“Yeah, she is, but that’s not why you did it.” Houston folds his arms. “Don’t act like it was some noble thing to pick her apart like that. She doesn’t need you to minimize her to feel safe. She needs you to treat her like a partner.”
“I do.” It sounds weak. Mostly because it’s bullshit.
“Not in here. Not today.”
Quincy clears his throat. “We still need a plan,” he says, half apology, half plea. “The label is not bluffing. They want quiet.”
Houston’s jaw works side to side for a breath. “We can be quiet without erasing her. We can lead with audio and keep credits in the captions. We can stagger posts. Lock interviews behind paywalls. Keep comments off. That’s not the same as telling her to hide.”
Salem nods. “We do it that way. We keep her name in the byline. We don’t shame her out of the room.” He glares at me. “Ever.”
I feel myself double down because backing up right now feels like losing the handle. “We’re not shaming anyone. We’rereducing problems for a while. It’s a tactical call. Nothing personal.”
“It was condescending and a dick move,” Houston says. “We don’t do that. Not in this band. Not in this family.”
I look at Quincy for backup. He won’t give it. He stares at the floor. He knows the label’s ask is dirty. He wants the money anyway. Can’t blame him.
Salem stands. “Fix it, Knox. You pissed her off. She was right. You were wrong. Do something about it.”
“She walked out!”
“Because you were an ass! Go apologize. Or I will. Or Houston will. But somebody is going to tell her she isn’t less than anyone in this room or anywhere else! She is the reason this album is coming together. Whether you like it or not, we need her.”
Houston stands too. “If you won’t fix this, we will.”
They walk out. The door is softer this time, but no less harsh.
Quincy lingers. “You know we need the funding.”
“I know.”
“You also know you can’t run this band like a label desk. Salem doesn’t respond to force well, and Houston…” He sighs. “He’s a good guy, too soft sometimes. He doesn’t take well to it either. Your talent lies in convincing people that things were their own idea. You lead from behind, Knox. It’s a skill I never mastered and I’ve always respected. That’s why they didn’t take this well. This…this wasn’t you.”
“I know that too.”
“You’re worried. We all are. But if you don’t fix this, you’ll hate yourself. Your brothers, they love that girl. It’s dangerous, of course. Caring the way they do. That’s why they need you to be the rational one. The even keel. You keep them together. But that’ll change if you start barking orders at everyone, no matter the reason.” He heads for the door, but pauses to lay his hand on my shoulder. “Fix this the way you fix things. Not the way the label breaks things.”
He leaves me in the empty room.
I look at the label note and at my agenda, and at the empty chair where she was. I hear the way I spoke to her. The part of me that thinks control is care.
Sometimes it is. Today it wasn’t.
I open a blank doc and start drafting a public statement because that’s the thing I know how to do when someone screws up. Fix the optics, control the narrative, build a wall of words between the truth and the crowd.
We support artist autonomy and respect across our team. Lou Navarro is our art director and partner. We stand with her work and her safety. We lead with music because that is what we make.
I stop. I read it again. It’s clean. It’s true.
It is also a dodge. It’s me trying to fix the public without fixing the private. It’s me hiding from the person I need to face. This fight isn’t with the public. Not really.
I delete the file. I empty the trash. I take a breath, and it catches because the easy move is always the wrong one when I’ve already made a wrong one.
I text Lou:I’m sorry. Can we talk?
The bubbles don’t move. I don’t blame her. Maybe she isn’t looking at her phone. Or maybe she’s ignoring me.
I walk the hall once, twice, three times, and then come back to the office because running after her now feels like making this about my need to feel better, and that’s not why I need to apologize.
