Grant broke the quiet.“I will push them to include the asset schedule with the draft.If they stall, we will put it into a condition precedent.”
“Thank you,” she said.“I will keep our statement short.”
“Short and dull,” Grant said.“Dull wins days like this.”
He hung up.Tony tapped his pen on the wood.“They thought ‘walk away’ would scare us.”
She chuckled.“That's what I think too.It freed us.”She closed the pad and stood.“Should we go tell everyone?”
Tony grinned like a kid on Christmas and jogged toward the studio.Through the glass, she saw him wave an arm and point at the door.Axel stepped back from his kit.Sean unstrapped his guitar.Jami reached for the handle and found her eyes first.
He crossed the barn in five long strides.“You need me?”
“You'll all want to hear this.”
She held his hand when she said it out loud as the band members gathered around.“Summit is terminating the contract.Complete reversion.All files, all rights.We approve the statement.We're done.”
He went perfectly still, then laughed once, sharp and surprised.“You're not joking.”
“No.”Her throat tightened on the single word.
Sean whooped behind him.Axel clacked sticks together, then picked up Maddyn, and covered her mouth with his.Tony grabbed Livia in a hug that shook them both.
Jami reached for her waist and lifted her the way people do only when they forget that gravity is a thing.She linked her hands behind his neck and didn't care who watched.When he set her down, he pressed his forehead to hers.His voice was a rasp.“We own our music.”
“You own your music,” she said.“Say it again in your head until your bones know it.”
He kissed her once, quickly, then spun toward the others.“We own our music.”
Axel grinned.“And we book our tour.”
Tony said.“I already have three venues I can call.”
“Call them,” Jami said, already reaching for his phone.“But wait for the paper before you confirm.”
Carlene set her laptop on the bar and opened a new document titledSeparation, Clean.She built a checklist while the barn buzzed.Deliverables.Stems.Masters.ISRCs.Artwork.Session logs.Transfer letter to platforms.Confirmation of takedowns.She left a blank line for the one thing she did not want to forget and wrote it last.
Silence after posting.Let the music speak.
Her email pinged.Martin’s draft arrived with a second attachment labeledAsset Schedule.She skimmed the agreement and clicked the schedule.File names, dates, studio logs, exports.Two gaps.She highlighted both and sent the list to Grant with a note:Add missing stems from 3.2 and 3.4 sessions.Add the arrangement file for “Keys”.
Grant responded,On it.
Jami slid onto the stool beside her, breath still high.“Tell me what to do that keeps me from getting in your way.”
“Try on the word, tour, without saying, when, yet,” she said.“Let Tony lay the grid.You go make a set list that sounds like who you are now, not who you were three months ago.”
He nodded, then startled.“We keep the new ones too.”
“All of them,” she said.“Every song you made belongs to you.”
He closed his eyes for a second and then looked at her.“Thank you.”
“You did this,” she said.“I just moved pieces while you held your line.”
He turned in his seat and called to the room.“Break for ten.Then we cut the outro on “Keys” and start the next one.”
Axel saluted with a stick.Sean pointed at the control room.“Tony, bring your calendar.I want your eyes on the geography of our lives.”
