Investigation (Third Update, Seeking Follow-up Reads)

"Have you set off yet?" Ryan called the staff at Atlantic Records. Sitting across from him was Scooter, with Trey on the other side.

Compared to when he first walked in, the man now had an iced coffee in his hand.

"Then don't come to Nashville for now. Something's come up—I need to... go out for a competition, the school's football game," Ryan explained.

Putting down his phone, Ryan's expression turned more serious than before.

"Where were we?"

"The contract term. Other than me, there's no record label boss in this world who'd give you terms like this." Scooter raised his porcelain cup.

"Why do you say that?"

"I need an opportunity, a chance to build my reputation in the industry." Scooter said unhurriedly.

"Aren't you already reputable enough?"

"Only in Atlanta. You might not know this, but the situation there is complicated. I can't spread my wings there, so I have to seek opportunities from outside." Scooter continued.

Ryan caught on—this turncoat wanted to do something big but lacked the chance.

"Truth is, you're just a bonus. I signed another kid—he's talented, more talented than you—but he needs time for training, at least a year. For him, I set up a joint venture with Usher."

"And you can fill my gap during that year. Rather than watch you join Atlantic Records, I'd rather cut in. The contract length is my strongest weapon."

"What's your relationship with Puff Daddy?" Ryan pressed on.

"I occasionally throw parties for him, entertain some white guests who aren't that close to him."

"And how did you meet Usher?"

"At DJ Drama's birthday party. First time I met him. Done asking? Officer Ryan." He raised an eyebrow.

"I don't want to get tangled up with the Atlanta crowd," Ryan said.

"You know quite a bit. Relax, the one signing you is Schoolboy Records—that company's in Los Angeles." Scooter said.

Given that this move had an undercurrent of backstabbing Puff Daddy's close friend DJ Khaled, it was unlikely he'd drag Ryan into the Atlanta circle.

"I'm done with my questions."

"I'll give you three days to think it over. Then I'll send a company rep to sign the contract." Scooter stood up directly, ready to leave.

After he walked out, Ryan and Trey discussed it.

"How much of what he said do you think was true?" Ryan asked.

"Half-truths, but the signing terms are on the contract—that can't be faked. Still, he looks young, definitely under thirty. The fact that he founded a sub-label of Republic Records is suspicious—maybe he's the descendant of some big shot," Trey said.

"I almost hope he is," Ryan shook his head.

What Trey said was indeed suspicious. For comparison, Scott Borchetta was at least a former president of DreamWorks Records, with years at MCA, MTM, and Universal Music Nashville. This "Scooter" was just a party promoter—how could he rise to Scott Borchetta's level in just a few years?

Ryan returned to his study and searched online for info on Scooter. He only found the name in a report about Jermaine Dupri. Jermaine Dupri was another Black music mogul in Atlanta. Back when Dr. Dre was just rising, his teen hip-hop group Kris Kross hit number one on the Billboard charts. But Dupri didn't win his first Grammy until 2006, as the songwriter and producer for Mariah Carey's "We Belong Together." In between, he launched plenty of Black hip-hop artists and had been Janet Jackson's boyfriend since 2002.

Scooter first worked at Jermaine Dupri's record label.

On the surface, Jermaine Dupri was Scooter's mentor, but he couldn't compare to "L.A. Reid." His own label, So So Def, was still bouncing between major music groups—how could he help Scooter establish a Republic Records sub-label?

There had to be another big shot behind it all.

But who that big shot was, Ryan couldn't dig up. He chose to call Marvin, the agent at WME, who might know things Ryan didn't.

"Never heard the name, but I think you're right. A young white guy without strong backing can't make it in Atlanta. Only one explanation: the music group management is all white. They need someone like them who can get along with these Black guys for easier management. Remember, in hip-hop, Black men do the shouting on stage, white men count the money behind the scenes."

"In other words, this big shot assigned Jermaine Dupri to bring him into the Atlanta circle, and Scooter is the 'envoy' appointed by the white upper echelon?"

"That's just speculation, I can't guarantee it. What, are you sure you want to work with him?"

"Will this affect our partnership?"

"I don't mind. I'm just providing you performance opportunities, as long as the other side doesn't object. But I'll say this upfront: from now on, I'll prioritize Atlantic Records' DJs before I consider you."

Business was business—Marvin looked out for his own interests, and Ryan couldn't say much about it.

Hanging up, Ryan called someone else—someone he'd just pulled out of his blacklist.

"I want to speak with Scott."

"Are you joining Big Machine?" Taylor seemed to be eating at home; Ryan faintly heard her parents' voices in the background.

"No..." Ryan told her about Scooter.

"Only a one-year term? He must have a backup plan to force you to renew. When that happens, you'll take a huge loss," Taylor said without hesitation.

She had far more experience signing with record labels than Ryan did.

"Like what?"

"Like holding dirt on you—if you don't comply, he leaks it and destroys your career. Or digging traps in the contract—the simplest is blocking your performance rights, so you can never publicly perform your work, even if you made it yourself. Or controlling the master tape copyrights."

"Wouldn't that happen with any label?"

"So you need a professional lawyer to review it. My dad's friend happens to be coming to Nashville—he's on vacation. This uncle is very professional—I had him check my contract. Also, you must keep the songwriting copyrights in your own hands. That's crucial," Taylor reminded.

Ryan thanked her.

"So, from now on, don't bring home shady women from outside," Taylor whispered at the end.

Overly concerned for Ryan.

"Of course, I'm not included in that." Before Ryan could react, she hung up.