Paolo Romano’s niece, Gina, had been his executive assistant for three years, and he still didn’t know how he’d functioned without her. She was twenty-six, sharp-tempered, sharper-eyed, and had the kind of mory that stored every slight, every odd glance, every conversation that didn’t land quite right. She’d grown up watching her uncle get steamrolled by the music industry — first the subsidiary labels, then the artists, then Michael Erickson’s quiet suffocation — and she’d taken the job with one unspoken mission: never let it happen again.
She noticed the A&R coordinator’s behavior on a Tuesday morning, around 10:30, while she was restocking the printer paper near Paolo’s office.
The coordinator — his na was Derek, and he’d been with Eclipse for eight years — was standing too close to Paolo’s door. Not right up against it, not obviously eavesdropping. Just hovering in that zone between walking past and deciding to knock. He had a folder in his hands that he wasn’t looking at. His eyes kept drifting to the crack under the door, where light showed whether Paolo was inside.
Gina didn’t stop walking. She grabbed the paper tray, exchanged a pleasantry about the weather, and continued down the hall. But her jaw was tight.
She watched him for three more days. Derek asking Gina "casual" questions about Paolo’s schedule — who he’d been eting with, any trips to New York recently, whether the "consultant" who handled the Marco Velez release was coming back. Derek lingering near the conference room during calls that didn’t involve him. Derek suddenly volunteering to organize Paolo’s digital files, which he’d never offered to do in eight years.
On Thursday afternoon, Gina walked into Paolo’s office and closed the door behind her.
"We need to talk," she said.
Paolo looked up from his laptop. Gina’s expression told him everything before she opened her mouth. She had that look — the one she got when she was about to deliver bad news she knew he didn’t want to hear.
"What’s wrong?"
"It’s Derek. From A&R." Gina sat down without being invited, which she only did when sothing serious was happening. "He’s been asking questions. About your etings. About the consultant who handled Marco’s release timing. About New York."
Paolo’s stomach tightened. "What kind of questions?"
"The kind that sound casual unless you’re paying attention. ’Hey Gina, was that New York trip a label thing or personal?’ ’Do you know if we’re bringing that consultant back for the next drop?’ ’Paolo seems different since he got back — good different, just wondering if sothing happened.’" She paused. "Yesterday I caught him near your office during your call with Tom Kellerman. He said he was waiting to ask you about a demo. But he was standing there for twelve minutes, Uncle. I tid it."
Paolo leaned back in his chair. His first instinct was dismissal — Derek had been with Eclipse for eight years, through the subsidiary shutdowns, through the rebuild. He was loyal. He was furniture.
But Gina wasn’t prone to paranoia. And the New York eting was still fresh in his mind. Dayo’s warning, delivered in that hotel suite with the city behind him: "Assu Michael is always watching. If you see sothing suspicious, report it imdiately."
"You’re sure?" Paolo asked.
Gina didn’t answer. She just looked at him with the steady gaze of soone who had already done the math and was waiting for the adults to catch up.
Paolo spent the next two days investigating quietly. He checked Derek’s recent calendar access — three unauthorized logins to Paolo’s schedule in the past week. He reviewed the security footage from the hallway caras, sothing he hadn’t done in years. There was Derek, hovering near his door. There was Derek again, walking past the conference room during three separate calls. There was Derek at Gina’s desk, leaning in, asking questions while she typed and pretended not to notice.
It wasn’t proof of espionage. But it was enough. Enough to confirm what Gina had seen.
Paolo closed the footage and sat in his darkened office for ten minutes, breathing through his nose. Michael Erickson had soone inside his building. Inside his trust. Eight years of shared history, and Derek had been taking soone else’s money the whole ti.
He called Dayo at 7:30 PM, after the office had emptied out. His hands were shaking so badly he had to redial twice.
"Dayo. It’s Paolo." His voice ca out higher than he wanted. "I think — no, I’m pretty sure — Michael has soone inside Eclipse. An A&R coordinator nad Derek. He’s been asking questions about the New York eting. About the consultant. My niece noticed it first. I checked the logs and the security footage. It’s real."
Dayo was quiet for a mont. Then: "Is your line secure?"
"I don’t know. Probably not. He’s probably listening right now, laughing at ."
"Paolo." Dayo’s voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that made Paolo realize he was panicking and try to pull it back. "Listen to carefully. Do not confront Derek. Do not act suspicious. Do not change your behavior at all."
"What? Dayo, he’s been spying on for —"
"I know. And if you confront him, Michael knows we’re onto him. If you stay quiet, we control what he sees." A pause. "Can your niece keep watching without Derek noticing?"
Paolo looked at Gina, who had refused to leave his office and was sitting on his couch with her arms crossed. "She’s better at this than I am."
"Good. Have her feed Derek small pieces of information. Nothing about Market Resonance. Nothing about . Nothing about the alliance. But give him sothing to report. ntion a consulting firm based in London. Reference etings that didn’t happen. Drop a na — sothing generic, like ridian Analytics or Vanguard Strategies. Let him chase shadows."
Paolo’s breathing slowed. He was starting to understand. "You want us to lie to him."
"I want you to beco his only source of information. And I want that information to be fiction." Dayo’s voice hardened slightly. "Michael spent twenty years controlling this industry because he controlled what people knew. Now we do the sa to him."
After the call, Paolo sat with Gina and explained the plan. She listened, nodded once, and started typing notes on her phone.
"He asks questions every morning around nine," she said. "I’ll give him sothing tomorrow. Sothing juicy but fake. By the ti he reports it, Michael will be chasing London ghosts."
"You’re sure about this?"
Gina looked up and smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile. It was the smile of soone who’d been waiting for a chance to bite back. "He used my uncle for eight years. Let return the favor."
The next morning at 9:15, Gina "accidentally" left Paolo’s calendar open on her desk while she went to get coffee. Derek, hovering nearby, saw a eting scheduled for that afternoon with a note that read: "Call with London consultant — ridian Strategies. Discuss expansion to 6 labels."
It was entirely fabricated. There was no ridian Strategies. There was no expansion to six labels. But Derek saw it, and his eyes lit up with the hunger of a man who had finally found sothing worth reporting.
By noon, the information was in Michael’s hands.
Paolo watched Derek from his office window, the man sitting at his desk typing furiously on his phone, and felt sothing he hadn’t felt in years. Not fear. Control.
He texted Dayo: "Ghost delivered. He’s eating it."
Dayo’s reply ca back in under a minute: "Good. Now we build the maze."
A huge thanks to WarMachine78 for the Gift
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