Lex was working inside the home office. A half-finished cup of coffee sat beside him, forgotten as he typied up his spreadsheets.
He was working off the days frustration.
Preparing his next move.
Soon, Bear Stearns would announce that its two subprime hedge funds had lost almost everything.
The market wouldn't react immediately. But the cracks were forming, and once they spidered through the foundation, the whole thing would come crashing down.
Lex tapped at his keyboard, setting up a series of short positions.
The market was still blind.
But Lex?
Lex saw the wreckage coming.
His phone buzzed.
Benny C.
Lex let it ring twice before answering, keeping his voice casual. "Tell me you're not calling for more money."
Benny's laugh rattled through the receiver. "Relax, Latham. This isn't a shakedown. I've actually got good news for once."
Lex leaned back in his chair, amused. "That's a first. Let's hear it."
"We've got the name locked in, and we already started filming."
Lex raised an eyebrow. "That fast?"
"Time is money, boss," Benny said, smug. "Rented a small studio near your place. Your accountant suggested it—some old soundstage barely anyone uses. Cheap, quiet, no distractions."
Lex smirked. "Didn't take Sam long to start making himself useful."
"Kid's sharp, I'll give him that." Benny's tone shifted slightly. "You're invited to the set, by the way. Figured you'd want to see where your money's going."
Lex glanced at the clock. "I'll drop by later. Try not to burn through my budget before I get there."
Benny chuckled. "No promises, Latham."
Lex glanced at his watch. "Alright, Benny. You're moving fast. But that's not why you called, is it?"
Benny's tone shifted, dropping the usual sarcasm."Ever heard of 'The Black Wall'?"
Lex frowned. "Sounds like a metal band."
Benny chuckled. "It's not. It's a script. Been floating around for a while—no one's had the guts to take it on. Too expensive, too ambitious, too… well, cursed."
Lex raised an eyebrow. "Cursed?"
"Cursed as in two studios tried to finance it and backed out halfway. Director quit. One of the producers went bankrupt. It's one of those projects everyone whispers about but won't touch."
Lex smirked faintly. "Sounds like exactly the kind of thing I'd be interested in."
"Yeah, I figured." Benny's voice sharpened. "Listen, Jason Wilde's got his hands on it now. He's been trying to pull funding, but no one's biting. Thought of you."
Lex tapped his pen against his desk. "What's the story?"
"Psychological thriller," Benny said, voice edged with excitement. "Set in the 1930s, during the construction of a high-rise in Manhattan. Workers start disappearing, accidents pile up, and the lead—a young architect—uncovers that something sinister's built into the foundation. Think The Shining meets There Will Be Blood with really good music."
Lex leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing. A period thriller with psychological horror? Risky, sure. But done right, it could be a game-changer.
"How much does Wilde need?"
"Five million. Minimum," Benny said. "But here's the kicker—the leads aren't locked down. Wilde's been in talks with two actors. One's an up-and-coming Broadway star. The other? Someone he won't name yet, but it's a musician looking to break into film."
Lex's interest sharpened. A musician crossing into acting meant free press. Buzz. An audience that already existed.
"And you're sure this isn't another dead project?" Lex asked.
"Wilde says it's ready to roll. He asked me to help. He needs someone with cash and… let's say, less studio interference."
There it was. The real leverage.
Studios always had their hands in everything—notes, rewrites, casting vetoes. If Lex jumped in now, he'd get full creative control.
Lex glanced at the window, past the glass corridors of Maddox Holdings.
Barnie's silhouette stood in the distance, back turned, oblivious.
Lex smirked.
"Where's Wilde now?"
"Probably at his studio making music, a full time producer that one." Benny replied. "Wants to meet tomorrow. I told him you'd show if you were interested."
Lex glanced at the time, then smirked. "I'm free now. If he wants to talk face-to-face, we can play ball."
There was a pause, then a rustling sound on Benny's end. "Hold up."
Lex could hear muffled voices—Benny talking to someone, then footsteps. A few seconds later, Benny came back.
"Alright, Wilde's in. Sending you the address now."
Lex's phone vibrated. A new message popped up.
"By the theaters, a block from your place."
Lex grabbed his coat, slipping it on with practiced ease. "I'll be there in fifteen."
"Try not to scare him off, Latham."
Lex chuckled, stepping out the door. "No promises."
As he walked out to the spot, his mind turned over the real opportunity.
A musician trying to break into acting.
That meant headlines. A built-in audience. But more importantly, it meant music rights.
The streaming era was coming. Within a few years, platforms like Spotify and Apple Music would dominate the industry. And when that happened, music catalogs would be worth millions—billions.
Right now? They were cheap.
Artists from the '70s, '80s, and '90s were sitting on catalogs they didn't realize would explode in value. Labels held rights to entire discographies, but the payout structures were outdated, built for CD sales, not digital streaming.
Lex had read the headlines before his death—Springsteen selling his catalog for half a billion. Dylan for 300 million. Even smaller artists were pulling eight-figure deals.
Right now? He could get those same catalogs for pennies.
And if this mystery musician was anyone worth knowing, their network could open the door to even bigger deals.
A cursed film. A rising musician.
A golden era of streaming just around the corner.
This wasn't just about another movie.
This was about owning the soundtracks of the future.