Broken Record

Chapter 1: Benton

"What track is it this time?" Benton removed his dark-rimmed glasses and steepled his fingers on the glass conference table. Benton's legal team was seated at the other end of the table, always isolating him like the island that he was.

"Heart of Ice by Jelena Kingston, sir," the Chief Legal Officer cleared his throat nervously which was never a good sign, "it has to be a group. There's no way that this MarLow character is some lone college kid in a basement. There's some incredibly complex chord and progression work in the remix. At least, that's what I'm told by our producer teams." The Chief Legal Officer's tone was reluctantly admiring. He glanced between Benton and the stack of papers in front of him. Benton didn't move. He didn't reveal anything in his facial expression. One of his many talents. "If this MarLow keeps up with their trend of illegally remixing and distributing our top records, we're at serious risk of undermining our control of the label's brand. This song already has," Benton glanced down at his copy of the piracy report, "500 million streams and climbing. It was only released a few weeks ago with zero marketing spend." A red flush creeped over the Chief Legal Officer's neck, spreading like ink just above his dress shirt collar. Benton nodded once in acknowledgement of the facts, his movement subtle but deliberate. The Chief Legal Officer started to subconsciously lean back in his seat, preparing himself for the force of a verbal blow, a pinched look of pain taking over his face.

"What next steps do we have in place?" A mixture of confusion and relief blanketed the room. This level of repeated pirating was grounds for firing. And not just for firing one individual, but for a clean house removal within any top-level legal department of a leading record label. But Benton knew that would be the shortsighted response. The reactionary move. He hadn't played poker in years, but if the group currently seated at the long glass conference table were playing a game of poker instead of discussing the piracy of the world's leading pop tracks by some anonymous DJ under the username MarLow, everyone but Benton would have an obvious tell. Sweating foreheads, red cheeks, fidgeting hands. Benton knew they'd already learned their lesson. And as gratitude for keeping their jobs, an agreement that was more powerfully bonded because it wasn't spoken aloud, they'd do their best to make this transgression right and to never let it happen again. It wasn't kindness that Benton was granting. That was too singular of an emotion. His reaction was solely strategic.

"Well, sir, we do believe we've identified at least one IP address associated with the distribution of the remixed record." The Chief Legal Officer's face brightened, clearly relieved to have switched the conversation on to more positive news.

"Great." Benton gave the group a closed-lip smile and ran one hand along the side of his thick, light brown hair. "Let's work with the FBI to get the identified member of this elusive MarLow team in custody within the week."

"Yes, sir. Absolutely." Benton rose from the table and everyone followed suit. He had a small urge to laugh at the formality of the gesture but he didn't give into it. He never sent mixed signals. With the level of power and authority that he had at the world-renowned and prestigious Pacific Records, his calculated demeanor and messaging were two things he took very seriously.

"Please have an update on my desk within the next 48 hours, and the next time we convene, we will have one of the musically talented thieves joining us." Benton's tone contained no malice, only the facts. There was an edge to it but it was professional, not sinister. He was curious to know what group of misfits made up the username MarLow and why they continued to pirate his label's records, time and time again, without showing any sign or interest for signing a recording deal of their own, despite the increasing popularity of their releases. It was strange to see a new talent not seeking a segue into a lucrative, not to mention legitimate, career.

He'd become CEO of Pacific Records at thirty-one, breaking nearly every standard in the book for this industry. He wasn't a musician himself, never had been. His rise to power at Pacific Records was based on his unwavering and uncanny ability to detect a hit and the relentlessness with which he protected the company's intellectual property. To know why one song would land and another would flop, even when the musical merit was equal; that was something that had always come to him and had been his silver bullet as he rose through various business and management roles. But what kept him in power was his calm and sangfroid demeanor. The threats of a streaming music landscape, increasing rates of pirating, and a decline in music quality with the rise in quantity were challenges he took head on. And enjoyed battling over and over again.

Benton returned to his office to be briefed by his executive support team before a slew of back-to-back client meetings. His schedule was relentless. Most of those working closely with him could only handle the demands for a year or two before needing to return to a more balanced lifestyle. But Benton was unique. By way of his calm demeanor, the constant sense of control and equity of mind in all matters, he exhausted those around him by unfair comparison. He was the man you'd want on a crashing plane or a sinking ship. But not the man you could imagine yourself simply having a beer with. He was like an object under museum light, fascinating to observe but unattached to the fabric of the real-world. Benton was admired and revered but deeply private to the point of creating an air of aloof mystery about himself.

"Mr. West," his executive scheduler, Mary, came into his office, resting her hand on his doorframe, "I have your Singapore flight scheduled for tomorrow. A car will pick you up from the office at 11:00 AM after your morning meeting with the Board of Directors." She smiled shyly at him, always aiming to please. If Benton had a different internal nature, he'd feel a twinge of guilt at the faint blush he noticed on Mary's cheeks or the way her voice brightened and shook imperceptibly every time she addressed him directly. She was clearly attracted to him and had been for years. Benton felt nothing in return. But he did feel that she was good at her job, and in the realm of his executive office that was all he ever sought from those around him. Nothing more.

"Thank you, Mary." She stalled in the doorway a moment, tapping her delicate fingers lightly against the steel frame before faintly ducking her head and retreating. Benton scanned his calendar when his phone buzzed with a text.

Unknown @ 10:34 AM: Hello, Mr. X. I have your weekly session scheduled for tomorrow evening at 7:00 pm. Will that work?

Benton leaned back in his carmel leather desk chair, dragging one finger along his bottom lip. It was the same every week. An unknown number. His session confirmation. Nothing more was said than exactly what was needed.

Benton West @ 10:36 AM: I'll need to move up to this evening. Flying to Singapore tomorrow.

Unknown @ 10:38 AM: Understood, Mr. X. We will get that moved for you. Any other preferences?

Benton sat for a moment, his quickened heart rate and shallower breathing the only indicators of the thoughts racing through his mind.

Benton West @ 10:41 AM: Brunette.