The Universal Records building cast long shadows across Sixth Avenue, its glass facade reflecting a future I was deliberately rewriting. Rico met me in the lobby, his usual swagger tempered by the kind of nervous energy that came with knowing you were standing on the edge of something momentous.
"They're all here," he said, adjusting his tie – designer, but last season's cut. In my first timeline, he wouldn't wear current season Armani for another three years. "LA team, New York execs, even some people from their digital division."
Digital division. I suppressed a smile, knowing what those executives didn't – that within a decade, digital wouldn't be a division but the whole game. I'd slipped enough hints into "Tomorrow's Dreams" about that future, coded in frequencies and production techniques that wouldn't make sense to most listeners for years:
*Binary dreams in analog days*
*Future's signal breaking through the haze*
*Riding waves of sound that haven't crashed yet*
*While yesterday's rhythms start to sunset*
"You're doing that thing again," Rico observed as we waited for the elevator. "That look like you're hearing tomorrow's charts."
"Just running through the track."
He shook his head. "Nah, it's more than that. Ever since you started working on 'Tomorrow's Dreams,' it's like... like you're operating on a different frequency. Like you've got some direct line to where music's heading."
If he only knew.
The elevator arrived with a soft chime, its mirrored interior multiplying our reflections infinitely. I watched our duplicates stretch into the distance, a visual echo of my split timelines. My phone vibrated – a text from Jasmine: "Good luck at your meeting! See you at 3!" The reminder of my afternoon commitment anchored me in the present moment, even as I prepared to reshape the future.
"Tell me something," Rico said as we ascended. "And don't give me that producer mystique bullshit. This sound you're pushing... it's not just different. It's like it's from another time."
I met his eyes in the elevator mirror, measuring my response with the care of someone walking between raindrops. "Maybe good music always feels that way. Like it's remembering a future we haven't lived yet."
The words came with their own melody, a new verse forming:
*Every song's a memory of what's yet to be*
*Every beat a promise time's waiting to see*
*Standing in the present while future unfolds*
*Conducting symphonies of stories untold*
The elevator opened onto the executive floor, where decisions that would shape cultural currents were made behind mahogany doors. A familiar face emerged from one of the conference rooms – James Chen, who in my first timeline wouldn't join Universal for another two years. The butterfly effect was gathering momentum.
"Marcus Johnson?" He extended his hand, his smile genuine but calculating. "Your tape's been causing quite a stir. Some of our engineers are saying you're using techniques they've never seen before."
"Sometimes you have to invent what you hear in your head," I replied, the words carrying more truth than he could understand.
Chen's eyes lit with interest. "That's exactly the kind of thinking we're looking for. The industry's changing – streaming, digital distribution, social media... We need people who can see around corners."
I bit back a comment about MySpace's imminent rise and fall, about platforms that hadn't been invented yet, about revolutions in distribution that would remake the entire industry. Instead, I said simply, "The future's closer than most people think."
Rico shot me a sharp look – he'd grown used to my cryptic pronouncements, but something in my tone must have caught his attention. I could practically see him filing away the moment for future reference, adding it to his mental catalogue of my inexplicable insights.
"Well, let's not keep everyone waiting," Chen said, gesturing toward the conference room. "Though I have to ask – what's your secret? How are you pushing boundaries that our veteran producers haven't even seen yet?"
A new bridge floated through my mind, answering questions I couldn't voice aloud:
*Some secrets are written in timeline's dust*
*Some knowledge comes early, some comes when it must*
*Standing at the crossroads of now and not yet*
*While history's pages remain to be set*
"No secret," I said, following him toward the door. "Just paying attention to where the music wants to go."
Rico fell into step beside me, his presence steady despite his obvious nervousness. In my first timeline, this meeting had happened differently, later, with less at stake. Now I was about to redirect not just my own future, but the future of digital music itself.
The conference room waited, filled with executives who thought they were about to discover the next big thing in music. They didn't realize they were about to meet someone who'd already lived through every trend they'd set, every revolution they'd resist, every change they'd eventually embrace.
I checked my watch – two hours until Jasmine's conference. Plenty of time to reshape the industry while keeping my promises. Some harmonies, after all, were worth preserving across every timeline.