Pirate's Gold (2 page)

He climbed the wooden stairs along the cliff and tried to turn his mind away from his child and back to the record company. Over the last few months he had grown careless as his concern for his daughter had overridden his interest in his business. For the first time in his life, he found it difficult to concentrate on record sales. For once, something was much more important than any business problem, and yet, he couldn't ignore the fact that things weren't going well for him businesswise. For several years record sales had been slumping and Sterling Recording Company had posted losses rather than earnings until recently. Just when things had appeared bleakest, the introduction of videotapes on cable television had boosted sales. Now the problem was the cost of producing quality video images. For the past couple of years Sterling Recording Company had used freelance artists and production companies for the video recordings, but the trend was toward in-house work. There would be more control if the videotapes were produced by Sterling Records and thereby several problems would be controlled: cost, quality and pirating, a phenomenon that had only recently come to light.

Right now, Kyle had no interest in his business, but he realized that he couldn't let his company crumble along with his personal life.

When he reached the top of the sea-weathered stairs, Kyle took one last searching look at the sea. Not finding an answer to his worries, he retreated into the house and noticed through the foyer window that Ryan Woods's car was parked near the garage. Kyle hurried to the den and forced a severe smile as he opened the door. “Sorry I'm late,” he apologized as he entered the room. Ryan was seated in a high-backed chair near the desk.

“No problem.” Ryan was a man of about thirty; slim, with receding black hair and a keen mind. He stood and accepted Kyle's handshake, noticing Kyle's uneasy smile. It was the same restless smile that had accompanied large deep-set brooding gray eyes and graced the jackets of several country albums ten years earlier. Kyle Sterling's music hadn't been hurt by the fact that the man was ruggedly handsome. Ryan Woods doubted that the platinum albums adorning the walls of the den would be there today if Kyle Sterling hadn't been so damnably earthy and sensual. Sterling's voice had been classified as mediocre and his ballads were too complex for most of his audience, but Kyle Sterling was a shrewd man who had used his striking looks to his advantage. He had turned his songs into money that he had invested in an ailing recording company. Within five years, Sterling Records had become one of the most prominent recording companies in the country.

Kyle poured himself a drink, offered Ryan another and took a seat near his guest. His eyes seemed haunted. Something was eating at Kyle Sterling and Ryan suspected that it was more than the pressures of running the company. He kept his suspicions to himself. If Kyle wanted to talk about his personal problems, the man would have to initiate the conversation himself. If not, so be it. Ryan Woods hadn't earned his reputation as a crackerjack troubleshooter by sticking his nose where it didn't belong…. unless he was paid for it.

Kyle took an experimental sip of his drink, rested his head on the back of the chair and came straight to the point. “I assume that you've come here with some sort of proposal.”

Woods inclined his balding head and nodded. “Finally.”

“Good! I owe you for this one, Ryan. I just haven't had the time to put all the information together. This is a major decision.”

“That's what you pay me for.”

Kyle mutely agreed. “Let me guess what you found out: You think I should handle all the videos at the studio—produce them at Sterling Records.”

Ryan shifted uneasily in the chair. He was seated near a large bay window and noticed that dusk was beginning to paint the sky in uneven streaks of magenta and carmine. The warm Pacific sun had settled behind the calm sea and only a few dark sailboats were silhouetted against the horizon. Outside, the view was spectacular. Inside, the wealth of Kyle Sterling surrounded him. It was evident in the thick weave of the imported carpet, the immaculate shine on the tiled floor, the expensive grain of the modern furniture and the original surreal paintings on the thick plaster walls. But with all his fortune, still Kyle Sterling seemed…disenchanted.

Ryan snapped open his briefcase after finishing his drink and declining another. He pulled out a sheaf of neatly typed papers and handed them to Sterling. “You're not going to like what I found,” he warned.

“Let me be the judge of that. The way we've been handling production of videos has been a thorn in my side for the last two years. We need more control.” He studied the pages thoughtfully. Ryan Woods had done his homework and proved in dollars and cents exactly why in-house production was imperative.

He leaned back in his chair and pushed the reports onto his desk. “All right, you've convinced me. We'll hire a crew, the best we can find, and give them a suite of offices on the third floor.” He noticed the look of hesitancy in Ryan's eyes. “Is there a problem with that?”

Ryan shook his head. “Not really. I suppose it will make things easier—for everyone.”

“What are you getting at?”

Ryan reluctantly handed Kyle one final report. “You asked me to check into the pirating problem we had a few months ago…”

“You're not telling me that it still exists?” Kyle asked, astounded. Had he neglected his business that badly?

“See for yourself.” Ryan nodded toward the report.

Kyle's dark eyes scanned the black print and his frown deepened into a scowl of anger. His gaze was even when it was raised to meet the pale blue eyes of Ryan Woods. “You're certain of all this?” Kyle asked, skeptically running his fingers over the pages.

“I'd stake my reputation on it.”

“You just have.” Kyle rubbed his thumb over the edges of his straight white teeth and his eyes narrowed in thought. “Damn!” he cursed, mainly at himself.

“What is it?” Woods inquired. He'd known Kyle for eight years and had seen the dangerous look of anger in the recording company's executive more than once in the past.

“It's just hard to swallow, that's all. We've been dealing with Festival Productions for over three years. Everything we've gotten from them has been the best—top quality recordings.” He shook his head as if trying to dislodge a wayward thought. “Why would Maren McClure try and rob me blind?”

“She only owns the company. It doesn't necessarily mean that she's involved. Anyway, the problem will be solved once you stop dealing with Festival, and as far as I can tell only three of the tapes have been copied and sold on the black market.”

Lydia knocked on the door, refreshed the drinks and provided a tray of sandwiches. Kyle managed a quick smile for her and then turned his attention back to the problem at hand.

“All right, Ryan, so you think we should just ignore the problem and maybe it will just go away?”

Ryan smiled and set his partially eaten sandwich aside. “Unfortunately, it's not going to be that simple.”

“That much I already know.”

“Then you realize that you have some long-term contracts with Festival?”

Kyle tented his fingers under his chin and nodded. Ryan finished his sandwich, withdrew a cigar from his pocket and rolled it between his fingers. Thoughtfully he studied the tip of his cigar before lighting it and puffing a blue cloud of smoke that circled lazily to the raised ceiling. Theatrics were part of the game, the rules of which he had learned while studying law at Yale. “As I see it, you have several options.”

Kyle raised his eyebrows, encouraging the other man to continue. “You can buy out the contracts and quit using Festival completely, or you can confront the owner with your suspicions and hope that she'll back out of the contracts because of fear of bad publicity and a possible lawsuit.”

“Too easy.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can't do either one.”

“Why not?”

“First of all, I don't have the time. I've just signed several big names to Sterling Records, paid top money for them, and I can't take the chance that the video cuts of their top hits will be stolen or reprinted. I'd not only lose the artists, they'd sue me for every cent I've got based on any grounds their agents or their lawyers might dream up.”

Ryan puffed on the cigar and shrugged. “So have the tapes produced by someone else until you get your crew together. There must be a hundred production companies that can make a four or five minute minifilm. Those videos aren't much more than advertisements for a song…easier, really. There's no dialogue involved.”

Kyle downed the rest of his drink and his clear gray eyes looked suddenly stormy. “That's where you're wrong. The videotape of a current song is the single most important piece of artistry put together. In some cases it's more valuable than the recording. It sells the song. A good video can beef up a mediocre record, and unfortunately, the reverse is true. Even the most marketable hits don't make it without the right video packaging. It really is an art, and Festival Productions has an uncanny way of molding music to story and coming up with an incredible finished product. They're slick. Three years ago no one had even heard of Festival Productions. Today I've got rock stars
demanding
to work with that company, to the point that it's written into their contracts. I've had entire recording deals balanced in Festival's gifted hands.”

Woods was skeptical. “What makes Festival so much better than the rest?”

“Haven't you been listening to a word I've said? It's their artistry, their interpretation of the song, their ability to give the audience a brilliant, unforgettable visual story to identify with the song.”

“I can't believe they are
that
good.”

Kyle nodded curtly. “Have you ever heard of the rock group Mirage?”

Ryan drew on his cigar and squinted. “Vaguely,” he admitted in a stream of smoke. “I'm not up on all this new-wave nonsense.”

Kyle waved off his ignorance with a quick rotation of his wrist. “It doesn't matter. The point is, two years ago, no one had heard of them, not in the U.S. They were just one in a thousand obscure English rock groups that had never caught on, not here. They released a single and it bombed. Never broke Billboard's top one hundred.”

“So?”

“So the lead singer, a kid by the name of J. D. Price, was smart enough to figure that with all-day cable video music, videotapes would be the next growth phase for rock and roll. He took all the group's money, invested in an expensive video for that same song that bombed, released the tape and presto—” Kyle's fist pounded on the corner of the desk “—Mirage was an overnight success.” He paused for dramatic effect, but Ryan could feel what was coming. “Do you want to take a guess at the name of the firm that produced that videotape?”

Woods smiled as he stubbed out his cigar. “All right, you've convinced me. Festival Productions can walk on water as far as hard rock is concerned. Now, let me convince you of something. Regardless of the pirating scheme, you're better off producing your own videos. If Festival is so talented, hire the talent away from this Maren McClure.”

Kyle considered the idea. “If I can,” he thought aloud. “From what I understand, she's the one with the talent.” His lips pursed together. “It irritates the hell out of me to think that someone would steal those tapes. It just doesn't make any sense. Festival needs me as badly as I need it.”

“People will stoop to almost anything for a quick buck. I shouldn't have to remind
you
of that.” Ryan had intended to say more but quickly decided to hold his tongue. He hadn't meant for his remark to have been so personal and the look in Kyle's eyes was deadly. He tried to apologize. “Don't get me wrong.”

Kyle ignored his friend's attempt at amends. They'd known each other far too long to take offense at careless remarks. Besides which, Ryan was right. Kyle had been burned before, and badly. Rose had capitalized on the publicity surrounding their divorce to pad her career. He didn't intend to make the same error twice. No one was going to profit from his mistakes! He had ignored his company, but he was determined to change that, right now. The slow smile that spread across his features didn't quite reach his eyes. “You're right, Ryan.” He settled back into the chair and reached for a ham and cheese sandwich while watching his friend. “Why don't you tell me exactly how you think I should handle this situation.”

Ryan was pleased. At least he'd gotten through to Kyle. He considered that a major accomplishment, because in the last few months, Kyle hadn't shown much concern for his business—probably because of his kid's accident. “I think you should buy this McClure woman out. If Festival's got the reputation you claim, you buy out the company lock, stock and barrel. Then clean house—find out if anyone there really is duplicating the tapes and get rid of him…or her.”

“What if she doesn't want to sell?”

“Everyone has a price.”

Kyle didn't seem convinced. “All right, I've told you all I know about Festival, why don't you tell me what you've dug up. If I know you, you've poked around a bit.”