Chapter 137

“This is fucked,” Lucas muttered as he again looked at the stack of internal documents I’d acquired from an unknown source.

“I agree completely,” Glen Carter said through the phone. It wasn’t the sort of language the man used and Lucas blushed.

“I think we can all agree that what we’ve found is not only extremely troubling, but fits exactly with the narrative that we’ve been pushing,” I said.

“I agree,” Susan said through another phone. “Travis, is this why you’ve tried to play up the streaming angle?”

“I just wanted additional talking points,” I said. “This information was completely unknown to me before this morning.”

“Sorry,” Susan said. “I just wanted clarification.”

“It’s fine,” Liz said. I knew full well that if I had posed a non-essential question I’d be smelling my nuts roasting over an open flame.

“The question we need to answer is what to do with it,” Conny said.

“I say we just drop the load on the Internet and let the chips land where they land,” Melissa said.

Conny and Melissa had both avoided any eye contact with me once they found out how close my stupidity had pushed me to the unemployment line. I wasn’t sure if they felt guilty or were pissed off that I had almost led them into a pit. I couldn’t see why they felt guilty. I’d been the one to fuck things up. The anger I could understand. But I didn’t think that was the case.

“Travis, do you want to handle this one?” Liz asked. She was still pissed off that I didn’t want her parading Stephanie’s head through the streets on a pike – and I knew she wasn’t real happy with how I’d almost landed everyone in a heaping pile of shit.

“I think, if this information was to become public, we would see a major downturn in the music industry and its related businesses,” I said.

“English, college boy,” Ben said. “I went to college on a guitar scholarship – and it wasn’t exactly to Harvard.”

“He’s saying that the public would be incensed,” Glen translated. “The singers affected would be irate. The lawsuits would start flying; the public would stop buying; and the primary mode of music distribution would be disrupted to the point that it would no longer function in any capacity.”

I nodded gravely since Glen was still in Texas and didn’t have capability for video conferencing.

“Really?” Lucas asked. “You think it would be that bad that quick?”

“I think it would shut down Nashville, for certain,” I said. “And it would hit Los Angeles and New York extremely hard. I don’t know anything about how music is distributed in other countries but the onus would fall to individual websites and places set up like RaveLand. Even then, it would filter down to the independent labels. They get a decent price on physical copies of discs and movies because the larger concerns are involved. Without places like TGI Nashville and Vista ... getting your work distributed would be problematic.”

“And that completely ignores how the consumer is going to react,” Liz added. “We’ve been gouging them for years.”

“Not us,” Conny said.

“The general public doesn’t view it that way,” Susan said. “They see a Conny Woodson disc and think you’re the one pulling $30 out of their pockets. They don’t pay attention to the fact that Image set the price. It’s your face on the cover so you’re the one that will bear the brunt of their unhappiness.”

“Shit,” Melissa said with a heavy sigh. Her divorce from Brandon Lillibridge had hurt her popularity. He had a huge following in his own right in the country music world but he also had a legion of fans that followed his hugely popular television show.

“So you’re saying we have to sit on this and just let it continuing happening?” Lucas asked bitterly.

“The reason I pulled everyone in was so we could discuss our options,” Liz told him. “This is just a small cross-section of people affected but I want everybody to feel free to offer their opinion.”

“I’m against sitting on it,” Lucas declared.

“Even if it means that nobody gets to hear new music until a new system is in place?” Conny asked.

“Shit,” Lucas grumbled.

“If anybody else has this, it might not matter what we do,” Ben pointed out. “Can I ask where this came from?”

I waited for Liz to answer but she just looked at me.

“No,” I answered.

Ben started to reply, stopped and shook his head.

“Well, alrighty then,” he said. “Moving on ... do we know who else has this information?”

“Nobody,” I answered again. “At least nobody that I can ascertain.”

Ben shifted his jaw to the left and appraised me. Then he nodded slowly.

“OK, I think that answers all my questions,” he said after a moment. “So, for now, we’re the only player in the game. That’s good. Nobody is going to jump on this without considering the ramifications.”

“Like I would have,” Lucas said, offering his wry grin.

“If this had hit our hands Friday, I’m not sure we wouldn’t be sitting here right now trying to figure out how to pick up the pieces,” Liz said.

“Can we release parts of it?” Melissa wondered.

“Which parts?” Glen inquired. “The parts that tell all the artists they got screwed over again or the parts that tell the public they’ve been played for fools since the Internet arrived?”

“I see your point,” Melissa agreed. “So we’re really left with knowing what we know and going on like we don’t know it. That sucks.”

“There is another option,” I said.

Nobody spoke but everybody looked at me except Liz.

“We’re listening,” Ben said.

“Extortion,” I said simply.

“Extortion?” Conny repeated in the form of a question. “Like ... blackmail?”

“Yeah,” I said. The gazes in the room shifted to Liz.

“Travis?” Susan said through the line in her warning voice.

“This is about hearing all the options before we make a decision,” Glen said. “If he has something up his sleeve, I’m willing to listen.”

Glen Carter had the least to lose of anybody in the room. He didn’t record music any more. He didn’t go on tour. He made his pile of money and spent very little of it. The others were in different boats. Their incomes (and their popularity) depended entirely on providing a product that fans would purchase.

“I don’t think we should dismiss anything without hearing it,” Ben said. “Just because we talk about something doesn’t commit us to actually doing it.”

I waited until everybody in the room nodded their agreement. Lucas looked at me for a long time before offering his assent.

“We contact the streaming companies through intermediaries,” I said. “We contact the label heads through whatever means we can reach them. We show them what’s on the table and let them know they have... 90 days ... to get their house in order or the roof is going to come down on them. I’m not talking about dropping a couple extra bucks into artist services or paying Shandra Pike seven more cents per download. I’m talking complete transparency from both sides.

“The streaming sites have to publicly release a formula that equitably compensates artists across all forms of music regardless of longevity; the labels have to shift their revenues to at least a 50-50 split between administrative costs and performer compensation. We’re talking a standard contract for all new acts that doesn’t leave them owing their soul to a corporation 20 years down the road. We can talk about intellectual property rights; increased royalties. Honestly, with what we have, we could stage a fight to the death for all label executives and they would have to show up if they wanted to stay in business. The streaming sites are the same way. They make their money from advertising and from membership fees. We can push for an oversight committee, made up of artists and accountants and lawyers and ... whatever. They cannot take the risk of this information becoming public knowledge.”

“So you’re talking less about an actual extortion plot and more along the lines of ... enhanced negotiation tactics,” Ben concluded.

“Call it what you want,” I said. “It comes down to the same thing. The truth is, if the public got wind that we ... or in this case, I ... have this information and didn’t let it out in the world ... anyone that I’ve ever spoken to in this business would be tarred and feathered with the same brush they use on me.”

“So are we actually talking about breaking the law?” Conny asked.

“Grow up, Conny,” Lucas hissed. “Everything about this is illegal. He won’t tell us where he got it because that was illegal. The record execs are colluding with the streaming sites and that is illegal. Using this as a club to batter the bastards into submission is just as illegal. So, yeah, we’re talking about a shitload of laws that have been broken or will be broken in the future!”

Lucas had built his reputation on being a wisecracking, fun-loving guy. He always wore a goofy grin and he had grown into somebody that had no trouble being the butt of other people’s jokes. I hated that I had been the one that caused him to lose his trademark cool.

“Yeah, sorry,” Conny said. “It’s another case of my mouth moving before my brain turns over. This is just a lot to take in at once.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Lucas said. “It’s frustrating, man.”

“Could we ... take it to the federal government?” Melissa asked. “The SEC or FCC or something with a C. Somebody has to have the ability to stop this ... without us taking all the fucking risks!”

“We thought about that,” Liz admitted. “And it’s an option we should seriously consider.”

“I don’t think it would do much good,” Glen said. “The labels spent hundreds of millions of dollars on lobbyists and politicians. They certainly wouldn’t have any reason to intervene – and about a hundred million reasons to leave it alone. Factor in that copyright laws and the Internet don’t really go well together and all I think the feds would do is make the situation worse.”

“It would be a first if they didn’t,” Ben said. “I hate to say it but ... extortion ... is starting to sound like a viable plan.”

“I want to point out that Travis is not advocating any particular option on his behalf or on Liz’s behalf,” Susan said quickly. “He was simply pointing any things that might have been missed. I think I’m right on this. Aren’t I, Liz?”

“You’re right,” I said before Liz could answer. “This is strictly, from my end, an information session. Whatever you want done, I will do my best to get it done.”

“Can you make it all go away?” Lucas asked.

“Ignoring it has just that effect,” I noted. “These documents can be buried and we can continue with the status quo until other options are identified and evaluated.”

“That’s not really a plan I’m comfortable with,” Melissa said after the silence had extended to 10 or 15 seconds. “We know the situation is wrong. We know it needs to be corrected. We have the means to do that. We can’t just bury this. I’m sorry. I can’t agree to that. I’d rather see the industry in dust than to sit blindly by and let people continue to exploit us when we don’t have to.”

“What are the drawbacks to letting the industry types know we have this?” Glen wondered.

“Probably more than I can list but no more than exist with the other ideas,” I said. “There is no ... best way. Anything you decide is going to have ramifications. I just don’t see any way around them.”

“So, in your opinion, what is the worst thing that could happen if we tried to force the industry to ... correct ... itself?” Liz asked.