Page 2 of After Effect

Chapter 2

Nine Years Ago

“How have your studies been going, Finch?” Mark Corbin handed me a mug and sat down at the kitchen table. It had been six years since my birth father went over the cliff and my mother was taken, five since Mark had adopted me. I might never know what happened in that year I was in a coma, but it didn’t matter anymore. I was twenty-one years old now, and I had my own life to worry about.

And it was a good life so far. Mark made sure of that. He paid for my schooling, my college, my extracurriculars, and more than I ever could have asked for. Though I never was able to get myself to call him dad. I didn’t believe in using words lightly. That title held too much power.

“They’re boring.” I took a sip of coffee, my expression flattening as it slid down my throat. It barely counted as coffee anymore with the amount of cream and sugar he always used. “My professors can preach theory all day, but I doubt any of them know how to make something anyone would actually want to buy. It’s like the blind leading the blind.”

“They don’t hire professors lightly, you know. They’re all former industry professionals.” Mark cocked an eyebrow.

“’Former’ being the key word.” I rolled my eyes. “Five years ago everyone was listening to ‘screamo’ punk rock, two years ago, they were listening to dubstep, now the radio is overflowing with twangy acoustic ballads. If what they did still worked, they wouldn’t be ‘former’ anything. They’d be making bank writing the next big hit.”

“Those who can’t, teach?” Mark chuckled. “The world is a little more complicated than that. But I suppose I don’t need to tell you that, since it sounds like you already know everything.”

My eyes shot to the side, feeling a touch embarrassed by my adoptive father’s ribbing. “I mean, I don’t know everything, but I bet I’ve studied the current musical climate more than they have. And I think I can predict where it’s going.”

“Is that right?” He flashed me a mocking grin. He pulled his phone from his pocket, and slid through the contacts, stopping only long enough to hit call. He held up a finger to ask for a moment. “Good morning… Yes, it’s been a while… No, that’s not why I’m calling… Right. Anyway, I’ve got a favor to ask you- you’re looking for interns, correct?”

My eyes widened. Who is he talking to? Mark listened for a few moments then continued.

“Are you sure about that?” His voice was stern, bordering on a little scary. “…That’s what I thought. I’ve got a perfect candidate for you. I’ll email you the details.” He hung up and returned his attention to me. “You’ll be starting at ALIVE Records on Monday.”

ALIVE Records?! He was talking to ALIVE Records?! I was speechless, though I didn’t want him to know that. I held my composure and kept my eyes on his.

Mark stood up, putting me below him as he spoke. His tone was unreadable. Showing no obvious emotion was its own emotion. “How long do you think it will take to sell your first smash hit? Four years? Five?”

Five years sounded like a lifetime. “Three. At most.” I smirked back at him.

“Ha!” Mark must not have been able to hold back his doubt anymore. “You have much to learn, Finch.” His phone buzzed, and he glanced at the message. A smile settled on his lips. “Not a minute over 3 years.”

He ruffled my hair as he walked by and exited the room, no longer making eye contact as he went. I unconsciously took another sip of my coffee. Even the cloying sweetness couldn’t penetrate the nerves multiplying in my stomach. Did I really just get a job at one of the largest record companies in the world?

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I ran for the elevator, trying to balance twelve cups of coffee between my arms without squeezing hard enough to burst a lid and coat myself in scalding liquid and whipped cream on my first day in the office. The doors started to shut.

Fuck. There’s no way I’ll be able to hit the button with all these cups in my arms, and if I take the stairs, the coffee will be cold before I can get up the entire twenty-nine floors to the boss’s office. As the elevator door inched away the last of my hope, a hand shot into the gap, triggering the safety mechanism and sliding the door back open. A rush of relief filled my body as I stepped into the chamber, my coffee cups still warm and intact.

“Thank you.” I turned to my savior and gave him a nod. He was tall and well dressed, in a fitted, pinstriped Armani suit, a black shirt and a solid red tie. His mid length black hair was pushed back by a pair of sunglasses atop his head, and his narrow eyes, looked cruel and disinterested atop his high cheek bones. A flat expression rested on thin lips, over a carefully shaped goatee.

“What floor?” He spoke in a deep voice that suited his masculine features.

“Twenty-nine.” I responded confidently. I wasn’t quite sure of his position, but he looked important enough to make me think I’d be eaten alive if I faltered so soon.

“I see.”

That was an… odd response. He swiped his keycard and pressed twenty-nine, then he leaned back and shoved his hands in his pocket. His eyes crawled over my body, as though he was appraising my worth.

“Your name.” It was a command, not a question.

“Finch.”

“Your last name.”

“Corbin.”

He eyed me suspiciously. “You don’t look like Corbin.”

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