The Def Jam offices occupied the kind of real estate that made Manhattan brokers weep with joy. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered views of an empire built on beats and rhymes, while platinum records lined the halls like medieval shields. Jay-Z's presence filled the conference room even before he entered it – an energy that transformed the space into a throne room of the possible.
I sat perfectly still, watching my reflection in the polished mahogany table. Twenty-nine years of future memory whispered that this meeting had happened differently before – in a smaller office, years later, when my leverage had been far less impressive. Now, at seventeen, I carried myself with the confidence of a man who had already seen how the story could end.
*Power moves in circles
Like vinyl spinning tales
While time keeps the rhythm
Of futures for sale
(But wisdom knows which beats to borrow)*
The door opened and Jay walked in, followed by two executives whose expensive suits couldn't hide their hunger. In my previous timeline, I'd been overwhelmed by this moment. Now I saw him clearly: a chess master looking for his next move, a king recognizing another player on the board.
"That track you sent over," he began, settling into his chair with the easy authority of someone who had turned music into monarchy. "The production. It's not like anything I'm hearing right now."
"That's the point," I replied, matching his tone. In the glass wall's reflection, I could see Rico trying to hide his anxiety behind practiced nonchalance. "I'm not interested in what's happening now. I'm focused on what's next."
Jay smiled – the kind of smile that had launched careers and ended labels. "A seventeen-year-old talking about what's next. You know how that sounds?"
"Like someone who knows exactly where music is headed," I said, pulling out my laptop – a deliberate choice, running software I'd modified with techniques from 2015, simplified to work within 2006's limitations. "Let me show you."
The beats that filled the room were carefully crafted prophecies – trap music's skeleton dressed in melodies that wouldn't exist for years, mixed with a precision that 2006's technology shouldn't have been able to achieve. I watched Jay's face as the music played, seeing the exact moment when calculation turned to genuine interest.
"The industry's shifting," I continued, my words carrying the weight of future certainty. "Streaming is coming. Digital distribution will change everything. The power dynamic between labels and artists is about to transform." I paused, letting the implications sink in. "I'm not just making beats. I'm building infrastructure for a revolution that's already started."
One of the executives shifted uncomfortably – this kind of talk wasn't supposed to come from teenage producers – but Jay's expression had turned thoughtful. He'd built his empire by seeing around corners, by understanding shifts before they happened. And here I was, speaking his language with an authority that belied my apparent age.
"You've got a deal with Atlantic," he said, but it wasn't really a question.
"I've got a production deal with Atlantic," I corrected. "But what I'm talking about is bigger than beats. It's about architecture. Building something that lasts beyond platinum plaques."
The track continued playing, its rhythms painting pictures of a future I remembered and was now carefully reconstructing. Through the windows, Manhattan glittered in the afternoon sun like a million possibilities made concrete.
"And Beyoncé?" Jay asked, the question casual but his eyes sharp. "I heard you turned down her team's offer to collaborate."
Rico's sharp intake of breath was almost audible, but I kept my expression neutral. In my previous timeline, that collaboration had happened by chance, late and awkward. This time, I needed it to unfold differently – naturally, inevitably, like a melody finding its true chord progression.
"Some collaborations need the right moment," I said, letting each word carry the weight of future certainty. "The right foundation. The right... timing."
Jay studied me with the kind of intensity that had shaped careers and defined eras. "You talk like someone who's seen how this movie ends."
I smiled, thinking of the future I'd lived, the one I was carefully rewriting. "Maybe I have. Maybe that's exactly why you should be interested in what comes next."
The music shifted into its final movement – a bridge between hip-hop's past and a future that only I remembered, wrapped in production techniques that wouldn't have names for years. Outside, the city stretched like a promise waiting to be kept, while inside, the air hummed with the electricity of empires recognizing each other.
"Play that again," Jay said, leaning forward slightly. "And tell me more about this infrastructure you're building."
I reached for the laptop, my fingers moving across keys that felt like time itself, ready to orchestrate the future one carefully chosen beat at a time.