Chapter 304: Music Association
“Fischer’s been running this carefully from the beginning,” said Sean.
“He has,” said Clara. “I keep finding evidence of how carefully. It’s slightly humbling.” She pulled a folder from the stack. “The board announcement. When the round closes I want a clean public statement. Not a press release. A statement. Specific about the investors, the parameters, what the round is for.” She held the folder out. “Read this draft and tell me what’s wrong with it.”
He took the folder and read it.
Three things were wrong with it. She’d been too specific about the timeline in the second paragraph in a way that would age poorly if anything shifted. The investor introduction section was too formal for what the round actually was. And the final paragraph ended on a financial note when it should have ended on a product note.
He told her.
She wrote all three down.
“The product note,” she said. “What specifically.”
“The round is for building,” he said. “The statement should end with what’s being built. Not what the round costs.”
“The eighty-seven percent,” she said.
“Or what comes after it,” he said. “The compliance advantage activating in twelve months. The product being the reason three hundred and forty companies renew.”
She wrote that down too.
“You write better closing lines than I do,” she said.
“You write better opening ones,” he said.
She looked up. Something in her expression moved briefly that she didn’t entirely manage.
“Eight days,” she said again. Differently from before.
“Eight days,” he said.
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Kwon called at ten thirty.
Sean was between classes, sitting on the bench outside the library that had become his default thinking spot, and the call came in with the same energy as the previous ones, professional and contained, but carrying something underneath it that was slightly more acute.
“Someone contacted a music publication,” said Kwon. “Not a tabloid. A legitimate music industry publication that covers business as well as talent.”
“What did they send them,” said Sean.
“The photograph,” said Kwon. “With a description of you and your financial profile. Brief. Specific. The Vertex disclosure, the position size, the age.” He paused. “The framing was that an eighteen year old with unexplained wealth is in a relationship with talent at our label six weeks before their debut.”
Sean looked at the campus.
“Did the publication contact the label,” he said.
“They contacted our PR firm this morning,” said Kwon. “Standard practice. They give the subject opportunity to comment before publication.” He paused. “The PR firm held the call and flagged it to me immediately.”
“Good,” said Sean. “How long do they usually hold before they publish if there’s no comment.”
“Five to seven days,” said Kwon. “If they get a comment they hold longer to incorporate it.”
“Don’t give them a comment,” said Sean.
“That’s my instinct too,” said Kwon. “A comment confirms the relationship. No comment gives them less to work with but doesn’t stop publication.”
“I know,” said Sean. “I’m not trying to stop publication. I’m trying to understand timing.”
Kwon was quiet for a moment. “What are you thinking.”
“The person who sent the photograph,” said Sean. “They knew the publication would contact the label for comment. That’s the point. They want the label nervous before the debut. The story itself is secondary.”
“Pressure,” said Kwon.
“Pressure,” said Sean. “They’re trying to make the label make a decision. Distance themselves from me publicly to protect the debut, which gives the story more weight, or stay quiet and let the story run without context.”
“Which is the worse option,” said Kwon.
“Distancing,” said Sean. “If the label creates distance it looks like confirmation of something worth distancing from. The story becomes about what they’re hiding.”
“So we stay quiet,” said Kwon.
“For now,” said Sean. “I need four days.”
“I can hold the PR firm for four days,” said Kwon. “After that they’ll need a direction.”
“Four days,” said Sean. “I’ll have something by then.”
“Olivia,” said Kwon.
“She knows,” said Sean. “She’s not going to do anything.”
“I know she’s not,” said Kwon. “I mean she’s been very focused this week. The formation is running better than it has all month. Yuna says she’s different in rehearsal.” A pause. “When Olivia focuses on something real it makes everything else sharper.”
Sean understood that.
It was how she’d described Kwon making her better before the contract signing. The right pressure produced the right result.
“Four days Kwon,” he said.
“Four days,” said Kwon.
The call ended.
Sean sat on the bench and looked at the campus and did the math.
Four days to give Kwon a direction.
Eight days to Clara’s dinner.
Three weeks to close the Vertex round.
Three weeks to Amara’s oversight presentation.
Five weeks to the debut.
And somewhere in the middle of all of it Isabelle Crane was building a picture in a serviced office fourteen floors above a financial district building and had been seen reading the Vertex lobby through atrium glass and had two returned retainers in her professional history and had gotten into a dark blue sedan on a Thursday afternoon.
He pulled out his phone.
He texted Max.
Is there a Vertex-connected event in the next four days. Public facing. Something she could attend without standing out.
Max replied in three minutes. The university business faculty is hosting a panel discussion Monday about independent company governance post-activist-investor situations. Vertex has been invited to send a representative. Clara is going.
Sean looked at that.
A panel about exactly the situation Vertex had been through. Industry adjacent, publicly posted, the kind of event a financial forensics investigator building a profile would attend.
Who else is on the panel, he typed.
Three people, said Max. A corporate governance professor, a fund manager who advised during a similar situation two years ago, and a former CFO from a contested acquisition case. A pause. Sean. This event is the kind of thing she’d have already found.
I know, said Sean.
You want her to be there, said Max.