The law office of Hamilton & Reed occupied the kind of Manhattan building that intimidated by design – all glass and steel reaching toward tomorrow's sky. Sarah Reed's corner office wouldn't be hers for another three years in my original timeline, but here she was, already commanding the space like she'd been born to it. Her suit was less expensive than the ones she'd wear in 2022, but her eyes held the same razor-sharp intelligence that had once saved my career.
"Your contract structure is... unusual," she said, frowning at the documents I'd drafted on Rico's laptop. The late afternoon sun caught her reading glasses, momentarily obscuring her eyes. "Most seventeen-year-olds don't walk in with a fully formed business plan and detailed revenue projections through 2024."
I caught myself before mentioning the streaming rights clauses she'd help me develop in 2018. "I like to plan ahead."
Rico shifted in his leather chair, as uncomfortable in this glass tower as I'd been during my first life's visits. "Marcus sees things differently. You heard the track?"
Sarah's lips curved slightly. "Along with half of New York. That's why I took this meeting." She tapped the contract draft. "But this... this is like you're preparing for an industry that doesn't exist yet."
*If she only knew*, I thought, watching the sun paint Manhattan in familiar gold. Out there, my track was still spreading, climbing charts that wouldn't officially exist for years, creating ripples that would soon become waves.
"The industry's changing," I said, the words an echo from a future I was busy rewriting. "Digital distribution, streaming platforms, social media integration – it's all coming faster than people think."
"MySpace is barely a thing," Sarah countered, but her eyes sparkled with interest. "And what's a 'streaming platform'?"
I'd said too much. Again. The weight of future knowledge pressed against my temples like a bass line turned too high. But before I could backtrack, Sarah leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"You're right, though. About the changes coming. Most of my clients can't see past their next advance, but you..." She studied me with the same intensity she'd use years later – would have used years later – during my divorce proceedings. "You're playing a longer game."
The moment stretched between us, pregnant with possibilities. Through her window, I could see the Sony building where, in another life, I'd signed away five years of creative control. Not this time.
"What we need," I said carefully, "is a structure that protects the future."
Sarah's pen tapped against the contract draft, a rhythm that matched the pulse of the city below. "Whose future? Yours? The industry's?"
"Both," Rico interjected, finally finding his voice. "You heard his sound. That ain't just music – that's evolution."
I pulled out my notebook, opened to the latest lyrics I'd written while waiting in her reception area:
*Every contract a bridge to somewhere new
Every clause a door we're walking through
Time ain't linear in this game we play
Tomorrow's music calling yesterday's name*
*[Bridge]*
*Standing at the crossroads of what was and what will be
Future knowledge weighing heavy on me
But this time around, I'm writing different rules
Playing chess while they're still learning checkers' moves*
Sarah read the lyrics twice, her expression thoughtful. "Your metaphors are... surprisingly mature. Almost like you've—"
"Lived it before?" The words slipped out before I could catch them.
She laughed, but there was something knowing in her eyes. "I was going to say 'seen the future,' but that would be impossible, wouldn't it?"
The city hummed below us, millions of lives moving in patterns I'd seen before but were now shifting, changing with each choice I made. Somewhere out there, a young Beyoncé was probably in a meeting just like this one, planning her own empire's evolution. Our paths would cross soon – sooner than before – but everything had to be perfect first.
"Nothing's impossible," I said, watching a plane trace its way across the future's sky. "Just improbable."
Sarah picked up her pen, all business now. "Well then, let's make some improbable history. Or is it future?" She smiled, sharp as prophecy. "With you, Mr. Johnson, I'm starting to think they might be the same thing."
As she began marking up the contract, I caught Rico's eye. He nodded slightly, finally understanding that we weren't just building a career – we were building a bridge to a future only I could see.
The sun set over Manhattan, painting the glass towers in shades of destiny. In my pocket, my phone buzzed with another message from a number I shouldn't know yet. Soon, very soon, all the threads would start to weave together. But first, we had to lay the foundation for a future that was rushing toward us faster than even I had planned.