Tyler sat in the corner booth of the diner, tapping his fingers against the table, waiting for Jax. His mind was spinning from the DM he'd received from Black Gold Records. The chance to get signed by Blake Reynolds' label wasn't something that came every day. But he had to be smart about it. He wasn't trying to get played by some shady contract.
The door jingled, and Jax walked in, wearing his usual laid-back confidence. As soon as he spotted Tyler, he slid into the booth across from him.
"Yo, fam, you good?" Jax asked, tossing his snapback onto the seat. "Lookin' kinda stressed."
Tyler exhaled, running a hand over his face. "Yeah, man. I just got a message from Black Gold Records. They wanna talk."
Memory updatedChapter 15: Legal Moves
Tyler sat in the corner booth of the diner, tapping his fingers against the table, waiting for Jax. His mind was spinning from the DM he'd received from Black Gold Records. The chance to get signed by Blake Reynolds' label wasn't something that came every day. But he had to be smart about it. He wasn't trying to get played by some shady contract.
The door jingled, and Jax walked in, wearing his usual laid-back confidence. As soon as he spotted Tyler, he slid into the booth across from him.
"Yo, fam, you good?" Jax asked, tossing his snapback onto the seat. "Lookin' kinda stressed."
Tyler exhaled, running a hand over his face. "Yeah, man. I just got a message from Black Gold Records. They wanna talk."
Jax's eyebrows shot up. "Black Gold? Miles Carter's label? Yo, that's big. What they say?"
Tyler showed him the DM on his phone. Jax read it, nodding slowly.
"Marcus, huh? That dude's legit. If he's reaching out, they definitely got an eye on you," Jax said, leaning back. "But listen, labels ain't always what they seem. Contracts can be a bitch. You gotta be real careful."
Tyler nodded. "That's what I was thinking. I don't wanna sign some deal that locks me in for years."
"Exactly," Jax replied, his tone serious now. "What you need is a lawyer. Someone who can look over that contract and make sure you ain't gettin' screwed. You know anyone?"
Tyler paused for a second. There was one person who came to mind. A guy who'd helped him out more times than he could count back in the day when he was still running the streets. His old lawyer, Mr. Harris, had always been there to bail him out whenever he got jammed up.
"Yeah," Tyler said, "I got someone. Used to help me back when I was, you know..."
Jax gave him a knowing look. "Say less. If this dude was lookin' out for you then, he'll definitely have your back now. Hit him up."
Later that day, Tyler found himself standing outside a modest office building on the other side of town. The brass plate on the door read "Harris & Associates - Criminal Defense" in polished letters. Tyler hadn't been here in a long time, but the memories came rushing back. Mr. Harris had been like a lifeline for him, always keeping him out of jail whenever things went sideways.
He pushed open the door, and the familiar smell of coffee and paperwork hit him. The receptionist gave him a nod, recognizing him immediately.
"Tyler Johnson," she said with a smile. "Mr. Harris is expecting you. Go on in."
Tyler made his way to the back office, where Mr. Harris sat behind a cluttered desk, looking through a stack of documents. The man hadn't changed much—he still had that stern but kind look, graying hair, and a pair of glasses perched on his nose.
When he looked up and saw Tyler, a grin spread across his face.
"Tyler," Mr. Harris said, standing up and extending a hand. "It's been a while. Last time you were here, we were talking about probation terms. What brings you here?"
Tyler shook his hand, feeling a wave of gratitude. "Yeah, things are different now. Got out of that life, tryin' to make something of myself."
Mr. Harris gestured for Tyler to sit. "I'm glad to hear that. I always knew you had potential, kid. What can I help you with today?"
Tyler leaned forward, explaining the situation. "I got a message from a scout at Black Gold Records. They wanna talk about a deal. I just don't wanna get trapped, you know?"
Mr. Harris nodded, listening intently. "Smart move, coming to me first. Record labels, especially the big ones, are notorious for locking artists into long-term contracts that can take away control over their music. You want to make sure you retain as much ownership of your work as possible."
Tyler felt a sense of relief. He'd been anxious about the whole thing, but hearing Mr. Harris lay it out so clearly put him at ease.
"I'll tell you what," Mr. Harris continued. "When you get that contract, send it to me. I'll go over it with a fine-tooth comb. We'll make sure you don't sign anything that could mess up your future."
Tyler nodded, grateful as ever. "Thanks, man. For real. You've always looked out for me."
Mr. Harris gave him a look of pride. "I've seen too many kids like you throw their lives away. But you? You're actually turning things around. I'm proud of you, Tyler. I mean that."
Those words hit Tyler harder than he expected. For someone who'd spent most of his life in and out of trouble, hearing that from someone who'd seen his worst moments felt like redemption.
"Thanks," Tyler said quietly. "I'm tryin', man. I really am."
Mr. Harris leaned back in his chair, folding his hands together. "You've come a long way. But the journey's just beginning. Keep your head on straight, and remember—you've got people in your corner now."