CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 4
Morning dawned bright and clear and cool, as if determined to lift Ian’s mood. He dressed and entered the breakfast room with a clear head. The night’s hard confession had left Ian facing the day with a semblance of calm.
After breakfast he went for a long and meandering stroll through the maze of old San Luis Obispo. The burdens he had carried since his manager’s disappearance had not vanished. That would be far too much to ask. But for the first time in what felt like forever, Ian was able to ignore them, at least for a while. The town’s heart was charming, a lovely throwback to bygone California. After a time, he had the feeling that Amelia had joined him. Walking the quiet tree-lined lanes. Introducing him to part of her adopted world.
During his early years, Amelia and her partner had lived a fast and expensive life. Soon after her partner’s death, Ian’s aunt had written to say she was unable to make the promised journey and join Ian for a live concert, because she was short of funds. Ian had sent her a check by return mail, glad his growing success allowed him to be generous. Six months later, his grandfather passed. The old man left the family’s Annapolis town house to Ian. His will did not even mention their only daughter.
After weeks of deliberation, Ian decided to keep the home. He brought in an architect and ordered a total redesign, hoping that by gutting the place he could strip away memories of his wretched early years. He sent his aunt a check for half the home’s value, never mentioning his grandfather’s final vindictive act. Amelia, in her wisdom, did not ask.
When Ian returned to his room at the inn, he found a message from the lawyer, asking him to show up half an hour early. Ian showered, hurriedly dressed in his least wrinkled clothes, and set out.
When Ian entered the law office, Regina greeted him with a smug smile and the words, “There’s someone who is desperately interested in making your acquaintance.”
A man about Ian’s age was already rising from the sofa. “Mr. Hart, I’m Danny Byrd. A real honor.”
Ian was swamped by the dread that had been dogging him now for weeks. But Byrd did not look like a reporter. He was tall, well dressed, very fit. And intense. A man on the move.
Danny asked the receptionist, “Would you tell Megan—”
“I’m here.” The attorney then stepped into the reception area and offered, “Good morning, Ian. May I call you that?”
“Of course.”
She turned to the other man. “Give us a few minutes, Danny.”
“Megan, you know how tight our timeline—”
“Danny. Sit. Wait.” Gentle but firm. Like she was ordering a well-trained pet. “Ian, come with me, please.”
She led him down the side corridor and stopped by the corner office’s closed door. “I’m sorry about that. I intended to speak with you before Danny arrived. But he showed up early.” She knocked, opened the door, and asked the man inside, “Ready?”
“Yes. Good.” An older gentleman rounded his desk and walked over. “Mr. Hart, I’m Sol Feinnes. Can I offer you a coffee?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
“Please, have a seat. My wife and I have been fans of your work for years. Megan told me about your current situation—”
“What I know, which isn’t much,” Megan corrected.
“The sort of tactics you’ve experienced are a disgrace,” Sol settled into a chair opposite them. “I take it you don’t have legal representation?”
“I can’t afford any,” Ian replied. “Not with my assets frozen.”
“Like I said, a complete and utter disgrace.” Sol was a heavyset gentleman in his fifties, balding and fit. He had the air of an aging boxer readying himself for the next fight. And he seemed genuinely angry over Ian’s state. “I’m due in court, but first I wanted to personally address your issues. May I dive straight in?”
Ian glanced at Megan, whose attention was now focused intently on the older gentleman. “Sure thing.”
“What you need to understand is this. Opposing counsel has no intention of ever bringing your case to court.”
“They’ve already had the judge set a trial date.” Ian pressed a fist to his gut. Fighting back the gorge, an act that had become all too familiar. Sorry that the good feelings had not lasted longer than they did. “Nine weeks from yesterday. My home is scheduled to go on the block five days later. They’re already showing—”
“Won’t happen,” Megan said, interrupting. “Not in a million years will they go before a judge and reveal what they’ve been up to. Which means their threat of an auction is bogus.”
“They seek to pressure you,” Sol continued. “They want you to find a way to cover the missing funds. And, if possible, show a direct and ongoing connection between you and your manager.”
“I have no idea where he is. Well, I’ve heard Aruba, but—”
Sol waved that aside. “I’ve had a word with a friend in Baltimore. She is a well-known trial attorney. She is more than willing to sign on.”
“I don’t understand.”
Megan said, “We want to take your case.”
“But I can’t pay you.”
“We’ll handle this on a contingency basis.” Sol glanced at his watch. “Sorry. Megan will walk you through the terms. I need to be going.”
When Ian remained silent, Megan asked, “Is this agreeable?”
He swallowed hard, forced out the words, “This is amazing.”
Sol rose to his feet, offered Ian his hand. “My wife and I saw you last year in Dallas. Your performance, it gave the music wings. Perhaps you’d join us for dinner sometime?”
Ian nodded.
“Good. Now I’ve got to dash.”
After Sol departed, Megan asked, “Are you sure I can’t get you something?”
“I don’t believe this is happening.”
“We’re a long way from certainty about how the finish line will look,” she warned. “You’ll probably be forced into some form of mediation. Which means compromise over reimbursing some part of the missing funds. Right now, it’s important you take this in stages. Be prepared for what may be a long haul.”
Ian took a long breath. It felt like steel bands had been released from his chest. “Okay.”
“First things first. We need to access your accounts, halt their pretense of stealing your home, and show these jokers they can’t railroad you into bankruptcy. But that, too, will take time.”
“How long?”
“Certainly a few weeks, possibly longer. Which brings up my next question. How will you make ends meet until your funds are freed up?” When Ian did not reply, she went on, “Do you intend to restart your career?”
“No.” He felt all the tumult rise until it threatened to cut off his air. “I need a break from the whirlwind my life’s become. Desperately.”
“Does that mean you wish to step away entirely from music?”
The internal turmoil only grew worse. “It’s all I know. All I have.” He swallowed, then corrected, “All I had.”
Megan spoke with the calm deliberation of a professional long accustomed to handling difficult issues. “Back to the key question. Until we can unfreeze your accounts, how will you live?”
“I haven’t thought that far ahead. I know it sounds silly, but all this has hit me so fast . . .”
“I imagine Sol will guarantee a loan, if that’s required.”
“No. No more debt. What about Amelia’s will?”
Megan hesitated, then replied carefully, “You probably don’t want to rely on your aunt to see you through this period.”
Ian pondered a long moment. “I suppose I could teach. To be honest, though, I’m not happy with the idea. I loathed most of my instructors.”
“So you are not intending to back away entirely from your music. Is that what I’m hearing?”
“I can’t. Not and eat.”
“In that case, I wonder if you’d allow me to suggest an alternative.”
“Absolutely.”
Megan rose to her feet. “Why don’t we shift this over to our conference room?”
They emerged from the office to find the young man pacing the reception area, typing into his phone as he walked. Regina smiled at Ian and said, “Danny, dear, you can stop sweating now.”
Danny’s head popped up. He stowed the phone and bounded over. “Did he agree?”
“Danny, no, of course not. I haven’t even asked . . .” Megan swatted at the young man’s shoulder. “Can you dial it down a notch?”
He started to reply, then noticed Regina’s grin. “Nice to know I’m entertaining somebody here.”
“Isn’t that your job? You being the big-time Hollywood producer and all.” The receptionist shooed them away. “Go play nice.”
Megan ushered them into a smallish chamber holding a pale-wood oval table and six chairs. When they were seated, she started, “Danny is a producer of medium-budget films. He has a problem—”
“Call it what it is.” Danny jerked his chair in tight little quarter circles, a drumbeat of nerves. “We’re in total crisis mode.”
“His current project is for CBS—”
“Correction. The CBS subsidiary Paramount Plus.”
“Excuse me. Who’s talking here?”
“It doesn’t do us any good if you tell it wrong.” But they were both smiling now. “Is it my turn yet?”
“Go ahead, then.” She pretended irritation. “I’ll be ready to interject when and where required.”
“Thank you so very not at all.” To Ian, he said, “We’ve been shooting a mystery romance in Vancouver. Which ran over time and over budget. First time that’s ever happened to me.”
“An old-fashioned flu bug swept through the shoot like Armageddon,” Megan said. “Except for the lad here. Who stayed irritatingly healthy throughout.”
“Too busy to get sick,” Danny replied. “The problem is, we’re pushing to meet a fixed airdate. Edits were going solid. Rough cut approved by the studio.”
“When disaster chapter two struck,” Megan said.
“Three days ago, our music director was felled by a heart attack.”
“He’s okay,” Megan said. “Which is a true relief. He’s a wonderful man. And a friend. But he’s almost eighty, so it gave us all a terrible scare.”
Danny continued, “The problem is, if I tell the studio, they’ll send in one of their in-house guys.”
“Totally last century,” Megan said. “Danny calls their idea of a good score ‘creamed strings.’”
“Think Lawrence Welk with attitude,” Danny said. “Thanks to our guy, we already have the primary musical elements in place. The opening score is completed, plus five great songs that perfectly suit the key scenes. Mostly old hits redone in a modern style. All unplugged. By that, I mean no electronic—”
“I know what unplugged means,” Ian said.
“Right. Sure. What we don’t want is the CBS idea of how to score the bridges, the spans joining the major musical moments.”
“Danny fears their replacement would serve up a huge helping of musical glop,” Megan said. “And because it’s okayed by his bosses, he’d have no choice but to use the mess.”
“The story’s pacing is very sparse, very light,” Danny said. “The music needs to match this.”
“It’s already a beautiful film,” Megan added. “When I saw the rough cut, I cried.”
“What we need are those musical bridges,” Danny said. “We’d like to have five, ideally six, but we can work with three. Link the story’s key moments where the anchor melodies play out. Amplify the tempo of these lesser scenes.”
“I know this is not what you were expecting,” Megan said. “If you need time—”
“I’ll do it.” Ian had no idea how he felt about the task itself. But against his own financial vacuum was Danny’s desperate urgency and Megan’s deep concern. This woman who wanted to take on his case. The man she clearly loved. They needed him.
Doing the right thing for his newfound allies was the perfect reason to agree.
Not to mention how he would be spared the need to teach.
The couple took an almost easy breath.
Danny said, “I can pay you six thousand dollars for each segment that we use. I know it’s not much, but that’s what we’ve budgeted—”
“Excuse me,” Megan snapped. “My client will receive ten thousand. Whether you use the segment or not.”
Danny looked horrified. “You know I can’t do that.”
“You are asking Ian Hart to help you out in a crisis,” Megan replied. “You can do it, and you will.”
“Megan—”
“Plus residuals.”
“What happened to protecting the interests of your client the over-budget producer?”
“You’re not my client anymore. I warned you when I accepted this little item.” She wiggled the finger holding a diamond ring. “You’re Sonya’s problem now.”
Danny leaned back. “I actually don’t know what to say.”
“Then we’re in agreement?”
“Seven.”
“Nine.”
“Eight, and that’s final.”
“Eight per each segment you ask him to work through. What you use in the film’s final cut does not enter into this discussion. He gets paid for each segment that you record.” She held up her hand. “If Ian’s music doesn’t suit you, you can stop after the first track. Which we know won’t happen. Plus residuals. And that is final.”
“You are the absolute toughest negotiator I’ve ever had to deal with.” Danny tried for a glare, but his grin broke through. “I agree. But only if we can start this afternoon.”