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🕑 Added 2025-07-03 17:10:17 +0000 UTCChapter 222: Signing the Contract
“Of course there's something,” Ahmet replied calmly despite Curtis’s grumpy scowl. “I need to take the band members up to the fifth floor to sign the contract. Or… is Alice going alone?”
Even when faced with Curtis’s sour mood, Ahmet wasn’t fazed in the slightest and responded without haste. That only made Curtis choke on his words again, his expression darkening further.
“What is wrong with you? Can’t you just say everything in one go? You speak in bits and pieces—people who know you might think you’re just catching your breath, but to someone else, it sounds like you're about to pass out mid-sentence. No one here’s volunteering to give you mouth-to-mouth.”
His full-force sarcasm was shocking, leaving others wide-eyed and speechless. But Ahmet, the target of the tirade, simply kept smiling as if nothing had happened. He calmly ignored Curtis and turned his attention back to Ronan—he was still waiting for an answer.
“We’ll go with Alice,” Cliff offered, stepping forward. Aware of the attention gathering around them, he smiled. “We want to witness this moment in person. After all, we’ve been waiting for this opportunity for a long time.”
His slight self-deprecating comment masked a deeper concern—Cliff knew Alice wasn’t a professional manager. She was just a stand-in, pushed into the role last-minute. So when it came to negotiating a contract, Cliff wanted to be there in person.
Ahmet nodded in agreement and politely replied, “This is a historic moment for Atlantic Records too.” Then he turned back to Ronan, tone inviting. “Shall we head out now?”
Ronan’s first thought was:
Signing a contract? That’s boring and tedious, and it’s not like he’d be of any help. He believed Alice could handle it just fine. Of course he should stay here and continue discussing the arrangement with Curtis. That spark of creative inspiration—that’s what was exciting and fulfilling. Wasn’t the choice obvious?
But the words stopped at the tip of his tongue, and he instinctively turned to look at Alice.
Alice appeared calm and composed. Even amidst the tension between Ahmet and Curtis, she maintained a steady smile, seemingly ready to face any challenge. But as someone who knew her well, Ronan could tell she was nervous.
Her shoulders were just a little too stiff, her lips pressed together unconsciously—and more tellingly, her hands were tucked behind her back. It was a habit she had picked up to hide the fact that she tended to fidget with her fingers when anxious. Max had taught her this little trick to conceal that nervous tic.
Now, Ronan could clearly see her trying to hide those nervous hands behind her back, using her body to mask the movement. She was like a duck floating serenely on the surface of a river, calm and graceful—while beneath the water, her feet were paddling like mad.
Pat-pat.
Realizing this, a small smile tugged at Ronan’s lips. He gave Ahmet a nod. “Of course. No problem.”
He might not be able to help with the contract negotiations, but even if he was just a bystander—a decorative presence—it would give Alice some support. If his presence could give her even a little more strength, it was worth it. So he changed his mind and agreed to go.
Alice was a bit surprised. From what she knew, Ronan would have preferred to stay behind. But when she turned, she saw him smiling warmly at her, giving her a quick wink. A wave of warmth surged in her chest, and the tension in her shoulders eased ever so slightly.
Gaining a bit of courage, Alice stepped forward and said, “Mr. Ertegun, why don’t we find a suitable space now to carry out this long-awaited task? I believe you’ve already confirmed what you needed to. It’s our turn now.”
Her voice was calm yet confident, direct but polite.
She wore a poised smile, and her eyes—so similar to Ronan’s—sparkled with clarity and resolve. Her strength was finally beginning to shine through.
Ahmet’s gaze lingered on Alice for a brief moment. His expression didn’t change, but that pause said it all. As someone who had dealt with Ahmet before, Ronan could finally detect a hint of something beneath that smooth surface.
“Of course.” Ahmet made a welcoming gesture, stepping aside to let them through the door.
Alice didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward gracefully and, once beside Ahmet, mirrored his gesture. The two of them walked side by side, shoulder to shoulder.
From behind, Ronan could clearly see Alice’s fingers tightly clasped together—slightly at odds with the confident front she presented. He smiled softly to himself, then turned to Curtis and offered a quick apology.
Curtis, however, didn’t even bother to respond—just showed him the back of his head. A very angry back of the head, full of contempt and disdain. Ronan let out a quiet laugh, then motioned to Ollie to follow as he caught up with Cliff.
They took the elevator from the third floor to the fifth, arriving at Ahmet’s office. The space suddenly felt much more open—not necessarily because it was larger, but because it was less cluttered, allowing it to breathe. Still, the room was steeped in the history of Atlantic Records. Entire shelves were lined with neatly arranged vinyl records, and a vintage gramophone stood to the side.
Ahmet immediately noticed Ronan’s gaze.
Though Ronan obediently sat down with the others on the sofa, his eyes wandered with obvious curiosity over the shelves—not in a nosy way, but with genuine interest and admiration. That kind of pure curiosity was hard to hide, and it brought a faint smile to Ahmet’s lips.
(Ignore the strange text formatting inserted here in the original.)
Ahmet didn’t say much. He simply stated, “This is the contract prepared by Atlantic Records. I’m not the one handling the actual negotiations—our legal department will take care of that. But you can take a look first and let us know your thoughts. Once we’re done with the formalities, perhaps we can talk about my vinyl collection.”
Not a direct invitation, but a subtle suggestion.
Still, Ronan immediately realized his interest had been noticed. He wasn’t embarrassed—instead, he smoothly asked, “Mr. Ertegun, is this your personal collection? Or a gift passed down from your great-grandfather?”
Gift.
Ahmet liked that choice of word. Ronan’s reaction, too, was… interesting. He didn’t answer the question. Instead, he turned his gaze to Alice, his tone slightly lifted at the end, “So, shall we begin the contract discussion now? Or… would you prefer to wait a little longer?”
Chapter 223: Two Albums
“So, are we discussing the contract now, or... should we wait a little longer?”
Ahmet’s conversational rhythm was always hard to grasp. No matter what Ronan said, Ahmet would effortlessly steer the conversation back on track—his track—without revealing any hint of emotion or stance. He maintained a consistently warm and gentle demeanor that made it nearly impossible to get a read on him.
Yet, this was only Alice’s second interaction with Ahmet, and she already seemed to have picked up a few tricks. With a smile, she said, “I can definitely sense your company’s enthusiasm now. I suppose that’s a good thing. So, can I start looking forward to the contract?”
When Ahmet first spoke, Cliff could feel a slight tension in the air, worried that they might have offended him. But as soon as Alice responded, the atmosphere lightened again, and even a trace of a smile could be seen on their faces.
Ahmet, of course, continued to smile calmly, his expression unchanged, and he followed Alice’s lead. “The main part of the contract is simple: two albums over three years. We’ll handle the entire distribution. We’d like to see more work from the band.”
A contract like this requires thorough review by lawyers—neither the band nor Alice nor even Ahmet himself could handle those kinds of technical discussions. What they were negotiating now were the key points written on paper.
Take Ahmet’s clause, for example—that’s essentially the heart of the deal: “Two albums over three years.” It means exactly what it says—an agreed-upon output within a set timeframe.
Just yesterday, during a phone call with Alice, Ahmet had proposed a five-album long-term contract, but Alice had outright rejected what she saw as an unfair “indentured servitude” kind of offer.
The reason was simple. For the label, if the band failed, they could just toss the contract in a drawer to collect dust. But for the band, if they failed, they’d be chained to Atlantic Records, unable to sign with any other label unless they completed all five albums—or unless another label was willing to pay the breach-of-contract fee.
This raises a side question: If a band flops at Atlantic, why would another label still want to sign them?
Well, Bruno Mars is a perfect example. Back when he was at Motown, he was pegged as a behind-the-scenes producer, and his musical style didn’t really fit, so he got buried. But once he moved to Atlantic Records and found the right producer, his career took off.
The same goes for many other emerging bands.
Now, back to the “two albums in three years” clause. That’s just the quantity. The contract would also cover quality, including specifics like genre, image, and style.
For example, if Atlantic Records had decided—like Scooter Braun once did—to brand One Day King as a boy band, Ronan and the others wouldn’t have had any say in the matter. They would’ve been puppets for two full albums before they could escape the label’s grasp. Now imagine if it were five albums instead of two…
That’s why switching labels can sometimes open up new opportunities.
Obviously, for new bands, long-term contracts often carry more risks than benefits.
Record labels like to sign long contracts to tie down promising talent at low prices and then squeeze out as much value as possible.
So why did Ahmet agree to Alice’s counteroffer? Atlantic Records was clearly in a stronger position—they could’ve ignored Alice, tossed out a contract, and basically said, “Take it or leave it.” The real reason is that long contracts aren’t perfect either.
First of all, long contracts require larger signing bonuses.
Take Mariah Carey, for instance.
In April 2001, she signed a jaw-dropping contract with Virgin Records: five albums, $100 million—effectively buying out her next five releases. That averaged $20 million per album. But if no albums were released, there’d be no income.
As it turned out, just eight months later, Virgin underwent a major personnel shake-up and realized how bad the deal was. Mariah’s first album with them flopped, so they cut their losses and paid her $28 million to terminate the contract early.
In the end, Virgin lost over $50 million on that deal.
So long contracts don’t just mean higher signing bonuses, even for newcomers—they also mean the label has to front more costs. That brings us to the second point:
Long contracts mean betting on long-term returns, which requires big upfront investments and a lot of waiting.
Contract payments typically come in two parts: the first is revenue from fulfilling the contract (like Mariah earning $20 million per album), and the second is the signing bonus—paid upfront when the contract is signed. For new artists, that bonus isn’t usually large.
Record labels hope artists will use this bonus wisely—living expenses, production costs, etc.—but in reality, young people often blow it on luxury cars and parties, and it disappears fast.
To turn new artists into “cash cows” who continuously generate profit, labels have to invest heavily early on—living stipends, recording sessions, album production, music videos, distribution, and stocking costs… it’s all money out of the label’s pocket.
According to contract terms, these production costs are usually shared between the label and the artist at a set ratio. Once revenue starts rolling in, the label deducts its expenses first, then distributes any profit. But until that point, the label foots the entire bill.
That’s why contracts must spell out deadlines, quantities, quality standards, and more—otherwise, they’re just burning money on freeloaders.
So in truth, even five-album deals can become burdensome for the label. Ahmet’s willingness to compromise wasn’t solely due to Alice’s firm stance—Curtis’s audition today likely played a significant role as well. And so, Ahmet formally proposed the contract terms.
Chapter 224: Seizing the Initiative
Alice wasn't a professional agent, and she didn’t fully understand the inner workings of the music industry. But since she had decided to temporarily “play” the role of an agent, she knew she had to do her homework.
Fortunately, Alice came from the film world. With all the connections she’d made in school and in Los Angeles, she had no trouble using her network to gather insight into industry standards.
“Mr. Ahmet Ertegun, the kind of albums we’re talking about makes a huge difference. I’m sure we both understand that,” Alice said calmly. She wasn’t overjoyed by Atlantic Records’ apparent “compromise.” Her mind remained sharp as she flipped through the contract with a smile, offering her thoughts with quiet confidence. Even in front of someone like Ahmet, she remained composed and focused.
And Ahmet?
With all his experience, he kept a smile on his face, showing no sign of surprise or discomfort. “Well then,” he replied smoothly, “it depends—do you want the kind of ‘difference’ Queen made, or the kind Britney Spears made?”
That was industry lingo.
Queen, for example, found success with their second, third, and fourth albums in 1974 and 1975. They were slowly carving out their space in the music world. By the time their fifth album was set for release in 1977, everyone expected them to continue in the same direction. But instead, Queen made a dramatic pivot—one that would go down in rock history.
This new album blended classical, opera, art rock, and progressive rock. It was wild, bold, and stirred up enormous controversy. There were conflicts within the band, between the band and the producers, and between the band and the label. At one point, it seemed like the whole thing might fall apart.
And yet, what was the result?
That very album became a massive success and cemented Queen’s legendary status. Even fifty years later, it remains wildly popular. The name of that album? Bohemian Rhapsody.
Britney Spears took a similar risk.
After bursting onto the scene in 1999 and earning the title of “America’s Sweetheart” with three hit albums, Britney hit a turning point in 2003. Her fourth studio album marked a deliberate shift. She shed her innocent image and embraced a more sensual, mature persona.
Though the album produced the hit single Toxic—one of the best-selling singles of 2004 worldwide—the album as a whole didn’t live up to expectations. Instead of elevating her career, the shift led to a slew of tabloid drama. In 2004, Britney famously got married and divorced in Las Vegas in just 55 hours.
In both cases, Queen and Britney had control over their studio work and decided the direction of their albums. But the outcomes were wildly different.
What Alice was fighting for—and what Ahmet was defending—was control over the quality and creative direction of the album.
Alice wanted to secure more creative freedom for the band. She didn’t want them to become puppets controlled by a major label. Instead, she hoped they could make music on their own terms, free from restrictive oversight. But Ahmet wasn’t going to give up control so easily. The label needed to manage risk and remain market-driven.
By bringing up Queen and Britney, Ahmet was subtly implying: not every artist can be a great producer. One Day Kings would need to trust Atlantic’s professionals.
Alice picked up on the hidden meaning, even if she didn’t fully grasp the specific histories of Queen and Britney. The pressure in the room was unmistakable.
So she took a different approach. “Neither,” she replied smoothly. “What we’re going for is consistency. One Day Kings will always be One Day Kings—just like how Bruno Mars managed to stay true to himself throughout Doo-Wops & Hooligans.”
Ahmet said “difference.” Alice countered with “consistency.”
It might’ve seemed like they were talking past each other, but Alice was cleverly steering the conversation in a new direction. It was her way of subtly restating their position.
Then she looked up from the contract and locked eyes with Ahmet. “Mr. Ertegun, I believe you chose to sign us because you believe in Ronan and in the band’s talent. So you should also believe we know what we’re doing—just like Bruno did.”
She paused, then smiled gently. “Or… am I wrong about that?”
Alice may not have been a professional agent, but her words were skillful—firm but with a strategic softness. She ended her statement with a gentle challenge, inviting Ahmet to either support them or reveal his doubts. Sitting in the office of the president of Atlantic Records, this rookie agent from an indie band was holding her own.
And then, right on cue, Ronan chimed in with a bright grin, “I’m guessing you didn’t sign us hoping we’d become another Jonas Brothers, right?”
That moment of light humor was perfect timing—Ronan and Alice were clearly in sync, like true siblings.
Ahmet’s expression actually faltered for a second, something almost never seen. Though he maintained his usual calm demeanor, that brief pause said a lot. Ronan’s quick wit and humor brought a smile to Ahmet’s face, as if he were imagining One Day Kings trying to pull off a Jonas Brothers look.
It was kind of ridiculous.
Even someone like Ahmet couldn’t fully mask his amusement—it was proof that he wasn’t just a cold corporate machine.
The sharp back-and-forth of the negotiation finally loosened a little. More importantly, Ronan’s joke backed up Alice’s argument in a vivid, relatable way. It gave Ahmet a clearer picture of the band’s concerns, and he instantly understood.
He turned his gaze back to Ronan and, for the first time, stepped slightly off-topic. “I thought you were just into vinyl records.”
“I’d say I’m into music,” Ronan corrected him, deliberately shifting the focus.
Music—as in vinyl, the contract they were discussing, and the future of the band.
Ahmet lifted his chin slightly, his face finally showing a touch of curiosity. He seemed to be sizing Ronan up, wondering just what kind of person he was dealing with. But that moment of distraction didn’t last long—just a blink later, his attention locked back on Ronan with laser focus.
(End of Chapter)
