Page 32 of A Billionaire Rebel

As I sat down across from Z Christensen – the label’s president – I had to admit that I was impressed that he was directly involved. In his mid-fifties, Z was class personified, from the distinguished silver in his black hair to the tastefully expensive suit he wore. Next to me was his sister-in-law, Haje Alcala, vice president of the label, looking just as polished.

“First, let me say how sorry I am about Bair,” Z said. “Losing a friend like that is always difficult.”

“We’ve already reached out to his family to let them know we’ll pay for his funeral costs,” Haje said, her dark eyes troubled. “We’re not making that public knowledge but wanted you to know since we assumed you’d most likely be looking to help them financially as well.”

“Thank you,” I said, surprised by their generosity. The Houston memorial service was being sponsored by the label, but since Bair’s death hadn’t been the fault of the label or something that had happened at a show, I hadn’t expected anything else. Especially since it wasn’t like any of us were underpaid to begin with.

“We’ve also set up a fund to cover anything Otis needs during his recovery,” Haje added. “Anything the insurance doesn’t cover. Bills. Basic living expenses. The same for Hawk.”

My expression must’ve given away my shock because Z gave me a sad smile.

“When I was nineteen, a friend of mine got signed to a label, and everything he got in those first couple checks went to his family and to help his community. Then he got sick. The label declared him in violation of his contract, dropped him from their insurance, and then demanded he pay back what they’d given him.” Z shook his head. “After he died, his parents couldn’t afford a casket to bury him in. They ended up having to sell their house because the company came after them for the money since he’d bought the house for them.”

“Bastards.”

“First thing I did when I got this label going was promise myself I’d never screw over my artists like that. Second thing I did was drive that label out of business and take those money-hungry sons of bitches for every penny.”

“How is this not public knowledge?” I asked, trying to figure out why I’d never heard this story before.

“Because I made everyone sign an NDA, and they knew I’d ruin them if they broke it.” Z grinned, but there was very little humor in that smile.

“We’ve also made anonymous donations to everyone else injured in the accident.” Haje brought the conversation back to the present.

The fact that they’d kept the label’s name out of it made my respect for the two of them grow. No one would’ve thought badly of them if they’d simply done it quietly but still acknowledged that the money was coming from them.

Haje continued, “We also wanted to let you know what we were doing to reassure you that, no matter what ends up happening with the band, we’re going to do right by all of you.”

“We held an emergency meeting yesterday evening,” Z said. “Haje, myself, legal, PR, HR, and our top investors. A lot of options were discussed, but we didn’t decide anything because you deserve to have a voice in this as well.”

They’d already gone above and beyond what most other labels would’ve done in this situation, but I had a feeling I wouldn’t like at least a few of the suggestions that were coming.

“Some of our people wanted to start looking for replacements on Friday, then bring you and Kalini in to begin rehearsals on Monday so you could pick up the tour in two weeks without missing a show.”

Only the fact that I could hear the anger in Z’s voice kept me from saying anything yet.

“Z and I told them in no uncertain terms that we wouldnotbe doing that,” Haje said, the edge to her words telling me she felt the same. “We, and several others, felt that canceling through the beginning of October would be the best place to start. Of course, we’d offer refunds for those who’ve purchased tickets, and probably add in something else as a bonus.”

I nodded, hating the idea of disappointing fans, but knowing that the true fans would understand. Bair’s death had hit them hard too.

“If there’s anything you want me specifically to do or donate, just ask,” I said. “Memorabilia, autographs. If you want me to call people to personally thank them, I’ll do it.”

Z and Haje exchanged glances.

“There was something we wanted to talk to you about,” Z said. “Tomorrow at the service, we’d like you to say a few words.”

I’d actually anticipated that, though it didn’t make the idea of sharing any easier. Put me in front of people at a concert, and I was fine, but I didn’t know if I could handle telling people about my friend and how much I missed him. I was still processing it myself.

But I wasn’t even going to consider saying no.

“Of course.”

“We also wanted to ask if you would be the voice of the band when it comes to the press. No party line we want you to keep to. Anything you don’t know an answer to, you can say that. We just don’t want anyone thinking that we’re trying to hide something. There’s no conspiracy here, and we don’t want people making one up just because we’re trying to respect the privacy of our artists.”

I could see how much she didn’t like asking it of me, but I understood where she was coming from and agreed with the principle behind it. People had been in shock, and reporting about what’d happened had fed that. Now, people wanted to know more. Specifically,howit’d happened.

Had the tire been faulty? Had the person responsible for the maintenance of the vehicle missed a problem with the car? Had there been something on the road that should have been removed by a third party? I’d heard those questions being bandied around on the radio while I’d been on my way here. I had no doubt they’d be out in full force tomorrow at the memorial.

“I’ll do it,” I agreed. “If Bair’s family is okay with it.”

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