"Why?"
Phil stood frozen in place like a Roman pillar.
Having scrapped and clawed in this industry for thirty years, he had seen this movie too many times.
Backstabbed by his wife, backstabbed by Epic Records, and now, backstabbed by the rising star he personally pulled out of the gutter.
Phil felt numb from all the stabbing.
A burning sensation crawled up from his alcohol-ravaged stomach, feeling like someone had stubbed out a cheap cigarette right in his gut.
"This is Marco." Leon waved his hand, signaling a young white guy to come over. "He used to do marketing for the Kardashian family. Kim's current 'independent woman' image? That was his idea. Brilliant kid."
Marco extended a friendly hand toward Phil, showing zero nervousness.
Before Keeping Up with the Kardashians aired in 2007, the family business was in a slump.
After he successfully rebranded Kim and landed her a ton of commercial endorsements, he was kicked to the curb due to disputes over profit distribution.
"Get lost!" Phil swatted Marco's hand away, turning his head to unleash full firepower on Leon. "Fxxk you, you bastard! Listen, Leon, I'm the one who took you from singing for pocket change in subway stations to the Grammy podium! Without me, you'd still be busting your ass for $15 a night!"
"Listen to me—"
"You're scum who's going to hell!"
Phil was spraying spit in his rage, deaf to any human language.
Leon had to shut up and watch the performance, genuinely worried the old guy might miss a breath and go meet God right then and there.
It took about two minutes for Phil to wind down, his eyes bloodshot.
"Can you listen to me now?" Leon asked calmly. "You know our management contract is about to expire, right?"
"These greenhorns with zero experience are going to ruin your career... they don't even know how to spell 'Record Label'..." Phil's voice was hoarse, but he didn't forget to keep throwing shade.
"You're right~ You might be greedy and shameless... but when it comes to ability, you're better than any of them," Leon said, scanning the five young people behind him.
"Save the sweet talk. You sound as ridiculous as someone holding a carving knife at Thanksgiving while paying tribute to Native Americans."
"I'm saying you can teach these young kids. They're going to be your people from now on."
"What are you talking about?" Phil's eyes widened, his volume jumping an octave.
"You will be in charge of this new company. Apocalypse Management."
Amidst Phil's look of disbelief, Leon took ten minutes to outline his vision for the new company.
For a record label, the power of a manager is no less important than copyright ownership.
A manager doesn't just handle commercial gigs and arrange valuable events; their personal resources often determine the height of an artist's career.
Because of this, there are countless examples of managers using their resources to hold singers hostage.
For a record label, this is an X-factor.
Especially singers who let their parents or siblings be their managers—that gives record labels massive headaches.
They always stir up drama.
Leon fiddled with his Knicks championship ring as he spoke:
"After this company is established, you will still fully exercise my managerial powers... but the contract can only be signed under this new company's name."
This decision was largely based on Luca's legal advice.
As Leon's manager, Phil's financial interests would remain almost unaffected in the new contract—in fact, they might even increase slightly.
He would not only benefit from Leon's commercial performances but also get a cut of the new company's profits based on his performance.
But legally speaking, the managerial rights would belong to the company, not the individual.
Which meant they belonged entirely to the company's actual controller: Leon.
As a veteran manager, Phil could get a full cut from Leon's activities.
However, the newcomers wouldn't get such a sweet deal.
If Apocalypse Management signed Lil Durk later and assigned Marco to handle his bookings, Marco would only get a portion of the manager's cut.
The percentage couldn't be too low, or it would kill their motivation. Usually, 20% to 50% of the earnings would have to be turned over to the agency.
Hearing this, Phil finally got his emotions under control.
Phil's Management Agency was dead; in the future, he would be the head of Apocalypse Management.
No loss in income, but in terms of status, he was completely reduced to Leon's subordinate.
"This is totally unnecessary..." Phil was still stubborn, trying to make a last stand.
"It is absolutely necessary. I plan to sign Lil Durk and King Von," Leon said. "Those nggas growing up in O-Block are hard to control. I have to do this."
"You damn control freak, always wanting to hold everything in your hands!" Phil gritted his teeth and cursed.
"You've used thirty years to prove your failure~" Leon spread his hands. "You wasted all your energy on women and booze."
Phil's face turned beet red, unable to squeeze out a single word of rebuttal.
After Leon and Cardi B achieved massive success, his business should have been smooth sailing.
Yet, he had no ambition to expand; just dealing with the two of them exhausted him.
Phil's agency had been in a zombie state for a long time. Even the registered address with the New York State Tax Department was virtual.
It was a total shell.
Leon continued to coax him: "These young people need your wisdom. Teach them how to be top-tier managers... Soon, you'll have everything. More than you ever had at Epic Records."
"Singers, actors... even in the sports field. I have a massive development plan, and it's already in preparation."
With prospects blossoming in both entertainment and sports, and no reduction in income, Phil really couldn't think of a reason to refuse.
Returning to the peak of his life, slapping the faces of those who mocked him during his low points.
"You convinced me." Phil snorted coldly, grabbing a cigarette from the desk and lighting it.
Snap—
"Great~" Leon snapped his fingers and said to Marco and the others, "You can learn a lot from Phil, including his experience in treating STDs~"
"Shut up, you bastard." Phil was angry but wanted to laugh.
---
The afternoon after finalizing the new company structure, Apocalypse Music officially announced a piece of heavy news on social media:
Signed Lil Durk and King Von from the South Side of Chicago.
This signing had nothing to do with the word "heavyweight" in terms of fame; they were just two unknown underground rappers.
But the topicality was maxed out.
It caused a huge uproar on social media.
Lil Durk and King Von were already deeply embroiled in the vortex of the Diddy shooting incident (via their association with the Chicago drill scene and street politics), and the battle between Leon and Diddy had entered a white-hot stage.
Signing these two at such a time was undoubtedly grabbing Diddy by the neck and slapping him across the face!
At the same time, Apocalypse Music circulated information about establishing a new label.
The label was still in the preparatory stage, with known members being Lil Durk and King Von.
Contrary to Apocalypse Music's all-female lineup, this new label focused solely on rap.
To be precise: Gangsta Rap and Drill Music.
The slogan Leon came up with was: Make Rap Street Again!
This was going to be the purest, most street-level rap label in history.
With the creation of a new company and a new label, Apocalypse Music's existing office space was becoming cramped.
Leon was already considering finding a suitable new office location, expanding the scale several times over.
Just as he finished the tasks at hand, his phone rang.
It was Taylor.
"Hi~" Leon leaned back in his swivel chair and answered.
"I heard you bought a new house in Tribeca. Why didn't you tell me?" Taylor maintained her usual tsundere attitude.
"Sorry, I've been really busy lately," Leon replied casually. "If you want, you can come over for a drink right now."
"You're just inviting me to your house directly? Are you always this casual?"
"..."
Double standards were Taylor's signature style.
When she was dating, late-night phone calls with other men were just "pure friendship."
But if a boyfriend did that, he was a scumbag.
Similarly, she could invite Leon to her Beverly Hills mansion when they barely knew each other, but the reverse was apparently not allowed.
"I mean, I happen to be in New York shooting a magazine cover today," Taylor said. "Maybe we can find a place to meet... forget about your house."
"Alright~" As a high-level player, Leon understood perfectly that Taylor just wanted an excuse to see him.
He went to a coffee shop in Lower Manhattan according to the location Taylor gave.
As soon as they met, Taylor cut to the chase: "I heard you're signing with Columbia Records?"
"Who told you that?" Leon frowned.
Not many people knew about this; it was supposed to be highly confidential.
But he quickly let it go. This circle was transparent anyway.
Professional paparazzi were more skilled at intelligence gathering than CIA agents.
Combat duration, prop preparation, new kinks—none of this escaped their intelligence network.
If the US government had half the transparency of the entertainment industry, it wouldn't have degenerated to its current state.
Some people ostensibly only made a $200,000 annual salary, yet achieved stock market myths that even Livermore couldn't touch, lying in their Capitol Hill offices earning hundreds of millions effortlessly.
"That doesn't matter," Taylor gently swirled her coffee cup. "What matters is, is it true?"
Leon spread his hands, playing coy. "I am in contact with Columbia, but you know, in this circle, unless it's written in black and white, everything else is fake."
"I just wanted to hear your thoughts..." Taylor bit her lower lip, seeming to have something difficult to say.
Even if she didn't say it, Leon knew.
Taylor's career was completely controlled by Big Machine Records.
When it came to draining the pond to catch the fish, Scott Borchetta was a standout even among the capitalists of the record industry.
It's normal for investors in record companies to earn more than singers, but with Scott, it was abnormal.
Because Big Machine really only had Taylor making money; the whole company relied on her to feed them.
In this situation, Scott was earning no less than Taylor.
Songwriting copyrights, master recordings, management contracts...
Under the oppression of these three mountains, Taylor had had enough. She wanted to pull herself out of the quagmire just like Leon.
Seeing Taylor hemming and hawing, Leon took the initiative: "You should be decisive. Some people are destined not to work well together."
"I don't understand what you mean..." Taylor said.
"I mean, you can't just be decisive about dumping boyfriends," Leon took a sip of coffee. "You should be the same in your career. Struggling to cater and compromise will ultimately get you nothing."
Hearing this, Taylor fell into deep thought.
This was the kind of "Wolf Mentality" brainwashing Leon often preached to his employees.
The commonality of losers is that when they encounter difficulties and challenges, they always choose to compromise and cater.
They feel terrified when relationships get tense or when they make new enemies.
After a long silence, Taylor whispered, "I get what you mean. Thank you."
"Don't mention it. If you encounter any difficulties, you can tell me. I'll figure out a way for you." Leon leaned forward, getting closer. "I mean anything."
Taylor's brain suddenly short-circuited, and two blushes rose on her cheeks.
"Love Brain" activated, seizing the high ground of her IQ.
Her rationality didn't return until Leon leaned back, ignoring gentlemanly etiquette to tilt his head and light a cigarette.
"You always talk big..." Taylor pouted, fully in girl mode.
Their situations were completely different. Taylor's copyrights were extremely valuable, and the complex dispute with Scott involved hundreds of millions of dollars.
This wasn't a trouble that could be solved casually.
The two chatted more and more happily, so much so that Taylor completely forgot the time.
This "date" lasted for more than four hours. It wasn't until Leon reminded her that she realized it was nearing 11 AM.
When they walked out of the coffee shop, their relationship had leveled up.
Taylor involuntarily pressed close to Leon, just like a couple passionately in love.
"OMG! Is that woman Taylor Swift?"
"Who is the man beside her?!"
Voices of the coffee shop staff discussing came from behind.
Despite being bundled up tight, Taylor's figure was too outstanding; it was hard not to be recognized.
The staff took out their phones to take pictures. Taylor frowned when she saw this.
"Fxxk! Put your damn phones away!" Leon shouted angrily. "I mean right now!"
The men and women in the coffee shop were stunned by the roar and stopped their movements.
"Let's go, quickly."
Taylor subconsciously held Leon's arm tightly, her face burning even redder.
As soon as they left the coffee shop, Leon noticed several people standing around his Porsche 997 parked on the roadside.
They were wearing police uniforms.
"What's the situation..." Just as Leon wanted to go up and ask, a rough, large hand landed on his shoulder.
He whipped his head around and saw a black police officer squinting at him with a mysterious smile.
"Are you Mr. Leon Smith?"
"Yes, Officer. May I ask..."
Before Leon could finish, the black officer pulled out his badge. "I'm Frank Tenpenny, NYPD, Badge Number 431."
"Half an hour ago, we received a tip that your car contains a large amount of contraband. We are conducting a search of your vehicle in accordance with the law. You have the right to remain silent."
"What?" Leon suspected he heard wrong.
Taylor also leaned in. "Officer, are you making a mistake?"
Tenpenny shook his head. "The informant confirmed it is this Porsche 997. We have already verified it."
Leon changed his cooperative attitude. "Without a search warrant, you have no right to search my personal vehicle."
Tenpenny lowered his head, shaking it while laughing, and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. "Search warrant? Are you talking about this?"
Leon was so shocked he couldn't speak.
Usually, after receiving a tip, officers have to verify the report information first, and then decide whether to apply for a search warrant.
This process usually takes at least an hour.
Tenpenny received the tip half an hour ago and completed the entire process in that time?
The officer next to the Porsche 997 opened the door to search. Only two minutes later, they found something under the seat.
"Holy sht... look at this!"
"Boss, check this out!"
An officer ran over excitedly waving a bag of white powder.
"This is big trouble..."
Taking advantage of the gap while Tenpenny checked the package, Leon immediately took out his phone and dialed a number.
"Luca... I've run into a little trouble."