Wouldn’t it be better if I see my father first?The question lingers at the edge of my mouth.But she’ll argue.She always does.She’ll tell me this is what he’d want—get the business over with before the emotional wreckage.
Bernice slides a stack of manila folders across the table toward me.
The tabs have several names I recognize.Some I used to fight for.Some I helped scout when I was seventeen and still believed I’d belong in this world.Bernice asks me to sit down, which is obviously not a good sign.I do because, knowing her, she won’t talk until I do.
“Your father left instructions,” she says.“He named you interim director of D&D Talent Agency.”
Listen, I want to believe her, but seriously?“So ...you’re telling me that he had a stroke, and he left me instructions?”
After that, my mouth opens and then closes.Like I’m trying to speak underwater.Nothing else comes out.I could tell her how ludicrous this is, but I don’t even know where to start.My father had a stroke; I should be with him.Instead, I’m dealing with whatever he wishes, which she believes is more important.Knowing Dad, he’d agree.
“That can’t be right.”I finally string a few words together.
“Kit, he signed the paperwork two years ago.Witnessed.Notarized.His lawyer will confirm it.If anything ever happened to him, you were to take over.Until he gets better.Or if he died, you have the option to find someone more suitable, but preferably, you should keep the place in the family.”
Okay, so this was his plan all along, and he made sure Bernice would be following it right away.This makes more sense than the whole he spoke while he was being taken to the hospital—or whatever it is that she mentioned.I already forgot.
“No.”I push away from the table.My chair skids back with a squeal.“I’m not becoming him.I teach piano lessons.I run the vintage shop, and Aunt Tilly left me with records and books.The heater is cracked, and the front door barely closes unless you push it just right, but it’s mine.I don’t do contracts.Or talent meltdowns.Or monitor mix-tantrums.”
“You’re the only one who knows his roster, his language—most of all, his rhythm.”
She leans in like she’s about to confess a sin.
“Kit, your father built this agency for you.He just didn’t know how to say it.”
I press my fingers to my temples.They throb from the scream I swallow.So, this is guilt.Coated in professionalism.Laced with legacy.
D&D Talent Agency is his creation.I had nothing to do with it and don’t plan to deal with it either.Who in their right mind would want to babysit other people’s music careers?If I didn’t want to deal with mine, why would I want to fix theirs?
“There are others,” I mutter weakly.“Junior agents.You.”
I almost flinch because he’s never made her responsible for anything, even when she has a lot of knowledge.One time, she threatened to quit if she wasn’t promoted.I heard the complaint but never the solution since she’s still his assistant.
“He choseyou.”Her voice has a hint of bitterness behind it.We probably think the same.She’s a lot more qualified, but there’s no other option.I have to be the one.“Not because you’re his daughter.Because you see the music.”
I know I’m going to regret what I’m about to say, but it should only be temporary.My father is going to get better, right?“What do you need from me?”My voice comes out low.Ragged.
She flips open the folder.Bands.Solo acts.Broken contracts.Half-finished albums.
She rattles off names—some familiar, some forgotten.And then she drops it.
“Let’s start with him.Roderick Wilder.”
I sit again.It’s so hard.The chair groans as if it wants no part in this—me neither, but we’ll have to deal.Or ...what if she’s wrong?What if he’s no longer with us?There have been rumors that his career was over and that he was in rehab.Okay, the rehab rumors have been going on for years.Alcohol is his best friend.Drugs are his permanent companions—allegedly.
“He’s still playing?”
The question barely makes it past my lips.It’s not real—not really.More reflex than curiosity, like my brain trying to buy time before his name crashes through me, dredging up everything I’ve tried to bury.
His career flatlined two years ago.It didn’t just fade away—it plummeted, spectacularly, like a plane that never quite got off the ground.Just like what happened to many grunge bands who couldn’t transcend.Cleo just pulled him out of rehab.Why are we doing this?
Are they aware of his situation?
“I thought Dad was done with him after theRolling Stonedisaster seven years ago.”
He wasn’t finished with him after what he did to me.Nope.He said I should be able to separate the personal from the business.It was a big ‘fuck you, Kit.’His priorities will always be his business and his clients.
“Your father never dropped him.”
