Chapter 32 You’re a Gamble and I’m All In
You're a Gamble and I'm All In
RIFF
Harmony’s right; this isn’t about me or anyone else at Glambam, it’s about her. Which means that she’s the one FM Sound is going to be watching—not me.
If there is a mole at Glambam, they’re likely watching her to see if she tries to pull any tricks last minute. Thus, I don’t imagine it will raise any suspicions if I request a meeting with Charles to (allegedly) discuss final comments on my album before the release date.
Once I’m in his office, I hit him with the whole blackmail problem before he even says good morning.
“I’m sorry,” he says blinking. “This happened … when?”
“Two days ago. At the Blue Wave Media Summit.”
“This woman just … approached Harmony at the bar,” he recaps.
“Yeah. Who knows how long she was lurking, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. Harmony was hardly alone for a minute all day except for a break in the early afternoon, but Dana couldn’t exactly follow her to her room—and a staged elevator run-in wouldn’t have been long enough.
The bar was an ideal setting, at the end of a long string of events when Harmony was tired and more vulnerable.
This is someone who does this kind of thing all the time. ”
“Well, we can’t let FM Sound get away with this,” says Charles.
“That’s what I said too. Harmony is concerned though; Dana told her if there’s any hint of her seeking legal advice, everything goes public.”
“Our attorneys know how to handle matters like these. We can do it securely.”
“Good, because I’ve procured a few pieces of evidence that might be of use.”
We meet with a woman named Rhiannon at the law firm’s satellite office on Wilshire.
It looks like any other generic office building, one of those blocky things with mirrored windows from the ground up, full of suites rented out by a lot of companies at once.
Subtle as it already is on the outside, it doesn’t have anything telling on the office door either, no “Law Offices of Tom, Dick, and Harry” type signs, no “Justice Group” or “Corporate Advisors” or anything like that.
Just “Suite 452,” and frosted glass on the door panels and windows.
Charles told all his assistants he’d be out with his wife for lunch, and I’m supposed to be going over my release party look with my stylist. He and I connected in the lobby and came up together.
The office is polished but unremarkable.
Muted tones, industrial carpet, generic abstract art.
Charles explained that some law offices have places like these specifically for this purpose—when clients fear retaliation for seeking legal advice.
In case they’re followed, it won’t be obvious where they are, even should someone get a glimpse at the furniture or the people inside.
That said, Rhiannon could easily be a realtor in her slacks and fitted sweater, if I didn’t know better.
Without any ado at all, Charles gives her a concise explanation of what we’re dealing with. I fill in missing details and answer Rhiannon’s questions while she takes notes.
“You said you have some evidence?” Charles nudges me.
I slide over my phone with a video already keyed up on the screen.
The attorney raises an eyebrow. She presses play.
In the video, Dana Hatton takes Harmony behind a rack at Saks but the camera view follows them at a distance and shows Dana patting Harmony down. It’s zoomed in and a little blurry, but there’s no doubt who it is. Audio is muffled, but the words aren’t hard to make out.
“You think I’d be wearing a wire?” Harmony asks.
“You were so insistent about meeting in person. I have to make sure you’re not trying to do something stupid.”
There’s a little back and forth, and then Harmony gives a speech that I must have listened to a dozen times by now. She’s willing to give up her iconic first two albums for me, and she’s doing it with her head held high.
“I’m not ashamed of anything you have on me.
If it were up to me—if it were only my career on the line—this would be a non-issue.
I’ll be fine without the masters. I don’t need you, but you sure as hell need me, so badly that you had to blackmail me into letting you keep my work.
That’s pretty damn pathetic if you ask me.
It kind of seems like I’m not the real loser here today. ”
I’m so fucking proud of her.
That’s why I have to make sure FM Sound doesn’t touch her.
“How did you get this?” Rhiannon asks.
“Harmony and I shared our GPS locations with the each other a while back. She probably forgot I could still see where she was. When she left the morning after Dana’s threat, I wanted to be sure she was okay, so I kept an eye on her through the app.
And while it might have been logical to think she was just headed to Rodeo Drive for some retail therapy, she’s specifically mentioned hating that whole area.
Anyway, I happened to be somewhat close by after a meeting in Westfield, so I had my assistant drop me off so I could try to intercept.
In the time it took her to park and walk, I got there, followed her into Saks, and saw her with Dana … so I started filming.”
“That’s smart,” says Charles, “but I’m pretty sure this video is inadmissible in court. You can’t record without someone’s consent.”
“Audio,” Rhiannon clarified. “Videos are more easily admissible. We can’t use what was said but, being in a public place, there is no reasonable expectation of privacy as far as visual recordings go.”
I nod. “That’s what I was hoping. The way Dana is acting looks suspicious, especially the part where she checks Harmony for a wire. Why would she do that if she didn’t have something to hide?”
Rhiannon gives me a sympathetic smile. “It has implications, yes. This alone won’t be sufficient to make a case though.”
“There’s more,” I tell her. “I spoke to security at The Wentworth and they have footage of Harmony talking to Dana at the bar. It’s from one of their newer, hidden cameras, so Dana probably thought they were in a blind spot.
But it’s clear onscreen that Harmony is surprised by the encounter and in distress.
Dana even shows Harmony her phone displaying some of the blackmail documents, visible on video.
It’s too far away for any text to be clear, but it’s obvious that they’re screenshots. Which implies blackmail.”
“Okay,” Rhiannon says. “That does help.”
“I’ve also spoken to some of FM Sound’s former artists,” I say, “and at least three of them are willing to go on record about the label’s behavior.
Apparently this isn’t the first time FM Sound executives have resorted to coercion.
They've delayed royalty payments and withheld earned advances to keep artists quiet about shady contract terms, or to get them to drop disputes.
They've blacklisted talent for not cooperating. According to one artist, FM Sound has a pattern of leaking scandals as a form of punishment.”
Charles nods along. “That seems like enough info.”
“We can request voluntary production of the security footage,” Rhiannon tells us, “or at least submit a preservation letter. Between that and your video, plus the former artist statements and Harmony’s testimony—if you can get her to give one—we might have a case here.”
“I’m not trying to start a big court drama,” I clarify. “I mean, if FM Sound gets put on blast for their tactics down the line, that’s for the best. But right now, I just want Harmony in the clear.”
“My firm can review the evidence and, if everything checks out, we’ll do a hard cease and desist. A pre-litigation demand letter.
Basically we lay out the legal violations—extortion, blackmail, harassment, defamation—and summarize the nature of our evidence without revealing our full strategy.
That will put FM Sound on notice and also create a paper trail to prove they've been warned. It establishes intent, if they proceed to leak any documents. The leak would be reasonably attributable to them at that point.”
“But there’s no guarantee they’ll keep the documents to themselves,” says Charles.
“There’s never a guarantee,” Rhiannon replies, “but in cases like these, the aggressor often backs down. Extortionists act bold, but they're quite risk-averse. And pattern evidence terrifies them; you were right to look for that, Griffin.”
“Thanks.”
Charles folds his arms. “After the demand letter, we should also conduct an in-house investigation at Glambam. That could help us find the mole. I’m sure whoever’s been feeding information to Dana Hatton has a laptop full of damning emails.”
“Great idea,” says Rhiannon. “I’ll get on this and let you know where we stand as soon as I can.”
On the way back down to the lobby, I press the elevator button. “Thanks for doing this, by the way,” I tell Charles while we wait. “It means a lot that I could come to you for help.”
“My pleasure,” he says. “I know I’m tough on my artists sometimes, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. Believe it or not, I want you to succeed.”
“Oh I believe it …” The words slip out before I can stop them, and in a tone that isn’t exactly respectful.
He narrows his eyes. “You just don’t believe my want is … independent of my desire for financial gain.”
I don’t answer him.
The elevator doors part and we step in.
Charles huffs. “This is a business, Griffin.”
“Not a charity. I know.”
“But?”
I shrug as the doors close on us, and press the L button.
“Businesses are made up of people. Human beings. FM Sound, for example, treats its artists like parts in a machine—to be bent and greased at will. No one works well like that, and they definitely don’t feel loyal to some evil overlord who wants to wring out every last drop of their usefulness.
You know when people do work well? When they’re happy.
When they’re not under constant pressure to operate like they don’t have feelings. ”
“Are you not happy?”