บท 10: Family Council
The apartment smelled of coffee when I got home. Mom sat at our small kitchen table, still in her scrubs, Sony's contract spread before her. Her night shift eyes had that razor focus I'd later see in boardroom negotiations.
"Explain this to me again," she said, tapping the clause about studio rights. "Why's a seventeen-year-old demanding his own production space?"
I pulled out the chair across from her, the metal legs scraping against linoleum that would become marble flooring in another timeline. "Because this is bigger than just making beats, Ma. This is about building something."
"Building what, exactly?" Her tone was sharp, but I caught the undertone – not dismissal, but assessment. The same voice she'd use years later reviewing acquisition proposals.
I took out my notebook, opened it to carefully prepared projections. Numbers that looked ambitious but not impossible, growth charts that hinted at future knowledge while appearing as teenage optimism.
"First, we secure the warehouse space. Convert it to professional studios – not just for me, but rentable spaces. Build a community." I walked her through the five-year plan I'd compressed from thirty years of experience. "Rico's on board as a partner. His cousin at the bank can help with the initial loan."
"And school?" She raised an eyebrow. "Because this contract isn't getting signed if education isn't part of the plan."
In my original timeline, I'd dropped out. It had worked out, but the worry had aged her. This time would be different.
"Online classes," I said. "Night school if I have to. But Ma, this isn't just about music. We need someone to handle the business side. Someone who understands numbers, who can manage growth."
She stilled, coffee cup halfway to her lips. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying you're wasted doing double shifts. You've got skills nobody sees yet. Be our CFO. Start part-time, learn the industry. Within a year, you'll be running the whole financial operation."
"Marcus." Her voice carried that mix of love and concern I remembered from both timelines. "This is a lot. Too much, too fast."
I reached across the table, took her hand. The same hand that would later sign billion-dollar contracts. "Remember what Dad used to say? 'Johnson's don't dream small.' This is our shot, Ma. Not just mine – ours."
She studied me for a long moment. I saw the calculations behind her eyes, the natural business instinct that our future empire would build upon. "You're different lately. More focused. Like you've got some kind of plan."
"Maybe I do." I smiled, thinking of the empire we'd build together. "Maybe it's time for both of us to be more than what people expect."
She picked up the contract again, but this time her eyes moved differently across it – not a worried mother, but a future executive assessing terms. "We'll need better legal representation. These royalty percentages are highway robbery."
I grinned. This was the mother I remembered from the future – sharp, strategic, unstoppable once she saw the path forward.
"And you'll finish school," she added. "No negotiation on that."
"Deal." I pulled out another set of papers – the warehouse information I'd had Rico print out. "Now, about our first property investment..."
She shook her head, but reached for the documents. "Your father would be proud, you know. This vision of yours. This... whatever it is you're building."
"We're building, Ma." I watched her dive into the numbers, saw the future CEO emerging already. "This is just the beginning."
And it was. In my original timeline, it had taken years to realize my mother's potential, to bring her into the business. This time, we'd build the empire together, right from the start.
The future was already changing. For the better.
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