24. Cut at the stem #3
Mack laughed from the other side of the room, pouring himself another drink, like this was a writers’ room instead of a reckoning.
“See?” he said easily. “I told y’all. I’m not a cartoon villain twirling my mustache, and just because you have issues with your daddy doesn’t mean everyone is out to get everybody. ”
Spring didn’t smile. The words cut deep.
She glanced at Preston, who shifted in a way that indicated he might agree with Mack’s words. She didn’t bother to look at Rae; she knew where she stood. “Then help me understand,” she said calmly, “how a globally recognizable artist with a back catalog that still charts is functionally cash-poor.”
He looked at Preston. “Your mom’s masters.” The room shifted. He turned to Talia. “‘Kiss in the Springtime’,” Mack added, gently now, “you own it again.”
The towel slipped from her hands. “I—what?”
Mack nodded. “Masters came through last quarter. Clean transfer.”
For a moment, she didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Then her hand went to her mouth, eyes filling before she could stop it. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “Preston…”
She crossed the room and pulled him into a hug that was all shaking shoulders and years of swallowed disappointment. “Baby, do you know what that means?”
He hugged her back, stunned. “I didn’t even know.”
“You didn’t have to, that was grown-folk business, and she deserved them.
But you know what that deal cost,” Mack continued.
“Your mom signed one of those ‘congratulations, you’re talented – now give us your soul’ contracts in the nineties.
Same ones they were handing out like mixtapes.
No reversion clause. No leverage. Just vibes and exploitation. ”
Rae nodded on screen. “Those contracts were criminal.”
“Exactly. You know that rule A Tribe Called Quest gave us about the music business, industry rule number four-thousand-and-eighty?”
“Record company people are shady,” Preston chimed in.
“The more successful you got, the higher the asking price for the masters,” Mack said. “So, I bet heavy. I wanted to fix it, and it backfired.”
Spring’s pen stilled.
“I went into debt,” Mack went on, almost proudly. “Heavy debt. Because buying those masters back wasn’t cheap. Labels don’t let go of golden chains easily.”
Preston frowned. “You never said?—”
“I didn’t need to,” Mack cut in smoothly. “Again, that was grown-folk business.”
Spring finally looked up. “And while you were doing that, Preston took a hiatus.”
Mack smiled. “See? You’re quick.”
Rae leaned closer to her screen. “No touring revenue. No album cycle. No merch push.”
“And then,” Mack added, softer now, “Cameron died.”
The name landed hard.
“The label wanted their money back,” Mack said. “All of it, immediately. Death clauses are a motherfucker. That’s on me, and I’ll make sure that every deal from here on out, for all my artists, have that clause waived.”
Spring’s expression hardened. “So, you floated the debt.”
“I carried it,” Mack corrected. “Eight figures deep.”
Rae whistled low. “Ten million.”
Mack raised his glass again. “And counting.”
Preston stood abruptly. “You let us think?—”
“I let you live, Superstar,” Mack snapped, then softened just as fast. “You think the industry waits patiently while artists grieve? While they ‘find themselves’? Go on sabbaticals. When you first told me that word, I had to look it up. Shit, Black men don’t take sabbaticals.
Hell, I just loved seeing you have one.”
Spring spoke carefully. “So, the contracts are legal.”
“Painfully,” Mack said. “Everything signed. Everything clean. I’m not the one using the baby oil in this situation.”
“But the operation is bleeding,” Rae added. “Which means pressure.”
Mack pointed at the screen. “Bingo.”
Spring exhaled slowly. “This wasn’t theft. It wasn’t sabotage.”
“A trap built from good intentions and bad timing.” Mac said. “It’s why I’ve been pushing for you to get back in the studio. We need you, P, all of us. Including Nairobi over there.”
Spring cocked her head. Before she could ask, Mack continued.
“I did my own snoopin’, made a few phone calls after our chat the other day.
You’re not getting funded, even if you give them the greatest documentary you’ve ever made in your life.
They want you to make it on Cameron, as is their right.
His single ‘Soul Searchin’ is the number one hit on Billboard right now. ”
She was surprised by his words. “You went behind my back and?—”
“You really going to try to stand on that moral high ground now?” Mack scoffed as she rolled her eyes.
“Point taken. But I’m not making a documentary on Cameron.”
“As is your right. But that’s their terms. Have your girl confirm this for yourself if you don’t believe me.” He put his glasses back on and took a sip of his drink.
Spring could tell by his confidence he wasn’t lying. “Assuming I believe your plan.”
“What we have here is an opportunity to kill all the birds with the same stone. Don’t do your documentary on Cameron, do it on Preston.”
Her mouth dropped wide open. “Absolutely not.”
“The way I see it: he needs the money, you need a documentary, and Talia needs to reclaim her voice. We drop one album, put ‘Kiss in the Springtime’ on there as a lead to Preston’s next work.
You’re documenting it all. maybe helping him with some of the public perception he’s been fighting since he’s been on sabbatical.
Everyone gets what they need. And ‘Kiss in the Springtime’?
” Mack went on. “Could live in the film. Full-circle moment. And if we’re talking album rollout…
” He smiled at Preston’s mother. “Why not let you open a few dates? Just the early shows. Houston. Atlanta.”
Her breath hitched. “You think people would want that?”
Mack shrugged. “People love a comeback. And whether the world likes it or not, there’s no denying the boy can sing.”
Spring studied Mack as he continued his spiel. Every line was perfect. Logical. Emotional. Clean.
Too clean.
This was how he worked; she realized that now. Not by force, but by offering exactly what everyone needed most, and making it feel inevitable.
Legacy. Healing. Visibility.
A trap wrapped in gratitude.
Preston was smiling, still processing. His mother was wiping tears, laughing softly through disbelief. Mack stood between them like a bridge.
The plan was flawless, too good, as if he’d been planning this since she first found out about losing the funding for her project. There was a part of her that knew deep down he was right about it all.
“And you’re okay with this being documented?” she asked.
Mack’s smile returned – wide, charismatic, dangerous.
He tilted his gold framed shades down his nose.
“Sweetheart, money problems don’t scare me.
Exposure does. That’s why we gotta control the narrative.
If we do this right, the only Ushers and Confessions people gonna be talking about is the ones at church. ”
Preston looked to Spring. “You in?”
She met his gaze, steady. “I don’t walk away once I see the shape of the truth,” she said. “And this,” she gestured between them all, “explains everything.”
Mack chuckled. “Told you she was dangerous.”
Spring didn’t blink. She said nothing. She just filed the moment away.
Because the thing about good con men wasn’t that they lied. It was that they told the truth in a way that made you forget to ask why now.
And Macknificent Townes was very, very good at timing.
He turned to her, still smiling, like he’d just won the lottery. “So, we got a deal?” Mack asked.
“I’m in,” she said. “Let’s start filming.”