Stolen Blues, Spectral Frequencies, and the $40 Million Studio Betrayal: Former Addict Songstress Nia Dupree Confronts Her Predatory Stepfather Marcus Holloway in a Gothic Battle Over Her Late Moth...
The lukewarm coffee tasted like ash in my mouth. My temporary apartment felt small, the walls closing in. After Marcus’s threats, fear for Trevon gnawed at me.
I pulled out my phone, scrolling through old contacts. Lawyers? Who could stand up to Holloway Sound’s army of attorneys?
Then, an email popped up. The subject line was “Holloway Sound – Confidential Inquiry.” My stomach clenched. Was this another one of Marcus’s threats?
I opened it cautiously. The sender was “Devante Jackson, Independent Journalist.”
The email mentioned whispers in the industry about my mother’s legacy. It said he was investigating Marcus Holloway’s finances. He wrote that he had evidence of “systemic royalty theft and questionable offshore holdings.”
My breath hitched. Offshore holdings. Systemic theft. These weren’t rumors; this was a serious accusation.
I stared at the screen for a long moment. Marcus hadn’t just stiffed me. He was robbing others, too.
I called the number immediately. Devante answered on the second ring, his voice calm and professional.
“Nia Dupree,” he said, recognition in his tone. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“Your email,” I began, my voice a little shaky. “Is this real? What are you investigating?”
He paused. “Ms. Dupree, I’ve been looking into Holloway Sound for months. Not specifically your mother’s case, at first. More about tax evasion and shell companies in the Caribbean.”
A wave of cold dread washed over me, then a spark of hope. “Tax evasion?”
“Yes. But while following the money, I stumbled across some… irregularities concerning ‘Hollow Soul’ royalties,” Devante continued. “Multiple artists, producers, even session musicians. Payments delayed, rerouted, sometimes outright missing.”
He explained how he’d found discrepancies in public financial records. Layers of corporate entities, all funneling money away from the original creators.
“Marcus Holloway isn’t just making a hit record,” he stated plainly. “He’s built an empire on shortchanging talent. Your mother’s track, specifically, stands out. The royalty figures don’t add up for a song of that magnitude.”
“He said I have nothing,” I muttered, picturing Marcus’s icy glare. “He’s threatening my brother’s home.”
“He knows you’re vulnerable, Ms. Dupree,” Devante said gently. “But if you have a claim to that song, and I have evidence of his fraud, we might have a common enemy.”
He detailed his findings: suspicious transfers to accounts in Panama and the Cayman Islands, millions of dollars that should have gone to artists.
“I found a paper trail for over $15 million in diverted funds directly linked to ‘Hollow Soul’ alone,” he revealed. “And that’s just what I could trace publicly.”
The figure made my head spin. Fifteen million. And Marcus had told me I was lucky to get a measly buyout.
“He erased Mama’s name from some of the early internal ledgers, didn’t he?” I asked, a sudden realization hitting me. “To hide her involvement, to take full credit.”
Devante paused. “I can’t confirm specifics on that yet, but it wouldn’t surprise me. It’s a common tactic to obscure the true originators.”
“I need to know everything,” I said, a new resolve hardening my voice. “And I need your help to prove it.”
“I’m willing to share my findings, but it’s a dangerous game,” he warned. “Marcus Holloway has powerful friends.”
“I have nothing left to lose,” I replied, staring at the blurred photo of Mama Camille on my desktop background. “Except everything my mother ever fought for.”
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