. "I don't need to. I know how long you've been pushing this project. If you're still holding on to it, that's enough for me."
Jason smirked faintly, turning toward the glass.
Below, a young singer in the recording booth adjusted his mic as a soft acoustic track played through the speakers.
His voice was raw, smooth—but rich.
A natural performer.
Lex studied him, taking in the messy dark curls, the casual confidence, the way he held himself like someone used to smaller stages but ready for more.
"Who's that?" Lex asked.
Jason exhaled a slow stream of smoke, watching the booth with quiet satisfaction.
"Aiden," he said. "Not a household name yet, but he's getting traction. Had a viral single last year—some breakup ballad that's been circling streaming charts. Young, hungry, and wants into film. I've already tapped him to score half the movie."
Lex's gaze didn't waver. A small name now. But not for long.
"And the other half of the score?"
Jason chuckled, grinding out his cigarette. "We'll see if he survives the first half."
Lex smirked and turned to face him fully.
"I'll fund it." Lex's voice was steady. "Five million—full backing. But I want Aiden under contract for the sequel if this takes off."
Jason tapped his fingers against the console, considering.
"You're betting a lot on a no-name kid."
Lex shrugged. "That's what you did once, right?"
Jason grinned, extending his hand. "Fair enough."
Lex shook it firmly.
"I'll send over the paperwork," Jason said. "You'll have it by the end of the week."
Benny grinned from the corner. "I love it when things work out."
Lex's eyes flicked to the wall of old vinyls stacked against the side of the room.
One album caught his eye.
He stepped forward, picking it up. The sleeve was faded, but the title was unmistakable.
Jason glanced at him, amused. "You a collector?"
Lex tilted his head, his smirk turning almost dangerous.
"No," he said, setting the record down carefully. "I'm interested in buying music. Producing albums. Not just scores—catalogs. Older ones. '70s, '80s… maybe even further back."
Jason raised a brow. "You trying to become a record executive now?"
Lex shook his head. "No. I'm interested in ownership, not production. The rights. The publishing. Oldies but goodies."
Jason studied him for a long moment. "You know, most people your age are busy chasing tech stocks. You want to buy songs that peaked before you were even born. Why?"
Lex's expression didn't change. "Because they're stable assets."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"Music catalogs appreciate over time. Streaming will make them evergreen. The artists—the families—they're sitting on gold without realizing it."
Jason exhaled slowly, nodding. "You're not wrong. I know a few small artists who sold their rights for dirt back in the day. Now the labels are bleeding their catalogs dry."
Lex tapped the record sleeve lightly.
"I don't want the artists," Lex said. "I want the forgotten catalogs—the ones no one thinks about until they show up in a car commercial."
Jason chuckled, shaking his head. "Smart move, but not exactly easy to crack into. The majors hold most of the valuable stuff, and the ones they don't are either owned by dinosaurs who won't sell or buried under bad contracts."
Lex's smirk didn't fade. "That's why I'm talking to you. This is something you do. Right?"
Jason's eyes narrowed. "You want introductions."
"I want leads," Lex corrected. "I know you've worked with musicians long enough to have connections in that world. Indie artists, one-hit wonders, bands that never made it past their first album. I'll take anything that's undervalued."
Jason mulled it over, rubbing his chin.
"There's this guy—Marcus Dillard."
Lex's eyes sharpened.
"Old-school producer," Jason continued. "Used to manage some pretty big acts in the early '90s. Most of them fizzled out, but he kept the rights when they couldn't pay back loans. Now he sits on those catalogs like a dragon."
Lex leaned forward. "Is he selling?"
Jason laughed. "Not openly. But Marcus loves cash over nostalgia. You make the right offer, and he'll part with some of the less flashy stuff."
Lex nodded. "I want that meeting."
Jason raised a brow. "You're serious about this, huh?"
Lex smirked. "Music lasts longer than CEOs."
Jason grinned, reaching for his phone. "I'll make the call. But don't expect a warm welcome. Marcus doesn't trust easily—especially not Wall Street types."
Lex's smirk didn't falter.
"Good thing I'm not Wall Street," he said. "I'm family."
Barnie could keep his mergers and acquisitions.
Lex was making his own empire.