30. The seeds of fortune
THE SEEDS OF FORTUNE
S pring finished the last interview for the morning and stepped into the hallway, camera tucked under her arm, mic wire still warm against her fingers. She exhaled. She kept looking for him. But he wasn’t around.
He could be busy. Yeah. he’s working.
The kiss hadn’t been discussed – which meant it was being discussed internally by both of them.
She told herself it was childish. They were adults. Grown. Professional. People who handled complicated things for a living. Still, there was something about unfinished moments that turned even competent people into ghosts, slipping past each other in corridors, pretending timing was the issue.
She thought about the interview. B-roll. Ambient sound. Transition shots. Anything but him .
“Excuse me… it’s Nairobi, right?”
The voice stopped her mid-step. It was familiar but out of place.
She turned to meet the face of the voice and was instantly caught off guard. “Tay… Tatum, yes?”
It took her half a second to place him – not because he looked different, but because he looked exactly the same. Same easy posture. Same quiet confidence that felt practiced without being forced. Same face that had once held her attention for an entire night and then… didn’t.
“Wow,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
He smiled, just a little. “I came to meet Preston. I’ve been wanting to work with him for a while, and he finally called.”
She nodded awkwardly and glanced down the hallway, like the past might still be standing there waiting to be acknowledged. There was nothing to talk about, but still he persisted. “Listen, about the night we met, I just wanted?—”
“Believe me, it’s fine. I didn’t leave that night ’cause I was mad, I left because I know complicated when I see it. Hell, I’m living it as we speak.”
“You mean Preston. So the rumors about working with him are true?” Tatum asked.
Spring shook her head dismissively “No, nothing like that. I meant my life.”
“Okay.” Silence filled the room again.
Spring blinked and decided to switch the subject. “So, whatever happened to that girl you were with that night?”
He opened his mouth to answer when?—
“Hey.”
Preston stepped out of the studio, towel over his shoulder, voice still rough from rehearsal.
The air shifted.
Tatum turned first. “What’s up, man?”
They clasped hands, the kind of greeting men used when there’s respect but no intimacy yet. Preston smiled, genuine but guarded. “Didn’t know y’all knew each other,” he said, glancing between them.
Spring felt the moment get dense for a moment.
Tatum laughed once, awkward. “Yeah, uh?—”
“We’ve met,” Spring said lightly, stepping in before whatever version of his story tried to take shape. “A while ago.”
Preston raised an eyebrow. “That so?”
Tatum nodded. “Random night out. Music. Chaos.” He shrugged. “You know how it goes.”
He started to say more – about that girl, about the way things spiraled, about the part that always came out wrong when a voice cut through the air?—
“Studio’s ready,” Talia’s voice called from inside, cutting clean through the moment.
Saved by bad timing.
Preston gestured toward the door. “You good to get started?”
Tatum nodded immediately. “Yeah. Let’s work.” He paused, turned back to Spring. “It was good seeing you.”
“Yeah,” she said. “You too.”
He disappeared into the studio.
Preston lingered for half a beat, eyes flicking to her. “You good?”
She nodded. “Always.”
They stood there, the space between them doing too much talking.
He finally stepped back inside without pressing it.
Spring watched the door close.
She shook her head quietly to herself.
This is ridiculous, she thought. We’re adults.
But as she lifted the camera again and moved down the hall for her next shot, she knew the truth: Some people from your past don’t come back to reopen doors. They come back to remind you which ones never really closed.
And right now, she was standing in a hallway full of them.
She took the long way back to the front of Preston’s house. She hadn’t really explored it since she’d been in town. Preston had done well for himself, and it showed.
The house unfolded in quiet luxury – wide plank floors that softened each step, framed records and platinum plaques lining the walls beside abstract art that probably cost more than her first apartment.
Tall windows let the late afternoon light spill across marble surfaces and dark wood accents, everything curated but lived in.
Another hallway. Quieter, older lighting, not ideal for cameras. That’s when she saw them at the far end: her father and Mack.
Ralph stood rigid, shoulders tight, one hand braced against the wall like he was holding himself in place. Mack, on the other hand, was animated – hands moving, jaw working, pacing a small half-circle like a man who believed motion could bend outcomes.
Spring slowed. She couldn’t hear their words, but she didn’t need to. This wasn’t casual.
She watched long enough to catch the rhythm of it: Mack leaning in, her father holding his ground. Mack smiling without warmth, her father not smiling at all.
Then Mack’s eyes lifted straight to her.
For half a second, nobody moved.
Then Mack reached around and closed the door firmly.
Spring stared at the door. The audacity landed first. Then the anger. She didn’t knock. She opened it.
The room snapped to attention.
Mack spun, irritation flashing before he smoothed it out. “I closed the door for a reason.”
She stepped inside anyway. “Yeah. I want to know what that reason is.” Mack looked startled. Then chuckled. He turned to her father,
“Ralph, I’m really disappointed in you. You should’ve been putting more belt to ass in your house.”
Her father turned sharply. “Nairobi?—”
“Dad, if this involves my career, I need to know.”
Mack exhaled through his nose and laughed once, humorless. “Ralph, you better get your daughter.”
She didn’t even look at her father. “Or what?”
That did it.
Mack stepped toward her, posture tall, controlled, dangerous in the way men get when they’re not used to being challenged by someone who won’t back up.
She didn’t move.
“Let me tell you something, little girl, that I’ve been trying my damnedest to communicate: I am not yo’ daddy. You need to find another sandlot to play in.”
“You may have everybody else fooled,” she said calmly, voice steady in a way that surprised even her, “but I know what you are.”
Mack stopped directly in front of her. His smile came back, but it wasn’t friendly now. It was thin, calculated. “Well,” he said quietly, “if that were true, you’d tread a little more lightly.”
Her father moved between them immediately. “That’s enough,” Ralph said, firmly. “Both of you.”
Mack held Spring’s gaze over her father’s shoulder, eyes dark with something unreadable.
She didn’t look away. Not because she wasn’t afraid – but because she knew this moment mattered, and she needed to document it for herself.
Whatever was happening here, whatever they were hiding behind closed doors, it wasn’t small. And Mack knew she’d seen enough to be dangerous.
Her father turned to her, voice lower now. “Spring. This isn’t the place.”
She finally looked at him then. And in his eyes, she saw it. Not guilt or fear, but concern.
Which somehow made it worse.
She nodded once, slow. “We’re not done.”
Mack smiled again, already reclaiming the room. “No,” he said smoothly. “I don’t think we are.”
Spring turned and walked out. The door closed behind her – this time by her choice.
Her boots hit the floor harder than necessary as she moved down the hallway, heat climbing her spine. She didn’t look back, but she heard him anyway – her father’s footsteps quickening, the familiar cadence of a man who knew when he was losing ground.
“Spring, wait.”
She spun before he could touch her. “So you and Mack are still thick as thieves, I see.” The words came out sharp, but not loud. Controlled, dangerous.
Ralph stopped short and took a breath, raising his hands in protest. “It’s not like that.”
She laughed once, dry. “That’s funny, because it looks exactly like that.”
He rubbed his face, his beard graying well past the man that raised her, the gesture tired, older than she remembered. “He’s in trouble,” he said finally. “Real trouble.”
That caught her.
She folded her arms. “What kind of trouble?”
“Debt,” he said.
“We know that part already, Dad.”
“No, you don’t understand, it’s a lot more than that.
He really bet on himself, and he bet big.
He put it all on Preston – on the comeback, the catalog, the whole thing.
He took out a loan for Townes Records’ entire catalog.
The rates are aggressive; he has fifteen days to make a payment or show proof of concept, and so far Preston doesn’t even have a single. ”
The words hit heavy.
Her brow creased. “So you’re saying that if he bombs, Preston is not only ten million dollars in debt, but Mack loses the entire record company?”
“Not just the company. They lose everything. We’re talking weeks.
I was telling him this was a mistake, but he did it because he believes in Preston.
They may not look like a traditional family, but Mack has been there.
He wants to revive Townes Records,” her father continued.
“Get Talia back in the studio. Remaster ‘Kiss in the Springtime’. He has this grand vision of being the Motown of the south. And he truly believes Preston can turn everything around.”
Spring stared at him. “You’re saying all this like it’s noble.”
“I’m saying he’s desperate,” Ralph replied. “And when men are desperate, they don’t always move clean. But his faith in Preston? That part is real.”
She looked away, biting the inside of her cheek to feel something. She hated the way her dad could explain the truth and could still be holding a lie. “And you just happen to be around all the time because… what? You’re his consigliere now?”
His voice softened. “Because it’s the only time I see you.”
That stopped her cold.
He took a cautious step closer. “When you do stay over, you come home late. You go straight to your room. You eat out. You’re always working, and I’m ok with that, but lately, this place feels just like the Airbnb you got to get away from me.”
“It’s not like that, Dad, I just?—”
“It’s fine, I get it. Really, I do. I just… want to see my daughter… and I’ll take that any way I can.”
The edge in her chest shifted, dulled.
She exhaled slowly. “That doesn’t give you the right to keep things from me.”
“I wasn’t trying to. Besides, when would you have given me the time?” he said. “Truth is, I didn’t think it mattered – until it did.”
She shook her head. “That’s always your line. You lie by omission and call it protection.”
He didn’t argue. Instead, he said quietly, “I know you don’t trust Mack. I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to understand the pressure he’s under – and the pressure Preston’s under because of it.”
“Does Preston know?”
“No, and Mack doesn’t want him to. ‘Grown folks business’, as he likes to call it.”
She met his eyes again, searching. “And you?” she asked. “Where do you land in all this?”
He hesitated just long enough for her to notice. “I’m trying to keep people from burning everything down,” he said. “Including you.”
She studied him, then nodded once. Not agreement – acknowledgment. “Next time,” she said evenly, “you don’t shut me out. Especially when it’s this close to my work. And my life.”
“I hear you,” he said.
She stepped back, distance reclaimed but not severed. “Good.” Then, quieter – guard still up, but heart cracking just enough to let it through, “I’m not a kid anymore, Dad.”
“I know,” he said. “That’s why I’m scared.”
She didn’t respond to that.
She turned and walked away again, slower this time.
And behind her, Ralph stood still, realizing too late that the girl who used to need shielding had grown into a woman who saw straight through walls.
Spring waited until she was alone before calling Rae.
She didn’t pace this time. Didn’t spiral. She sat on the edge of the bed, phone pressed to her ear, staring at nothing in particular.
“I don’t trust Mack,” she said the second Rae answered.
Rae was quiet for a moment. “Okay.”
“And I don’t trust his relationship with my dad,” Spring added. “I need you to dig into the contracts again. Everything. I don’t care if it looks clean on the surface – look underneath it.”
Rae exhaled slowly. “I can do that. But before I do… what’s this really about?”
Spring closed her eyes. “I want to believe him,” she said.
“I want to believe all of them. I want this to just be business and timing and bad luck and not… something else. But every time I start to settle into that,” Spring continued, “something feels off. Like I’m standing in a room where the furniture’s been moved just enough to trip me if I stop paying attention. ”
Rae hummed. “That’s not paranoia. That’s pattern recognition.”
Spring laughed softly. “You always say that like it’s comforting.”
“It is,” Rae said. “You’ve grown. And if you’ve grown, he has too. People don’t stay frozen in the versions we loved – or feared.”
“That’s the problem,” Spring said. “When it comes to my dad – hell, any of them – I don’t know which version I’m dealing with.”
Another pause from Rae. Then: “I’ll dig. I’ll take my time and I’ll be thorough. But Spring, promise me something.”
“What?”
“Don’t let suspicion replace conversation. Get your facts, yes. But don’t disappear into your head while everyone else keeps moving.”
Spring nodded, even though Rae couldn’t see her. “I hear you,” she said. And she meant it.
They hung up, and the quiet that followed felt different. Clear.
Spring sat there a moment longer, breathing evenly, letting the edge dull just enough.
Whatever this was – whatever it turned out to be – she wasn’t chasing ghosts.
She was following the truth.