Trapped in a Recording Studio by Her Late Superstar Husband's Adult Stepdaughter and Family to Surrender $120M Catalog Rights, a Caretaking Manager Discovers Fate and Secrets Change Everything
Part 1
The soft hum of Soundstage 4 vibrated through the plush carpet, a deep, almost subliminal thrum that Maya Montgomery had grown accustomed to over two decades. It was the pulse of Julian’s world, a rhythm she’d helped maintain for so long. Now, it was a hollow echo.
She leaned back against the deep leather couch, the springs sighing in protest. Her eyes, perpetually tired these days, scanned the legal documents spread across the low glass table. Julian’s face, etched in sepia on a framed photograph, stared back at her from the corner, a ghost in his own VIP suite.
It felt less like a sanctuary and more like a waiting room in a high-stakes legal game.
Which, of course, it was.
Outside, somewhere beyond the thick, soundproof walls, the faint, distorted chords of a band tuning up for Julian’s memorial rehearsal drifted in. Each pluck and beat was a sharp reminder of the void he’d left behind, a chasm Maya had been trying to fill with her own dwindling energy since his sudden heart failure three months ago.
She’d managed Julian’s career, his schedule, his personal life, his moods, and his sprawling, often chaotic, family. She’d sung backup on his biggest hits, toured the world, handled the press, and kept the entire Montgomery rock dynasty from imploding on more than one occasion.
It was a full-time job even when he was alive.
After his death, it became an impossible burden.
The responsibility for everything—the $120 million publishing catalog, the numerous properties, the staff, the foundation, and most importantly, her young son’s future—had fallen squarely on her shoulders. Julian had named her the sole executor of his estate, a decision that had caused immediate friction.
She ran a hand over her son’s name, printed clearly on one of the trust fund documents. Nathaniel. He was too young to understand any of this, too young to grasp the sharks circling his father’s legacy.
Maya adjusted her glasses, pushing a stray coil of her dark hair behind her ear. She needed to finalize these papers before the evening, before the rehearsal spilled over into the real, televised memorial concert. Attorney Raymond Ellsworth had stressed the urgency. Nathaniel’s future, his stability, depended on this.
The room was opulent, but sterile. A bowl of untouched fruit sat on a side table, a stark contrast to the churning anxiety in her gut. She could almost taste the fear, bitter and metallic, clinging to the back of her throat.
For twenty years, she had been Julian’s rock, his quiet strength behind the flashing lights. Now, without him, she was just Maya. A woman in a black pantsuit, trying to hold onto what was left.
A soft click echoed in the otherwise silent room.
It was almost imperceptible over the faint thrum of the soundstage, but Maya, a veteran of countless studios, recognized the sound instantly. The heavy, insulated steel door, designed to keep sound both in and out, had just been locked. From the outside.
Her heart gave a violent lurch.
She gripped the edges of the legal papers, crumpling them slightly. Her eyes darted to the door, a solid block of dark wood and metal. There was no handle on her side, only a small, polished brass plate. Julian always insisted on this feature in his private creative spaces—a way to ensure absolute focus, to block out the world.
A way to keep distractions out. Or, she realized with a cold prickle along her spine, to keep someone in.
A metallic scrape. The heavy latch disengaged.
The door, slowly, deliberately, began to swing open.
A sliver of bright corridor light cut through the dimness of the suite. Maya shielded her eyes, her breath catching in her throat. The sound of distant chatter, muffled by the initial closing of the door, now grew louder, sharper.
It wasn’t just Chloe.
As the door widened, Maya saw them, a silent, unsmiling tableau filling the doorway.
Chloe Montgomery stood at the front, her 26-year-old face set in a hard mask of determination. Behind her, arrayed like a phalanx, were at least four other family members—Julian’s ambitious Uncle Marcus, his stern Aunt Vanessa, and two cousins Maya barely recognized, their faces grim and unyielding.
A room full of hostile relatives.
Part 2
Chloe stepped into the room, her gaze fixed on Maya. She didn’t speak, but her posture, rigid and purposeful, filled the space. Uncle Marcus closed the door behind them with a soft click, sealing the room once more.
Chloe slid a thick manila envelope across the glass table. It stopped inches from Maya’s hand.
“Sign it,” Chloe’s voice was low, devoid of emotion. “Transfer all catalog rights to me. And guardianship of Nathaniel.”
Maya’s eyes scanned the document. *Waiver of all claims*.
“If you don’t,” Chloe continued, “the press gets a story tomorrow. You’re unfit. A negligent stepmother. We’ll make sure no one believes a word you say ever again.”
More Stories
+ There are no comments
Add yours