"Two thousand CDs sold out. My expectations for your market performance were still too conservative."
Inside the gang hideout on Chester Street, T-Ray stared at the piles of small bills covering the table, a greedy glint in his eyes.
The results of the autograph session had exceeded everyone's imagination. Not only did the CDs sell out completely, but even the cassette tapes were down to just a few hundred copies.
Even without a professional accountant, calculating the final sales figures was easy.
Two thousand CDs brought in $6,000, and cassette sales added another $7,400.
Word was that because stock was running low, many fans who missed the signing were desperate to buy the CD. Chain record store owners were already begging T-Ray to increase the print run.
"So... can we split the money now?"
Leon stared at the cash from the side, sparks practically flying from his eyes.
According to the contract, he was entitled to 15% of sales plus 10% of royalties directly.
Combined, that was over $3,000—a huge sum for Leon, who had been struggling below the poverty line.
Instead of answering directly, T-Ray took his time puffing on his cigar. "You want to split the money now? Are you joking, bro?"
"My investment in you goes way beyond this number. Excluding printing costs and taxes, I still need about ten grand to break even."
Leon frowned. The situation was playing out exactly as he had feared.
When you partner with a gang, you have to be prepared for a breach of contract.
To these guys, most of whom probably dropped out of elementary school, a contract might be less valuable than toilet paper.
Leon sighed, stared straight at T-Ray, and enunciated clearly: "Fk you, nr."
"What did you say?!"
In the Black community, calling each other "nr" wasn't a big deal, but that privilege was strictly limited to those with the "Black Gold" skin.
They had plenty of insulting nicknames for other races, but nobody else was allowed to use the N-word on them.
T-Ray had tolerated Leon using "nr" casually before, but adding "Fk you" in front of it? That was a naked provocation.
Seeing his boss insulted, Big Martin, T-Ray's bodyguard, immediately stepped forward, glaring at Leon with eyes the size of eggs.
Stared down by this 6'3" beast, Leon didn't seem panicked at all. He waved his hand dismissively. "Don't look at me like that, man. You look like you're in love with me."
Big Martin was instantly enraged, raising a fist ready to teach this guy a lesson.
"Stop!"
Leon stayed calm, but T-Ray panicked, shouting to prevent the conflict from escalating further.
He narrowed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. "Bro, have we known each other so long that you forgot who I am? You seem a little short on respect..."
Leon was pissed off. He hadn't expected this fat gangster to start posturing now.
If the massive bodyguard hadn't been there, he would have loved to rush up and give T-Ray a Shoryuken right to the chin.
"You broke the agreement first. I don't need to respect you." Leon knocked on the table and said in a low voice, "You violated the sanctity of the contract. Our mutual respect is built on that piece of paper, isn't it?"
Leon had T-Ray figured out perfectly. Right now, he was T-Ray's cash cow. Even if he pushed it a little further, T-Ray wouldn't dare do anything to him.
The office fell into a long silence. T-Ray stared at Leon for a full minute before suddenly bursting into laughter.
"You really are a greedy bastard. Are you not even afraid of eating a bullet for this little bit of money?"
"I have to tell you, art is a business. Nobody accepts a loss..."
"But lucky for you, you scumbag actually have some value."
Saying this, T-Ray grabbed a stack of bills from the table. After counting out exactly $3,000, he tossed the money to Leon.
"Seems a few hundred short," Leon said, counting the cash again with a dissatisfied look.
"You seem to forget we have to pay taxes, white trash! I've been generous enough with you!"
Leon shrugged, looking noncommittal.
"I booked a very important gig for you. This Friday, you're performing at a nightclub in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn."
"This is crucial for your future record sales. The second batch is already being printed."
Hearing about the performance offer, Leon's eyes lit up. This meant he had truly become a singer.
Performing in American nightclubs wasn't just a quick cash grab. Many superstars chose to promote their songs in clubs at the start of their careers, especially luxury venues with famous DJs.
The spending in these places was insane—tabs could easily run into the tens of thousands.
These weren't places the middle class could afford. The clientele was either trust fund kids, sports stars, or entertainment execs.
If Take Me to Church could succeed in an influential club, the song's popularity would skyrocket.
Once it blew up in one club, others would follow suit.
And clubs had to pay significant royalties to play these songs.
Of course, compared to that, Leon was more interested in the second print run. The only data that truly reflected a singer's market influence was record sales!
"Ten thousand CDs, one thousand cassettes."
The number genuinely surprised Leon. If he were releasing an album instead of a single, sales from this batch of CDs alone could bring in over a million dollars!
Printing only a thousand cassettes showed that T-Ray had finally wised up.
Before, to save costs and avoid risk, he had chosen to print a large number of cassettes—a product eliminated by the times.
Judging by Leon's current popularity, that worry was completely unnecessary.
After the money was split, the tension in the room visibly relaxed, and the air filled with a cheerful vibe.
suddenly, T-Ray's expression changed. "Have you thought about the management contract and the record label deal?"
"I'm still thinking about it."
"Stop thinking about it, dammit. You're going to have a steady stream of gigs from now on. Don't try to play me, white trash!"
T-Ray flipped faster than turning a page in a book, constantly pressuring Leon.
For Friday's commercial performance, since there was no manager involved, legally the earnings should go entirely to the copyright holder and performer of Take Me to Church.
However, T-Ray forcefully took a 30% cut as a "middleman fee."
For someone as money-hungry as Leon, this was unacceptable, but T-Ray was incredibly tough on this issue.
Either accept it, or don't get a single cent.
Although Leon was grinding his teeth in anger, he had no choice but to accept.
"This is the last time."
leaving Chester Street, Leon seemed to have made up his mind.
He pulled out his phone and dialed Phil. "This Friday, I'm doing my first public performance at the Starry Night Club in Sheepshead Bay."
"After the show, the second batch of records will officially hit the market."
"Proceed according to the plan."
On the other end of the line, Phil let out a weird noise of excitement. "Let's do something big together!"
"Trust me, we're going to have it all!"