Brandon gripped Devon's shoulder with a firm hand, his piercing grey eyes locking onto the wannabe rapper's face with an intensity that made Devon's bravado falter.
His gaze remained steady, unwavering, as if he could see right through Devon's bravado to the insecurities beneath.
"Listen up, Dev. I want you to go back and think long and hard," he said, his voice low and intense.
"And I mean really think about it. Not just if you want to pursue this crazy dream of yours, but if you've got the guts, the talent, and the drive to make it by my standards."
Brandon's lips quirked into a half-smile, a mix of challenge and encouragement.
"I won't tolerate mediocrity."
Turning to Andre, Brandon's eyes narrowed critically, his gaze sweeping over the subpar equipment with barely concealed disdain.
His fingers twitched, itching to replace every piece of outdated tech in sight.
"And the same goes for you," he said, his voice sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room.
"What's with all this second-grade equipment? The audio interface doesn't have the high-end converters we need for pristine sound quality. These monitors won't give us the accurate sound reproduction required for professional mixing."
Brandon's words came out in a rapid-fire barrage, each criticism hitting its mark.
"Install near-field and mid-field monitors and add a subwoofer for extended low-end monitoring. And for heaven's sake, upgrade the acoustics in here. The room treatment is abysmal."
He paused, running a hand through his silver-grey hair in exasperation.
"Gosh, the list goes on and on. What in the world have you been doing all this time? You're the Head of Production, no?"
The question hung in the air, dripping with sarcasm and disappointment.
Andre's jaw dropped, his eyes widening in shock at Brandon's in-depth knowledge.
The older man's composure crumbled under the weight of the young boss's expertise.
Brandon watched with amusement as Andre's face cycled through a range of emotions - shock, disbelief, and finally, unbridled excitement.
The older man's voice quivered as he responded, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and anticipation.
"Y-yeah, I'm Andre Jackson, boss!" he stammered, his voice cracking slightly.
"As for the equipment, we haven't gotten a budget increase since this building was built... and you've seen the talent we have... poorer sound quality actually works in their favor."
Brandon paused, letting the words hang in the air for a moment.
Then, he let out a rich, hearty chuckle, waving his hand dismissively.
"Hah! Those clowns are a thing of the past," he declared, his grey eyes not hiding his disdain.
"I assume you've been in this game for some time. You have until the end of tomorrow to pimp out this studio with the best of everything. And I mean everything."
Andre's face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning, but a flicker of hesitation crossed his features. He licked his lips nervously before asking,
"The budget...?"
Brandon couldn't help but smirk.
"Money is no issue," he said, his voice dripping with confidence.
"I just want this studio reborn in a day. Can you do it or nah?"
Andre's hands shook with excitement as he replied,
"Yes sir! Leave it to me!"
Brandon nodded, satisfaction evident in his expression. But his next words carried a sharp edge.
"Good, 'cause your job's on the line. BMG's no longer gonna feed the useless. Show me what you're worth keeping around."
Brandon's gaze shifted to Devon, who had collapsed into a nearby chair. His face was now a mask of concentration, his brow furrowed as he grappled with Brandon's challenge.
A flicker of satisfaction crossed Brandon's face, knowing his words had hit their mark.
Turning to Gordon, Brandon raised an eyebrow.
"Did you set things up with Victoria?"
Gordon's face lit up with a broad smile, his approval of Brandon evident in his eyes.
"Indeed, Young Master. We're having tea at the Ritz."
The older man's hand moved to his wrist, where a vintage Patek Philippe gleamed. He checked the time with a practiced glance, his movements as precise as the watch itself.
"We'll arrive precisely on time if we depart now," Gordon added in his crisp British accent.
Brandon nodded, his silver-grey hair catching the light as he moved. He cast one final glance at Devon, still lost in thought. A small smile played on his lips.
"Let's go then."
[ Victoria Blackstone's Rolls Royce ]
Victoria, Brandon's elder sister, exuded an air of refined elegance as she lounged in the backseat of her Rolls Royce.
Her sleek, dark brown hair was pulled back in a sophisticated updo, accentuating her high cheekbones and piercing hazel eyes.
She wore a tailored blazer that hugged her curves, projecting an image of power and femininity.
Beside her sat Velaria, Victoria's new Blackstone Vanguard, a woman whose icy demeanor and razor-sharp instincts had quickly earned her a place at Victoria's side.
Though silent, her presence was a constant reminder of the power and precision that defined the Blackstone family's operations.
The contrast between the two was striking. Velaria's platinum blonde hair cascaded down her back in a high ponytail, her porcelain skin almost luminescent in the soft interior lighting. Her ice-blue eyes were sharp and alert, missing nothing.
Victoria handed a smartphone back to Velaria, a hint of amusement playing on her lips.
"Dramatic much, but my good-for-nothing little bro's finally growing up, huh?" she mused, her tone a mix of surprise and grudging approval.
Velaria nodded silently, her face a mask of professional composure.
Victoria leaned back, crossing her legs with a sigh.
"Hopefully one day he can take some of this load off me," she grumbled, massaging her temple.
Velaria's eyes softened, a warmth creeping into her usually stoic expression.
"Lady Victoria, the Blackstone Vanguards are ready," she offered, her voice tinged with admiration.
Victoria shook her head, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against the leather armrest.
"I need to fully understand the breadth of our empire before I start pawning it off. Every decision ripples through the entire Blackstone legacy, and I won't be able to make the best moves without knowing exactly where the fault lines lie," she said, determination etched in her features.
"There's too much at stake—for all of us."
Velaria nodded again, her silence speaking volumes of her unwavering support.
Victoria turned to gaze out the window, resting her chin on her palm.
A small smile played on her lips as she asked,
"Did you contact Martinez?"
Velaria's posture straightened imperceptibly.
"He's already at the location. I'll grant him an audience on your signal," she replied, her tone crisp and efficient.