Haewon was now incandescent with fury. “Don’t talk like this is over. I won’t say it all again, Ari. Go out there, stick to the script, and fix what you’ve broken. Or would you rather change the termination to a resignation? That clause isn’t going anywhere. You know what will happen if you insist on quitting.”
“I’m not quitting. You fired me. You said it yourself when you came in.”
He’d given it one last try, but now this had to end. Eunjae held up his phone. “Is it okay if I record the rest of this conversation? Based on the terms I signed at renewal two years ago, I have the right to request a recording or transmission of any meeting that pertains to my contract. And I think you should have a record of it, too.”
44
Theroomwassoquiet that Eunjae’s heartbeat seemed twice as loud in his ears. At first he thought his request would be denied, but Soyeon brought out her own phone and set it on the table. “Go ahead,” she said, much to Haewon’s alarm.
Eunjae thanked her, then opened the right app and pressed record. He took out the pages he’d been keeping in his jacket pocket and smoothed out the creases.
“To summarize, Emerald Entertainment terminated my exclusive contract for multiple violations.
“First, failing to comply with the group’s promotional schedule. Because I ran away, our fanmeeting was canceled and the unit project was postponed.
“Second, failing to cooperate with agency staff. I refused to accompany my managers to the airport. I’m sure Doyoung will confirm it for you in a statement. Nami will, too. I made that call. Running away was my idea.
“Third, abuse of power. I persuaded the other members to leave the country with me, including younger members, which can be argued as misuse of authority.”
“Where are you going with this?” demanded Haewon, seething.
“I’m making sure you got it all,” Eunjae answered. “The contract states that terminating an agreement between the agency and the artist requires ample proof of just cause or misconduct.”
It caused Eunjae no small measure of disquiet, that the conflict had come down to this. Knowingly provoking Emerald was a huge risk. What he'd wanted most was to settle this amicably. The hope for a bloodless resolution had remained at the forefront of his thoughts, and sometimes this made Eunjae feel more than a little absurd. But if he stopped believing that it might work out in a way that was kinder to all of them, then the situation felt that much harder to bear.
He shuffled the back pages to the front, pushing these forward for the founders to review. “I also signed a separate contract for employment without prior permission from Emerald Entertainment. I work here.” He gestured at the dining area Haewon had disparaged earlier. “You can look through the documents — they're all valid. I’m allowed to live and work in the United States because I have dual Australian and American citizenship. Something to thank Leila for, I guess.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“It’s not. I’m helping you. Acquiring additional employment can be argued as a conflict of interest. There's a whole section on that. Also, any earnings made while under contract with Emerald are supposed to be reported so that the agency can take its cut. Those are both described as grounds for termination in my contract. Make sure you present it all to the board.”
Eunjae didn’t dare to stop, not even to take a breath. Not now.
“Fire me,” he said. “To trigger the penalty clause, I would have to quit. And because I’m not quitting — because you’ve decided to fire me — the clause doesn’t apply. You can’t disband Apollo even after I leave. You can’t keep the rights to our music, either. That only happens if I try to terminate the contract myself. Your legal team didn’t cover for that while they were writing this.”
“Let me just send an email about it right now,” sniped Haewon.
“Maybe you should fire them, too,” someone sniped back at her.
Jaehwan’s voice, Eunjae realized with a start. It wasn’t an imaginary, sibilant whisper in his mind, this time. Max had his phone out. The actual Jaehwan was there on the line.
“Finish it, Ari,” he said. “We’re with you. No matter what happens next, we’re here.”
Everyone had moved to stand near him and Eunjae never noticed because he was so busy talking. He had a brother to the left and to the right, brothers at his back with their hands on his shoulders. His throat ached and his eyes burned as he delivered his final argument. He worded it exactly as Arthur had advised a few days before.
“I, Ari Goldsmith-Song, accept the termination of my exclusive contract with Emerald Entertainment.”
He bowed to Haewon and Soyeon. “Thank you for the twelve years I lived under your roof. I'm grateful for what you taught me. I'm glad I was part of what you built, and that you saw something special about me, something worth caring for and protecting.”
The walls shook with his brothers’ cheering and applause even as Haewon’s mouth shaped a rebuke, or perhaps a refusal. Eunjae couldn't hear her over the tumult of voices raised in victory, in praise, in pride. He wasn't done yet, though.
“The remaining members won't be forced to disband, but I can't leave them with you. If you won't remove the penalty clause, then I’m petitioning the board to have the rest of Apollo placed under disciplinary review. Section 6 of the contract says that participating in misconduct as an accomplice is grounds for termination. They were all my accomplices. End their contracts, too.”
“No. They stay until their contracts expire. If they want to be terminated, they'll have to file injunctions individually.” Haewon shook her head, dry-eyed, arms wrapped tightly around herself as though she might shatter at any minute. “You wouldn't even be brothers, without us. We're the ones who brought you together.”
“We’re brothers because we chose to be,” Kazu contradicted her. “That won’t change. And if we have to take legal action, we will.”
“Tell yourselves whatever you want,” she said. Especially for Eunjae, she added, “Soon enough, you'll see: you've thrown it all away, and for what?”
