"So… how much are we looking at?"
The question hung in the air, heavy with anticipation, in the sleek, glass-walled operational headquarters of UMG in Santa Monica, California. The room buzzed with a mix of exhaustion and excitement, the kind that only comes after weeks of back-to-back international trips, high-stakes negotiations, and complex financial maneuvering. Just back from the Netherlands, where Lucian and a small cadre of top executives had secured a fresh round of strategic funding, the full board of UMG had finally convened in one place for the first time in over a year. The energy in the room was palpable—equal parts relief, pride, and nervous expectation.
The topic of the day, however, wasn't about expansion plans, new signings, or cutting-edge music technology. It was far more delicate, far more consequential. It was about the culmination of years of meticulous planning, long nights of spreadsheets and projections, endless logistical headaches, and the pursuit of a milestone so monumental it could change the trajectory of the company forever: the financial reckoning of their "One of a Kind" tour.
UMG had always aimed to dominate the music industry in every conceivable way, but this tour was different. It wasn't just about selling tickets or merchandise. It wasn't even just about breaking streaming or social records. It was about proving that UMG could orchestrate a nationwide spectacle on a scale comparable to international tours, but entirely within the United States, without losing control over the quality, logistics, or branding. The tour had spanned nearly every state, except for Alaska and Hawaii, attracting not only millions of fans but also global attention, earning acclaim for its production value, creative stage design, and star power. It had been audacious, massive, and undeniably risky—but it had worked.
Now, in this very boardroom, with the sun streaming across the polished conference table, all eyes were on Jack, the company's CFO, who sat with his laptop open, meticulously reviewing the final figures. As always, he had the calm, measured demeanor of a man accustomed to handling numbers that could make or break fortunes. But even he could not mask the faint edge of anticipation in his eyes as he prepared to reveal just how monumental their earnings truly were.
After all the years of strategizing, executing, and meticulously calculating every variable—from ticket sales, sponsorship deals, merchandise, streaming partnerships, VIP packages, to exclusive fan experiences—the moment had arrived to put a number on UMG's triumph. This wasn't just a revenue report; it was a statement of power, of dominance, and of validation for a company that had spent years shaping the modern music landscape.
And now, as Jack took a deep breath, the room collectively leaned in. Every board member, from the seasoned executives to the freshly appointed directors, waited, knowing that the figure about to be revealed would define UMG's year, if not its decade.
The honor, the pressure, and the responsibility of delivering that verdict fell squarely on Jack's shoulders.
Jack, seated at the head of the massive, glass-and-steel boardroom, exuded the calm authority of a man used to handling figures that could dictate the rise and fall of empires. His Brioni suit was immaculate, tailored to perfection, each crease sharp and precise, and the subtle sheen of his Audemars Piguet peeked from beneath his cuff. But what drew the attention of everyone in the room was not his impeccable style—it was the tab he carried, meticulously prepared by his team: a full, exhaustive report detailing every cent spent, earned, and projected from UMG's groundbreaking "One of a Kind" tour. The document alone was a testament to months of number-crunching, careful forecasting, and painstaking auditing.
Jack leaned forward slightly, adjusting the cuffs of his suit and clearing his throat before beginning, his voice smooth, confident, and crisp, commanding attention from every board member present.
"Okay, let's talk about the tour and what it actually made," he began, his tone professional but infused with a subtle note of pride. "After reviewing all our ledgers, invoices, and reconciliations, we can confirm that the tour grossed $1,372,486,000." He allowed the number to hang in the room for a moment, letting the sheer magnitude sink in.
Jack's eyes flicked to his detailed report. "Now, of course, gross revenue is just part of the story. Let's talk about costs. The total expenditure for the tour stands at approximately $250,674,000. That includes all travel arrangements—air transport for essential personnel, buses for the team, and lodging costs, though notably minimized as the majority of our staff remained on buses and mobile accommodations to reduce overhead. Salaries and performance fees for artists, stage crews, security, and creative teams totaled $120,000,000, while stadium bookings, permits, and local venue fees came to $75,000,000. Production costs for stage design, lighting, sound, pyrotechnics, and the immersive visual effects for the tour were $35,674,000. Ancillary costs, including merchandise production, marketing, insurance, and miscellaneous logistics, accounted for the remaining $20,000,000."
He paused briefly, scanning the faces of the board members, noting their focused attention. Then he leaned back slightly, steepling his fingers. "In total, that leaves us with a net profit of $1,121,812,000. Over one point one billion dollars, a figure that reflects not only the unprecedented scale of the tour but also the efficiency and discipline with which it was executed. This is, by every metric, a landmark achievement for UMG."
Jack's voice remained even, professional, precise. Yet there was an unmistakable pride in his tone, the kind that only comes when a plan executed to perfection exceeds even the most ambitious projections. He placed the report carefully on the table, letting the numbers speak for themselves, knowing that the figures told a story far larger than the room could contain—a story of strategic brilliance, risk-taking, and the unyielding drive to dominate the music industry.
The boardroom buzzed quietly with conversations as members whispered among themselves, shaking their heads in disbelief and awe. "Wow…was it really that successful?" someone murmured, glancing at the numbers displayed on Jack's tab. Another leaned over, nudging a colleague, "I mean, we all knew it was huge, but this…this is on another level. Lucian's going to increase his power again, mark my words. What do you think Vincent will do next?" Questions, speculations, and murmurs rippled across the room. The mixture of astonishment, professional curiosity, and corporate strategy hung in the air like electricity, palpable and tense.
Jack, still holding the meticulously prepared tab, allowed himself a small, almost imperceptible smile. He couldn't lie—even if he tried, it was in his blood. Numbers had always been his passion, but numbers this ludicrously profitable? That was a kind of indulgence reserved for only the most extraordinary projects. He adjusted his cuff, glanced at the board members with a faint, knowing smile, and leaned forward slightly.
"And we aren't done," he said, his voice calm yet deliberate. The room immediately fell silent, everyone hanging on his words.
Jack's eyes scanned the room. "You see," he continued, "when evaluating the financial success of a tour, most people only look at ticket grossing. Sure, ticket sales are the headline numbers, but anyone who truly understands the business knows that they are far from the only way to make money. A tour like this, a tour of this magnitude, opens avenues that most would never consider."
He tapped on the tab, bringing up a new set of spreadsheets. "Merchandise, for instance. The 'One of a Kind Tour' merchandise alone was a phenomenon. Everything from tour t-shirts, hoodies, and snapbacks, to limited-edition vinyl, signed posters, collectible pins, luxury lanyards, and even the bespoke Ethan Jones sneaker line—all of it flew off the shelves. Ethan's involvement in the designs, the styling, and even personal touches—his signature on limited runs, curated colorways, and handwritten notes—turned what would have been standard tour merchandise into premium collectibles that fans fought over worldwide."
Jack's fingers traced the numbers as he continued, "Total revenue from merchandise reached $312,467,000, with total costs, including licensing fees, production, shipping, and distribution, coming to $170,238,000, leaving us with a net profit of $142,229,000. That alone is staggering, and it only reinforces how integrated Ethan's personal brand has become into the revenue streams of the tour."
A few board members exchanged glances, some barely containing their applause, while others whispered under their breath in admiration. Jack noticed this and smirked faintly. "And that," he said, raising a hand to pause their premature celebrations, "is still not all."
He swiped to another spreadsheet, showing figures from sponsorships, brand partnerships, and cross-promotional deals. "Sponsorships alone generated over $36,845,000 in additional revenue. Every partner, every brand involved—from beverage companies to tech brands to lifestyle conglomerates—aligned perfectly with the tour's identity, amplifying both visibility and profit."
Finally, Jack leaned back slightly, a small grin playing on his lips. "Now, I'm done. You may clap."
Applause erupted across the room, a mixture of relief, admiration, and celebration. Lucian, seated at the center with a perfectly tailored navy suit, allowed himself a smile, a gleam of pride in his eyes. "Thank you, Jack," he said, his tone warm but authoritative. He rose, straightened his posture, and took control of the meeting.
"And this," Lucian began, gesturing broadly to the board, "isn't the only benefit from this endeavor." His voice carried the perfect blend of confidence and professionalism. "We are already in preliminary talks with Taylor Swift and her management team. According to multiple sources, we are highly likely to be selected as the official promoters of her upcoming Eras Tour. This opportunity, if finalized, will not only expand our reach further but reinforce UMG's dominance in touring, production, and global music influence."
Immediately after Lucian made the announcement about the potential Taylor Swift Eras Tour, the room erupted. Conversations buzzed, chairs scraped lightly against the polished marble floor, and the air was thick with excitement and speculation. Executives leaned toward one another, whispering rapidly.
"Eras Tour? Wasn't it said Messina had it?" one muttered, eyebrows raised.
"For Lucian to bring it up here means it's true," another responded, flipping through her tablet. "If it's real, we should be able to secure it, but can we even handle a tour like that? How many countries are we talking?"
"The logistics would easily be ten times more complex than the One of a Kind Tour," someone else added, voice laced with cautious admiration.
"Yes," a third voice said, leaning back with a smile, "but the money…oh, the money would be worth it. Every single penny."
While the chatter and debates swirled around the boardroom like an energized storm, Lucian's attention remained laser-focused on two particular individuals at the table.
UMG was not just any label—it was the largest music company in the world, a behemoth valued at over forty billion dollars. In a company of that magnitude, power dynamics were unavoidable. There were factions, subtle rivalries, and people quietly positioning themselves for leverage. Most were harmless, but a few could pose genuine threats. Lucian had long learned how to consolidate authority, and the appointment of Jack as CFO—a masterstroke by design, leveraging Jack's position as the son of a major stakeholder—was proof of that.
Even with that advantage, Lucian remained cautious. His eyes first settled on Sarah Lansing.
Sarah wasn't exactly a threat. She was a non-executive director, with almost no operational control over UMG's daily functions. Yet, she was the chairwoman of the board, appointed by shareholders to oversee the company on their behalf. Her position carried weight, and her voice could influence perceptions in subtle, powerful ways.
Lucian watched as Sarah skimmed the report on her tablet, her posture straight but her expression calm, small gestures betraying a quiet satisfaction. The way she methodically reviewed the details, nodding ever so slightly as she scrolled through Jack's numbers, signaled approval. For Lucian, this was crucial—he had taken a massive risk by pushing for UMG to become a promoter of such a high-profile tour, and seeing Sarah's measured, approving reaction was a relief.
After confirming Sarah's subtle nod of approval, Lucian's gaze shifted to Vincent Vallejo, the Deputy CEO. Vincent was Lucian's direct competitor within the company, a man whose influence and ambition were impossible to ignore. He had been among the earliest executives who had helped build UMG into the powerhouse it was today. By all rights, Vincent could have been CEO years ago. In 2011, when the previous CEO resigned, it had been Vincent's chance—but due to illness at a critical moment, he was unavailable. Lucian, the rising star at the time, was appointed interim CEO. He executed flawlessly, and the board, impressed with his vision and decisiveness, had made the appointment permanent.
Ever since that day, for over a decade, Vincent had nursed a quiet grudge. Being deputy CEO and one of the original architects of UMG gave him substantial clout, and he was never shy about letting Lucian know he believed he should have been in charge. His influence, experience, and network made him a formidable figure, one that Lucian could never afford to overlook.
The entire financing Lucian had orchestrated, along with the creation of a new promoting branch, had not been just about expanding UMG's market share or capturing new revenue streams. For Lucian, it had also been a calculated ploy to consolidate not only UMG's power but his own personal influence within the industry—a subtle, multi-layered strategy that most executives didn't even realize was at play.
As he observed Vincent now, leaning back slightly in his chair with a faint but unmistakable smile, the pride and excitement in his posture were almost palpable. Vincent's shoulders were squared, his hands lightly tapping the polished wood of the table, and his eyes glimmered with a mixture of challenge and satisfaction. For Lucian, his own smile faltered; he knew it was right to feel a twinge of caution.
"I'm sorry to rain on the parade," Vincent began, his voice measured, commanding immediate attention. A hush fell over the room, as the scattered murmurs of curiosity and speculation slowly died down. Around the boardroom, whispers rose: What is he going to say? He's always been against us entering the promoting business…there's no way this is good news.
Vincent ignored the chatter, letting it fade into the background. He leaned forward slightly, maintaining an easy, self-assured smile as he addressed the room with deliberate clarity.
"I am happy, of course," he said, eyes scanning the other board members, "that the One of a Kind Tour was a resounding success. The figures are impressive, the revenue streams unprecedented. But," he paused for emphasis, "I feel obligated to call something into question. I am not entirely convinced that all of this was executed in the best interest of the company, or that the agreements made reflect the optimal interests of UMG."
Lucian's brow furrowed slightly. "What do you mean by that, Vincent?" he asked, his tone calm but edged with curiosity and a hint of defensiveness.
Vincent's smile widened just enough to convey both charm and calculation. "Allow me to clarify," he said, reaching for the tablet in front of him. The polished device glimmered under the boardroom lights as he tapped through a series of spreadsheets and charts, bringing numbers to the forefront.
"Here's what I am referencing," he continued, voice steady and professional. "Fifty-five percent of ticket sales, sixty-five percent of VIP packages, forty percent of merchandise revenue, and an upfront payment of $1.5 million." He let the figures hang in the air for a moment, allowing the executives to digest the implications.
"I know you may all be wondering why this is significant," he said, sweeping a hand toward the assembled board members, "but these numbers represent the actual terms we ultimately agreed to give the artist Ethan Jones on the recently concluded tour."
Lucian's eyes narrowed slightly, scanning the figures with a mixture of intrigue and skepticism. "And how exactly is this meant to be concerning?" he asked, his voice smooth but firm.
Vincent leaned back, his posture deliberate, his fingers steepled. "By conventional industry standards," he explained, "these numbers are extremely generous. New artists in Ethan Jones' caliber typically receive substantially lower percentages—particularly in terms of merchandise and VIP allocations. On the surface, this is a very favorable deal for the company, yet there are nuances that cannot be ignored."
Another director aligned with Vincent spoke up, voice measured but firm, carefully enunciating each word. "Lucian, the issue is this: our internal reports indicate that the previously agreed-upon terms should have been forty percent of ticket sales, fifty percent of VIP, twenty-five percent of merchandise revenue, with an upfront of four million dollars. Yet, when Ethan approached, the final percentages and upfront were adjusted—without significant debate or pushback from leadership. While the financial outcome remains positive," the director added, emphasizing each phrase deliberately, "it does raise questions regarding adherence to protocol and loyalty to the firm."
Lucian's jaw tightened subtly as he absorbed the argument. The tension in the room thickened, each executive posture and carefully chosen word resembling a chess match more than a conversation. The air was heavy with the silent weight of power dynamics, professional pride, and unspoken rivalries, as the seasoned executives engaged in a controlled but unmistakable battle of influence—all conducted with the polished veneer of corporate decorum.
Julia, Head of A&R, and Lucas, the COO—both staunch Vincent supporters—had now entered the fray, leaning into the debate with precision and pointed arguments. Their voices carried the weight of experience and conviction as they spoke, dissecting the Ethan Jones deal with a clinical focus.
"For Ethan's stature," Julia began, tapping her tablet and gesturing toward the figures, "this contract is fair. Yes, he's a rising superstar, but we must recognize that the percentages he received, while generous, are within the acceptable spectrum for an artist of his current trajectory. His numbers do offset the established norms for a major tour of this magnitude. We cannot allow sentiment to dictate business judgment."
Lucas nodded in agreement, his voice firm but measured. "Exactly. And consider this: since venturing into promoting ourselves, we've isolated the company. UMG no longer just executes tours; we compete against our former peers. Sony and Warner have already begun exploring partnerships that could bypass us entirely—there's already chatter about joint ventures designed to edge out independent promoters. It's a calculated risk, yes, but one that must be evaluated against long-term strategic positioning. We need partners who won't eat into our equity or leverage the tour against us in future negotiations."
Another Executive interjected, pointing to charts on her tablet. "Look at the numbers. Yes, Ethan's deal seems high on paper, but failing to maintain long-term alliances with the major labels could cost us hundreds of millions more than this contract ever will. If we misstep, Sony and Warner will exploit it immediately. We're already seeing overtures from smaller labels seeking to position themselves as alternatives—labels that would protect our interests, not undermine them."
Across the room, Lucian and Vincent exchanged measured glances, the tension between them silent but electric. Their teams continued the verbal sparring, strategically throwing arguments, percentages, and projections into the air as though the numbers themselves were weapons.
Vincent finally raised his hand, his voice cutting through the chatter with calm authority. "I don't want to blow this out of proportion," he began, glancing briefly at Sarah Lansing, the board chairwoman, "but keeping $2.5 million at the expense of potentially losing out on hundreds of millions in profit share? That's not good optics. Shareholders expect vision, not penny-pinching. My point is simple: the small gain today cannot come at the cost of massive losses tomorrow."
Lucian's gaze sharpened, his posture unyielding. "This morning, when the market opened, our shares rose by no less than two percent after we reported our quarterly earnings," he said, letting the numbers land in the room. "If we announce that we are securing the Eras Tour as well, projections indicate a long-term increase of no less than five to ten percent. Vincent, you know as well as I do that the percentages you're focused on are, frankly, just a smokescreen."
He paused, letting the weight of his statement settle over the room. "After factoring in all the costs, missteps, and operational variables, the real loss to the company would be far less visible—but far more profitable if we execute this strategically. Everyone in this room knows what I mean. Much like Hollywood studios distributing actor box office shares, the studio—or in our case, the label—controls the true accounting of costs. Mishaps, overheads, and logistical adjustments mean that the headline numbers rarely reflect the real profit."
The room went quiet for a moment as his words hung in the air. Board members exchanged glances, some nodding subtly, others silently calculating their own positions. The tension was palpable, a delicate balance of power, strategy, and egos stretching across the polished conference table.
...
"How did he find out?!" Lucian's voice cut through the office like a whip, sharp and incredulous. The recent stunt Vincent had pulled at the board meeting replayed in his mind, gnawing at him. Every carefully laid plan to consolidate power now felt like it had been slowed, hampered by a single seed of doubt planted by his Deputy CEO. Vincent's insinuation that Lucian was too lenient now echoed in the otherwise quiet room.
Lucian's office, sleek and intimidating, was a world away from the polished chaos of the boardroom. Julie and Lucas were there, leaning against the polished glass walls, their expressions tight with frustration, a silent acknowledgment that this was both a venting session and a strategic pow-wow.
Lucas, running a hand through his hair, muttered, "I'll try to find out. Someone's talking. Someone knows something."
Julia, ever precise and calculating, tilted her head. "Do you think it's Jack?"
Lucian shook his head slowly, the weight of the office chair grounding him. "No. I doubt that. Even Vincent isn't stupid enough to drag Jack into this. Not with his father watching. No one wants to be the one caught in the crossfire of corporate factions and risk pissing off a major stakeholder."
Lucas exhaled sharply, pacing once across the minimalist rug. "We need answers, Lucian. We can't let him keep pushing, planting doubts, slowing us down."
Lucian's eyes narrowed, his hands clasping together on the mahogany desk. "Lucas… find it out. And not just that—figure a way to shut all his other avenues of complaints. He won't give this up willingly. Not unless we corner him completely." His gaze hardened, scanning the cityscape beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. "And Warner and Sony… what's really going on? I need to know everything."
Lucas hesitated, then spoke cautiously. "They're getting more anxious about us. The tension between them is easing, but they're still cautious. They're coordinating quietly, trying to see if there's leverage they can use—but it's minimal for now."
Lucian hummed thoughtfully, tapping his fingers against the desk. "And the hype… the Scooter partnership? Where are we there?"
"Well… ehm," Lucas started, then faltered under Lucian's sharp look.
"Spit it out," Lucian commanded, voice low and cutting.
Lucas swallowed, "Ethan's team has turned down every single call to negotiate. They're… unyielding."
Lucian leaned back in his chair, eyes closing briefly as if shutting out the world, before he exhaled slowly. The office seemed to shrink in that moment, tension vibrating in the air like a live wire. He rested his palms on the armrests, eyes opening with a renewed focus.
"Call Jessica for me," he said, his tone both cold and commanding.
A beat of silence, the assistant nodding and moving to comply, before Lucian added, his voice carrying a subtle edge, "Let's see if she remembers who she works for."