Three months later, Crossfade Records was gone. Liam and Chloe were behind bars, their names attached to fraud cases instead of album credits.
Aria Vance was on the cover of *Forbes*.
Vanguard Records operated from a converted warehouse in the arts district, with high ceilings and acoustics I had designed myself. I had signed two artists.
One was a rock singer the old guard had called “unmarketable.” His debut single had just reached number one in ten countries.
Tonight, the warehouse was full of artists, journalists, and the industry people I still respected.
Music from our newest session played through speakers I had tuned myself.
Near the mixing booth, the two artists I had signed were arguing happily over which version of the next track should close the night.
And across the roo
