Rewind With A Superstar System-Chapter 95: Patch In The House
<🎧 Song Recommendation: 30 For 30 by Sza, Kendrick Lamar>
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(July 10, 2019 — Wednesday)
A full week had passed since they moved into the Venetian Islands mansion, and it had been exactly what the doctor ordered.
It was a week of decompression, marking the official end of their impromptu Miami vacation.
They had spent lazy afternoons on exclusive, private stretches of South Beach, renting jet skis and tearing across the turquoise water until their arms ached.
They had eaten at ridiculously overpriced steakhouses, completely ignoring the right side of the menu and ordering whatever they wanted. Naomi had spent hours sitting by the infinity pool, her sketchbook rapidly filling up with architectural concepts and ocean views. She looked healthier, brighter, and completely stress-free for the first time since their parents’ accident.
It was the perfect vacation, a much-needed breath of fresh air after months of stress.
But all vacations had to come to a wrap. The hype train from Masquerade needed fuel, and the System’s deadline for the Empire Business quest was constantly ticking in the back of Von’s mind. It was time to lock in.
Right on cue, the heavy front doors of the mansion swung open.
Patch stumbled inside, panting slightly as he dragged two massive, heavy-duty Pelican cases behind him. He dropped the reinforced cases onto the pristine white floorboards and took off his snapback, took one look at the twenty-foot ceilings, the abstract modern art on the walls and let out a long whistle.
"Whew! My bro’s becoming a man," Patch grinned, shaking his head in sheer disbelief. "Congratulations!"
"Welcome to Miami, Patch," Von grinned, walking over and giving the producer a firm, familiar bro-hug.
Von helped him drag the heavy equipment cases into the living room, and they all took a seat on the Italian leather sofas.
Calling Patch down to Miami wasn’t just a favor to a friend; it was the smartest musical decision Von could make. Patch was a veteran in the underground production scene. He had a gritty, authentic sound that the polished, cookie-cutter producers simply couldn’t replicate.
More importantly, Patch had cooked up the absolute fire beats for Masquerade using a basement studio in Queens. If he could create a Top 3 Billboard hit with scraps, Von could only imagine what the producer could do for them with access to industry-standard equipment.
Patch didn’t even ask for a glass of water. He went straight to business.
"So..." Patch said, leaning forward and rubbing his hands together. "Emily told me you guys got the good stuff over here. Where are we settling?"
Von smiled, kicking his feet up onto the glass coffee table. "Yup. Emily booked us a room at your brother’s place. It’s just a ten-minute drive from here."
Emily nodded with a satisfied smirk playing on her lips.
"We spent $170,000 for a three-month complete lockout at Neon Sound Studios in South Beach. We have Studio A. It’s ours twenty-four-seven, until October."
Patch’s eyes practically bugged out of his head. "Studio A? At Neon? Are you kidding me? Bro, that’s the flagship room! That’s where the platinum plaques get made!"
Patch immediately jumped up from the sofa, grabbing the handles of his Pelican cases again. "What are we waiting for? Let’s go check it out right now."
"You literally just flew in from New York," Von laughed, gesturing for him to sit back down. "Don’t you want to rest? Grab a shower? Eat something?"
"It’s nothing," Patch insisted with creative adrenaline. "Work comes first. Let’s go make history."
Ten minutes later, they were loading the gear into the back of the Cadillac Escalade. Emily took the driver’s seat and Von climbed into the front passenger seat next to her, a silent reminder that he still hadn’t found the time to do driving school and get his license, while Patch settled into the luxurious rear cabin.
Zack, who had walked them out to the driveway, slapped the hood of the Escalade. He would have loved to follow them to the studio, but the reality of being the Head of Legal for a rapidly expanding LLC had caught up with him.
He had a mountain of paperwork on his desk: finalizing the Absolute Records trademarks, negotiating publishing splits, and aggressively filtering through the sudden influx of frivolous threats and weird extortion emails that Von been receiving for a while now.
"Keep the King safe, Em," Zack joked, waving them off.
Emily merged the Escalade onto the Venetian Causeway, bypassing the brutal mainland traffic, and within fifteen minutes, they were pulling into the private, gated lot of Neon Sound Studios.
As they stepped out of the SUV, the reality of the situation finally set in.
The facility was a literal fortress of creativity. It was a massive, windowless, brutalist-style building painted entirely in black, designed to keep the paparazzi out and the music locked in.
Waiting for them at the reinforced glass entrance was the owner of the studio.
He looked incredibly similar to Patch, cementing their status as brothers. He had the same long, well-kept dreadlocks and the same rich, dark-skinned complexion. But that was where the similarities ended.
While Patch was dressed in loose streetwear and covered in tattoos, his older brother had a much bigger, broader build. He wore a sharply tailored navy-blue suit and carried the authority of a man who ran a multi-million-dollar business.
"Zeno," Patch grinned, dropping his cases to give his older brother a complicated handshake.
"Look at you, making moves," Zeno chuckled. He turned his attention to Von and extended a massive hand.
"Congratulations, Von," Zeno said, giving Von a firm shake. "You’re so young, yet you’re doing incredibly well for yourself. Navigating the industry without a major label leash is no easy feat. You made the right choice bringing my bro over. He knows how to pull the soul out of a track. You guys are going to have a blast here."
"Appreciate it, Zeno. We’re ready to get to work," Von nodded respectfully.
"I’ll let you get to it, then," Zeno smiled, pulling two sleek, black RFID keycards from his suit pocket and handing them to Emily. "Here are your master passes. Studio A is all yours."
They walked down the main corridor. The walls were a testament to the studio’s legacy. Dozens of framed Platinum records, Diamond certifications, and Grammy Award replicas lined the hallway, shimmering under the soft gallery lighting.
Emily swiped the keycard. The heavy, soundproofed door clicked open.
Von walked into the room and just stared.
It was a completely different universe compared to the cramped marijuana ridden basement studio they had worked in just a few months ago.
The walls were lined with dark, rich acoustic wood paneling, softly illuminated by customizable LED strips running along the baseboards, currently glowing in a low, atmospheric purple.
In the center of the massive room sat a legendary, seventy-two-channel SSL mixing console, looking like the control deck of a spaceship.
It was flanked by towering outboard gear racks filled with vintage equalizers and compressors, and massive studio monitor speakers the size of small refrigerators.
Beyond a thick pane of triple-paned, soundproof glass was the vocal booth. It was incredibly spacious, perfectly isolated from the outside world, and currently holding a vintage Sony C-800G microphone setup that probably cost more than Von’s college tuition.
"Oh, man," Patch whispered reverently, walking up to the console and gently running his fingers over the faders. "Perfect. Just how I love it. I told you my bro had the good stuff."
While Patch immediately went to work unpacking his hard drives and hooking up his laptop to the massive console, Emily took a seat on the plush leather couch at the back of the room, opening her tablet.
Von took the initiative. He walked over to a large, rolling whiteboard positioned in the corner of the lounge area and pulled out a black dry-erase marker. He popped the cap off.
"Alright, so here’s the plan," Von began talking, pacing slightly as he had already planned this strategy out earlier in his head. He began writing the numbers 1 through 10 down the left side of the pristine white board.
"We’ll be making ten tracks. That is the minimum requirement for a debut studio album. Our budget gives us the luxury of time, but the market demands a deadline. We need to drop this while the hype is still hot. So, Emily, what’s the situation? Anything to suggest before we lock in the tracklist?"
Emily scrolled through her inbox and her brow furrowed slightly in concentration.
"Well,..."
