Capítulo 117: Plans
Craig Kellman paced restlessly in the opulent boardroom, his polished shoes clicking against the marble floor. The Miami skyline sprawled beyond floor-to-ceiling windows, but the executives gathered around the long mahogany table paid it no mind. Their attention was focused solely on their agitated CEO.
"This is unacceptable," Craig snapped, his voice tight with barely contained fury. "We were supposed to have Arell Rose eating out of our hands by now. Instead, he's slipping further from our grasp every day."
Julia, the head of marketing, shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "The drugs didn't have the effect we anticipated. Geoffrey's influence seems to be counteracting our efforts."
Craig's eyes flashed dangerously. "Geoffrey. That man is becoming a serious thorn in our side. How is it possible that he's still Arell's manager? I thought we'd planted enough seeds of doubt."
Tom, the A&R executive, cleared his throat. "Arell's loyalty to Geoffrey appears to be... unshakeable. Our usual tactics aren't working."
A heavy silence fell over the room. Craig resumed his pacing, his mind racing. "We can't even reshape his image," he muttered. "Did you know that when we had the director slip in some... specific imagery for the Fair Trade video, it was all edited out? Without the director's knowledge, no less."
Julia leaned forward, her brow furrowed. "How is that possible? We made sure to have final approval on all video content."
Craig's laugh was bitter. "Apparently not with Arell Rose. This Geoffrey character seems to have an iron grip on every aspect of his career."
Tom drummed his fingers on the table. "At least we have some control over one of his label signees. Becalis is coming along nicely on Love & Hip Hop. We're building her following, grooming her to be our new-"
"Yes, yes," Craig interrupted impatiently. "But one pawn isn't enough. We need the king."
The room fell silent again, tension thick in the air. Finally, Julia spoke, her voice low and cautious. "If we can't control him through conventional means, perhaps it's time to consider... alternative methods."
Craig's eyes gleamed with dark interest. "Go on."
Julia glanced around the room, ensuring everyone was on the same page. "We could introduce him to Rihanna and Michèle Lamy. They might be able to... exert some influence."
Tom nodded slowly, catching her meaning. "Since the plan with Nicki didn't pan out, this could be our best option."
Craig stopped his pacing, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Gentlemen, ladies, I believe we may have found our solution. I'll need to make some calls, of course. I don't have direct contact with Michèle, but I know people who do."
He turned to face the group, his expression now alight with purpose. "We need to get Arell to the right kind of party. The kind where... introductions can be made."
The executives exchanged knowing glances, a mixture of anticipation and unease rippling through the room.
"In the meantime," Craig continued, his voice taking on a casual tone that belied the weight of his words, "let's start small. Advise Arell's publicist that it might be beneficial for him to be seen smoking weed in public. Build that bad boy image, you know? It's a first step."
<>
As the third quarter of the game between the College Park Skyhawks and the Fort Wayne Mad Ants began, the energy in the arena was electric. Kenny had dominated the first half, and the crowd was on edge, waiting to see if he could continue his stellar performance. But while the action on the court was fierce, a different kind of intensity simmered in the stands.
Arell sat courtside, his eyes following Kenny as he maneuvered the ball up the court. But his thoughts were elsewhere, tugged between the game and the weight of the conversation with Geoffrey, who sat beside him.
"Janelle got a memo from Craig earlier today," Geoffrey said quietly, his voice cutting through the noise of the arena. "They want you to be seen smoking weed in public."
Arell's gaze remained on the court, but his jaw tightened. "They really keep trying to mold me like that? Like I'm some kind of puppet?"
Geoffrey leaned back, keeping his voice low. "It's a classic move. They start small—little nudges, subtle suggestions. Get you to compromise here and there until you're not even aware that you're no longer in control. They want to guide your choices without you even realizing it."
Kenny blew past a defender, gliding toward the basket, his agility unmatched. The crowd roared, but Arell's focus was locked on Geoffrey.
"And if I don't fall in line?" Arell's voice was calm, but there was an edge to it.
Geoffrey's eyes flicked to him. "They'll try other tactics. They're not above censorship, manipulation, character assassination. They control the narrative, Arell. They've built empires on it. If you don't play by their rules, they'll make sure the world sees you as the villain. It's how they keep the industry in check."
Arell leaned forward, watching as Kenny nailed a three-pointer, the net snapping cleanly. The crowd erupted, but the noise barely registered with Arell.
"So, what do we do?" he asked, his voice tight with resolve.
Geoffrey's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing. "We keep doing what we're already doing, building our own power. Real power. Independent of theirs. That's the only way to protect yourself, to ensure you're the one writing your story, not them."
Arell frowned, his mind racing. "But how fast can we do that? How long before we're in a position where they can't touch us?"
A smirk played at the corners of Geoffrey's mouth. "Remember what you agreed to when you were at the apartment? That you were going to be a billionaire—not just for yourself, but to help others. The real question is, how far are you willing to go to get there? How much of yourself are you willing to risk?"
Arell turned his head, meeting Geoffrey's gaze. "What exactly are you asking?"
Geoffrey's tone was measured, almost cold. "The industry thrives on conformity. Step out of line, and they'll do everything to break you. They might invite you to a party, set you up in a private room with someone like Rihanna, and by morning, you're on every headline, accused of something you never did. They control the media, the narrative. They can make you a hero or destroy you overnight."
Arell's eyes darkened, his muscles tensing. "You already know I'm not playing their games."
Geoffrey nodded, his voice softening but still carrying that edge of caution. "Good. But you need to be prepared for the lengths they'll go to. You've got to fully understand the game, Arell. You haven't been reading as much as you should since you got out, and there's a lot you still need to grasp. I'll get you some books that will open your eyes to how deep this goes, how much of the world is controlled from behind the scenes."
Arell nodded, the weight of the conversation pressing down on him. "I'm already going to therapy, trying to get my head straight, and now you're telling me all this."
"It is chaotic," Geoffrey agreed, his tone steady. "And therapy is important, but therapists are human too. They can help you process, but they also keep you focused on you're own problems. What I want for you is self-awareness, Arell. True self-awareness, so you can navigate this world without getting lost in it."
Kenny was orchestrating the offense with precision, his movements on the court a complete display of athleticism and control. Arell watched him for a moment, admiring the way his friend commanded the game. Then, he turned back to Geoffrey, his voice resolute. "And if they catch on to what we're doing? That we're building something they can't control?"
Geoffrey's gaze was piercing. "That's why we need to move quickly, make our moves before they even know what's happening. When that August to September period hits we get aggressive, rapid expansion. We have to think bigger, Arell—much bigger."
Arell raised an eyebrow, his mind working through the implications. "Bigger? You're talking about making me a billionaire by the end of the year?"
Geoffrey leaned in. "That's practically impossible, we won't have nearly enough capital for that. I'm talking about assets, Arell. Real wealth. This isn't just about having money in the bank. If you want to help others, you can't do it from the same position as them. You have to elevate, rise above, so you can pull others up with you."
Geoffrey's eyes gleamed with intensity as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper despite the roar of the crowd around them.
"Listen, Arell," he said, his words crisp and urgent. "What we're talking about here isn't just success in the music industry. We're not just aiming to top charts; we're aiming to have the power to rewrite the rules of society ourselves."
Arell felt a shiver run down his spine, equal parts excitement and apprehension. "That's... that's a lot, Geoffrey."
Geoffrey's lips curled into a knowing smile. "It all starts with understanding the system we're up against. You've seen how quickly they can turn on someone, right? One day you're a hero, the next you're a villain. It's all about controlling the narrative."
Arell nodded slowly, thinking of the countless celebrities he'd seen rise and fall in the blink of an eye. "Yeah, I've seen it happen. But how do we avoid that?"
"Knowledge is power, Arell," Geoffrey said, his eyes burning with conviction. "And I'm not talking about the watered-down version they feed you in schools. I'm talking real knowledge, the kind they don't want you to have."
He paused, glancing around as if to ensure no one was listening in. "Did you know that in some countries, you can be thrown in prison just for speaking out against the government? And it's not just 'other' countries. Even here, there are forces at work to silence dissenting voices."
Arell's brow furrowed. "But we have freedom of speech, right? That's like, fundamental."
Geoffrey let out a dry chuckle. "On paper, sure. But in practice? It's a whole different ball game. Look at what happened to Snowden, you know who he is right? He exposed truths, and what happened? Branded a traitor."
The crowd around them erupted in cheers as Kenny sank another three-pointer, but Arell barely noticed. His mind was reeling with the implications of what Geoffrey was saying.
"So what, we're all just being... controlled?" Arell asked, a note of disbelief in his voice.
"More than you realize," Geoffrey nodded. "Think about your education, Arell. What did they teach you about history? About economics? About how the world really works?"
Arell frowned, thinking back to his school days. "I mean, we learned about wars, presidents, that kind of thing. Basic economics, I guess."
"Exactly," Geoffrey said, his voice tinged with frustration. "Basic. Surface level. They teach you just enough to function in society, but not enough to question it. Did they teach you about the Federal Reserve? About how money really works? About the true motivations behind wars?"
Arell shook his head, feeling a growing sense of unease. "No, not really."
"Of course not," Geoffrey said. "Because an educated populace is harder to control. They want you just smart enough to work the machines and do the paperwork, but not smart enough to realize how much you're being exploited."
The words hit Arell like a physical force. He'd always prided himself on being smart, on seeing through the bullshit. But now he was beginning to realize just how much he didn't know.
As Arell grappled with the weight of Geoffrey's revelations, his attention was drawn back to the court. The buzzer signaling the end of the third quarter blared through the arena, and Kenny jogged off the court, his face filled with frustration. The scoreboard told a grim story: Fort Wayne Mad Ants 78, College Park Skyhawks 72.
Kenny had spent most of the third quarter on the bench, Coach Stevens opting to rest his star player for the crucial final period. But without Kenny's leadership on the court, the Skyhawks had faltered. The Mad Ants had chipped away at their lead, exploiting every mistake and capitalizing on every opportunity.
As the teams huddled up for the break between quarters, Kenny's eyes blazed with determination. He knew the fourth quarter would be his time to shine, to reclaim the game that was slipping away from them.
The final quarter began with a sense of urgency. Kenny took the court, his teammates rallying around him. But the Mad Ants weren't going to make it easy. They came out aggressive, double-teaming Kenny at every opportunity, forcing the ball out of his hands.
Jamal received a pass from Kenny, hesitating for a moment before attempting a three-pointer. The ball clanged off the rim, and the Mad Ants snatched the rebound. Williams, seizing the opportunity, drove down the court for an easy layup, extending their lead to 80-72.
Kenny gritted his teeth, frustration building. He knew he needed to take control, but the Mad Ants' defense was suffocating. Every time he touched the ball, two defenders converged on him, forcing him to pass.
"Move without the ball!" Kenny shouted to his teammates. "Create space!"
But the pressure seemed to be getting to everyone. Tyrell fumbled a pass, leading to another Mad Ants' fast break. Williams capitalized again, sinking a smooth jump shot. 82-72.
Coach Stevens called a timeout, his face a storm of emotions. As the team huddled, Kenny could feel the doubt creeping in. He looked around at his teammates' faces, seeing the fear, the uncertainty.
"Listen up," Kenny said, his voice cutting through the noise. "We've been here before. We know how to do this. Trust each other, trust the system, and trust yourselves."
As they broke the huddle, Kenny knew it was now or never, he had to make his move. As he brought the ball up the court, he signaled for a pick-and-roll with Kwesi. The big man set a solid screen, and Kenny used it to create just enough space to get off a shot. The ball arced through the air, hanging for what felt like an eternity before swishing through the net. 82-75.
But the Mad Ants weren't going to roll over. They responded with a quick basket of their own, Williams threading a perfect pass to their center for an easy dunk. 84-75.
The game continued its frantic pace, each possession feeling like a battle. Kenny was everywhere, driving, dishing, defending. But for every basket the Skyhawks scored, the Mad Ants seemed to have an answer.
With four minutes left in the game, the Skyhawks were still down by seven, 92-85. Kenny knew they needed something big to swing the momentum. As he brought the ball up the court, he saw Williams guarding him closely, a smirk on his face.
"You're done, rookie," Williams taunted. "This is our game now."
Kenny felt something snap inside him. In that moment, all the frustration, all the pressure, all the doubt crystallized into a laser-like focus. He crossed over hard, leaving Williams stumbling. The lane opened up, and Kenny exploded towards the basket.
He saw the Mad Ants' center rotating over, moving to cut him off. In a split-second decision, Kenny leapt, twisting his body in mid-air to avoid the contact. He contorted, double-clutching before releasing the ball just as he was about to hit the ground.
The ball kissed off the backboard and dropped through the net. The crowd erupted, and Kenny felt the energy in the arena shift. As he landed, he heard the whistle - and one. He'd been fouled on the play.
Kenny stepped to the line, the crowd holding its breath. He bounced the ball twice, took a deep breath, and let it fly. Nothing but net. 92-88.
The momentum had shifted, but the Mad Ants weren't going to go down without a fight. On the next possession, Williams drove hard, drawing a foul on Jamal. He sank both free throws, pushing the lead back to six.
With just under three minutes left, Kenny knew every possession was crucial. He brought the ball up, calling for a clear out. His teammates spread the floor, giving him room to work. Kenny sized up his defender, then made his move. A quick crossover, a hesitation, then a burst of speed. He blew past his man, drawing the help defense.
At the last second, Kenny whipped a no-look pass to Tyrell in the corner. Tyrell caught the ball, squared up, and let it fly. The arena held its breath as the ball arced through the air. Swish. 94-91.
The Mad Ants called a timeout, trying to stem the tide. As the teams huddled, Kenny could feel the energy building. They were close, so close. But they weren't there yet.
"Lock in on defense," Kenny urged his teammates. "We get a stop here, we're right back in this."
As play resumed, the Mad Ants tried to slow the game down, working the clock. Williams dribbled at the top of the key, trying to create space. Kenny stayed with him, mirroring his every move. As the shot clock wound down, Williams tried to drive, but Kenny was there, moving his feet, staying in front.
Williams pulled up for a contested jumper. Kenny leapt, his hand outstretched. He felt the ball graze his fingertips as Williams released it. The shot fell short, clanging off the front of the rim.
Kwesi snatched the rebound and immediately outlet passed to Kenny. The Skyhawks were off and running. Kenny pushed the ball up the court, the defense scrambling to get back. He saw Jamal streaking down the left side and hit him with a perfect bounce pass.
Jamal caught the ball in stride, took two dribbles, and rose up for the dunk. The Mad Ants' center, desperately trying to get back, made a last-ditch effort to contest the shot. There was contact, and Jamal's dunk rattled out.
The whistle blew. Foul.
Jamal stepped to the line, the pressure of the moment weighing heavily on his shoulders. Kenny could see the doubt in his teammate's eyes.
"You got this, J," Kenny called out. "Just like practice."
Jamal took a deep breath, bounced the ball twice, and let it fly. The first free throw was pure, nothing but net. 94-92.
The crowd was on its feet now, the noise deafening. Jamal's second free throw bounced on the rim once, twice, and then fell through. 94-93.
With just over a minute left, the game had come down to this. The Mad Ants brought the ball up, working the clock. They ran through their offense, looking for an opening. Kenny stuck to Williams like glue, denying him the ball.
As the shot clock wound down, the Mad Ants' power forward caught the ball at the elbow. He turned, looking to drive, but Kwesi was there, arms outstretched. The forward pump-faked, got Kwesi in the air, and leaned in, drawing the contact.
The whistle blew. Foul on Kwesi.
Kenny felt his heart sink as the Mad Ants' forward stepped to the line. Two shots. The first one was good. 95-93. The second one rattled out, and Tyrell came down with the rebound.
Fifty seconds left. Down by two. Kenny brought the ball up, his mind racing. They needed a bucket, and they needed it now. He signaled for a pick-and-roll with Kwesi, using the big man's screen to create space. The defense collapsed on him as he drove, and at the last second, he kicked it out to Jamal in the corner.
Jamal caught the ball, squared up, and let it fly. The ball seemed to hang in the air forever. It hit the front of the rim, bounced up... and fell through. The crowd exploded. 95-96, Skyhawks lead.
But there was still time on the clock. Thirty-five seconds. The Mad Ants brought the ball up, looking to reclaim the lead. Williams had the ball, working against Kenny. He tried to drive, but Kenny cut him off. Williams spun, looking for space, but Kenny was right there.
In desperation, Williams tried to force a pass inside. Kenny saw it coming. He reached out, tipping the ball with his fingertips. It hung in the air for a split second before Tyrell snatched it.
Kenny was already running. Tyrell hit him with the outlet pass, and Kenny was off to the races. He could hear the footsteps behind him, the defense desperately trying to get back. As he approached the basket, he saw Williams coming up on his left, looking to contest the shot.
In a split-second decision, Kenny slowed just slightly, letting Williams catch up. As Williams leapt to block the shot, Kenny ducked under him, using his body to create space. He scooped the ball up, releasing it just as Williams made contact.
The whistle blew as the ball kissed off the glass and dropped through the net. And one. The crowd was in a frenzy now, the noise so loud Kenny could barely hear himself think.
He stepped to the line, the game in his hands. One free throw to put them up by four with just seconds left on the clock. Kenny took a deep breath, bounced the ball twice, and let it fly.
The ball arced through the air, seeming to move in slow motion. It hit the back of the rim, bounced up... and fell through. 95-99.
The Mad Ants called their final timeout, but it was too late. When play resumed, they managed to get off a desperation three, but it fell short. As the final buzzer sounded, Kenny felt a wave of emotion wash over him.
They had done it. They had won.
<>
New Fic out.
More than likely taking a break from this soon.
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