Jake leaned back in his chair, his jaw tight, eyes fixed somewhere past the lawyer’s shoulder. The defiance was still there, but it had gone quiet. He knew as well as we did that there was no emergency fund to cover those costs.
The lawyer, mistaking silence for consent, continued.
“If the agreement proceeds,” he said, tapping the folder, “the label absorbs the legal exposure, and your son’s prior misrepresentation becomes irrelevant.”
“And if it doesn’t?” Michelle asked.
He paused. “Then the contract is contested, which means discovery, depositions, and court filings. Everything becomes part of the public record, and in the course of defending itself, the company would be required to correct the public record regarding your son’s identity.”
Michelle exhaled slowly, like she was trying not to panic. We’d worked hard to stabilize Jake’s life, and he’d finally seemed to be finding his footing since joining the band. This had the potential to derail everything.
“We’ve heard enough,” she said. “Leave the paperwork. We’ll read it and get back to you.”
“A word of advice,” the lawyer said. “Don’t sit on this. The label is being generous. They’re offering a way out.”
I laughed at that. “No—the way out is to just dissolve the contract. To give a kid who’s had a rough go of it a goddamn break. This? This is the label knowing they stand to make a hell of a lot more off him by exploiting his name. So don’t stand in my kitchen with that smug expression on your face and act like we are too dumb to figure that out.”
“Fair enough,” he said, unfazed, gathering his things. “Any other questions?”
“What does the solo contract actually require?” Michelle asked.
Jake’s eyes rounded on her, his anger palpable.
The studio rep cut in. “Exclusive recording rights, promotional appearances, tour commitments… just the standard clauses.”
“And editorial control?” she asked.
“Shared,” he said. “The label would retain final approval.”
“No,” Jake mumbled under his breath.
“And his story?” Michelle continued.
The rep hesitated. “It wouldn’t be the focus.”
“But it would be used,” she said.
The rep didn’t confirm or deny, which said it all.
“No.” Jake raised his voice. “I’m not signing.”
“Again, that decision isn’t yours to make,” the lawyer said. “This deal protects you. Protects your family from ruin.”
“Don’t act like you’re doing me a favor.”
“We can make you a star.”
Jake stood, towering over him, his fists clenching at his sides. “Do you think I want that?”
“I think you do. You signed the first contract, didn’t you?”
Jake’s glare could’ve killed.
Puberty had pushed him past six feet, his frame hardened by the weights in our garage. He looked nothing like the boy on the missing person flyer that had made him famous. Add his anger and poor impulse control, and if I were that lawyer, I wouldn’t be sitting there with that patronizing look on my face.
Michelle reached for him. “Jake—”
“No,” he snapped. “You don’t get to fix this by handing me over.”
