The faint crackle of vinyl played softly in the background as Lex sat in Jason Wilde's studio office, flipping through the worn edges of an old Fleetwood Mac record sleeve.
The room smelled faintly of tobacco and aged leather—a relic of another time, much like the man sitting across from him.
Jason leaned back in his chair, feet up on the desk, sipping a glass of whiskey. The faint glow of streetlights filtered through the window blinds, casting long shadows across the cluttered room.
"So," Jason said, swirling the glass in his hand, "you've got your film. You've got your unknown musician. What else are you hunting for, Latham?"
Lex set the record down carefully, his fingers tracing the faded artwork.
"I'm interested in buying music," Lex replied smoothly. "Not just scores—catalogs. Older ones. '70s, '80s… maybe even further back."
Jason's brow lifted slightly. "You trying to become a record executive now?"
Lex smirked faintly. "No. I'm interested in ownership, not production. The rights, the publishing. Oldies but goodies."
Jason studied him for a long moment, setting his glass down with a soft clink.
"You know, most people your age are busy chasing tech stocks or NFTs," Jason said, crossing his arms. "You want to buy up songs that peaked before you were even born. Why?"
Lex's eyes narrowed slightly, the flicker of calculation barely hidden beneath his calm exterior.
"Because they're stable assets." Lex leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Music catalogs appreciate over time. Streaming makes them evergreen. The labels let them sit there, but the artists—the families—they're sitting on gold without realizing it."
Jason exhaled slowly, nodding in approval.
"You're not wrong," Jason admitted. "I know a few small artists who sold their rights for dirt back in the day. Now the labels are bleeding their catalogs dry."
Lex tapped the record sleeve lightly.
"I don't want the artists," Lex said. "I want the forgotten catalogs—the ones no one thinks about until they show up in a car commercial."
Jason chuckled, shaking his head. "Smart move, but not exactly easy to crack into. The majors hold most of the valuable stuff, and the ones they don't are either owned by dinosaurs who won't sell or buried under bad contracts."
Lex's smirk didn't fade. "That's why I'm talking to you."
Jason's eyes narrowed. "You want introductions."
"I want leads," Lex corrected. "I know you've worked with musicians long enough to have connections in that world. Indie artists, one-hit wonders, bands that never made it past their first album. I'll take anything that's undervalued."
Jason mulled it over for a moment, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
"There's this guy—Marcus Dillard," Jason said finally. "Old-school producer. Used to manage some pretty big acts in the early '90s. Most of them fizzled out, but he kept the rights to their stuff when they couldn't pay back loans. Now he sits on those catalogs like a dragon."
Lex's interest piqued. "Is he selling?"
Jason laughed. "Not openly, but Marcus loves cash over nostalgia. You make the right offer, and he'll part with some of the less flashy stuff."
Lex nodded slowly. "I want that meeting."
Jason raised a brow. "You're serious about this, huh?"
Lex leaned back in his chair, smirking.
"Music lasts longer than CEOs."
Jason grinned, reaching for his phone.
"I'll make the call. But don't expect a warm welcome. Marcus doesn't trust easily—especially not Wall Street types."
Lex's smirk didn't falter.
"Good thing I'm not Wall Street," Lex replied. "I'm family."
Jason chuckled, shaking his head as he dialed.
Barnie could keep his mergers and acquisitions.
Lex was about to start buying ghosts with guitars.