For the next few months, David's life turned into a carefully managed storm. Between meetings, recording sessions, and legal discussions with Harvey , his schedule barely left him time to sleep.
Harvey had become a vital part of his professional circle—sharp, witty, and ruthless in negotiation. Together, they were reshaping the skeletons of the companies David had bought.
Marvel, Netflix, Amazon.
Three names that most people didn't take seriously in 2001, but David saw them like dormant beasts waiting for the right push.
Every morning started the same way—black coffee, rock music in the background, and a notepad filled with his vision for the future.
For Marvel Studios, he wanted to reclaim their heroes. The idea of superheroes being scattered across different studios annoyed him.
"Marvel has to buy back Spider-Man, X-Men, and the others," he told Harvey one morning on a call. "We can't build a real cinematic universe if half the characters are owned by someone else."
Harvey chuckled. "That's going to be one hell of a legal maze. But if there's money in it, I'll find a way to untangle it."
"Money's not the issue,we can always take a loan since all the companies are debt free." David replied, swirling his glass of orange juice. "It's about getting them all home where they belong."
Amazon was trickier. Jeff's small online bookstore had potential, but e-commerce was barely a concept in people's heads.
David wanted to push them toward becoming a global marketplace—one that could sell everything from books to electronics. But he knew they'd have to take it slow; the internet wasn't there yet.
Netflix was the most complicated of all. DVDs-by-mail were still their core business, but David had the vision of streaming services before streaming was even possible.
"Let's start preparing contracts with studios and TV networks," he told Harvey. "We'll need licensing agreements ready when broadband speeds improve."
Harvey whistled. "You're betting big on the internet, Harper. Most people still think it's just for chat rooms and cat pictures."
David smirked. "That's exactly why I'm betting on it."
For now, he could only plant seeds.
Technology and timing would take care of the rest. He still had a couple million dollars left after the acquisitions, most of which he converted into gold bars and stored in a private vault. He liked tangible assets. Gold didn't crash, it gleamed.
The remaining hundred thousand or so stayed in his bank account for living expenses.
Scarlett, meanwhile, had become busier than ever.
She had landed two leading roles back to back—"Lost in Translation" and "Girl with a Pearl Earring."
Both scripts sat open on the living room table more often than she did.
Her days were spent on film sets or in rehearsals, and David often came home to find her asleep on the couch with her head buried in a script.
She would wake up, apologize for not spending enough time together, and he'd just smile and kiss her forehead.
"Don't worry about me," he'd say. "You're doing exactly what you should be doing. Just remember to breathe sometimes."
She promised to ease up once things settled, though they both knew how showbiz worked, things never really "settled."
Scarlett sighed as she left for the shooting. "That's why I want you have someone besides me, so that we can keep you grounded. Not to mention I'd take you screwing someone I approve rather than some random slut giving you std."
David almost fell down laughing. "You really have the weirdest rationale babe. Don't worry, I can control myself when needed."
Still, David admired her dedication. Scarlett was fierce when she believed in something. It reminded him why he fell for her in the first place.
With Scarlett caught up in her filming schedule, David threw himself into the one thing that grounded him—music.
The band, Gravity Dreams, had become his refuge and his fire. Their first album was now in full production under Sony Music, set to release in summer 2001.
He'd already decided on the title: "The Dream Begins."
It fit perfectly. Not just for the band, but for him—for everything he was building, everything he believed was about to start.
The album would feature seven tracks in total. Four were already recorded from their earlier sessions—energetic, emotional, and raw. But they needed three more to complete the record.
So, for weeks, the group camped out in their recording studio near Sunset Boulevard. The space smelled of coffee, guitar strings, and ambition.
****
The studio smelled like coffee, sweat, and warm wood. Dreamforge's control room was a tangle of cables, amp stacks, and half-empty water bottles; the live room was sunlit through high windows, guitars hung on the walls like trophies.
For Gravity Dreams, the work of turning a mess of songs into an album felt less like business and more like ritual.
David moved through the space with the ease of someone who lived in both worlds now — microphones and meeting notes both in his head.
The deadline Sony had set was summer 2001, and Harvey's voice echoed in his mind whenever a negotiation loomed: no surprises. No shortcuts.
Tommy was already behind the drum kit when David arrived, sticks idly tapping a groove on the snare. The boy had the same grin he'd had the first day in the rehearsal room, excited and ready to go .
Emily tuned her bass in the corner, fingers testing low notes that made the floor vibrate.
Avril , sat cross-legged on a crate with a notebook full of scribbled lyrics. She looked smaller in the studio's big light, but when she picked up a guitar, something in her stance shifted — fierce, focused.
"Alright," David called from the doorway, "we finish the last practice today before final recording. Take Me for a Ride, Skater Boy duet, and Kryptonite. We run them raw, then we tighten."
Tommy's grin widened. "Raw is my middle name."
Emily snorted. "You don't have a middle name."
"Exactly," Tommy shot back, tapping the rhythm. "I'm a concept."
Avril rolled her eyes and stood. " You're an idiot."
They started with Take Me For a Ride. David had chosen the song as a high-energy, streetwise rocker — a cover in a way, but their arrangement bent it into the album's tone.
The original had grit; their version would be cleaner in the verse and savage in the hook. David wanted it to hit like headlights: instant recognition, then teeth.
The first run was loose, the edges felt good. When the studio speakers filled with the song, the room quieted.
He'd vague-lined the lyrics months ago; now he wanted see them with the tune. He started the energetic tempo with guitar solo, Avril joining in second wave.
David sang the opening verse, voice low and direct:
"You're like a late-night hit and run
Her body's bulletproof when I got the gun
I light her up for fun
She could use me"
Tommy felt the energy and matched the tempo while Emily added depth.
"Yeah, you could take me for a ride
We'll see the city for the very first time
Take it to 99, if you want me to
And suddenly I'm paralyzed in your rearview"
Tommy's kick drum hit like a heartbeat, steady and relentless. Emily's bass threaded under David's vocal , warm and patient. Avril harmonized on the second line, a bright counterpoint that lifted the melody.
The chorus brought the band tight and loud:
"Start me up and turn me on
Leave me at the race of dawn
The highway stars surround me, yeah
And wrap the world around me
And I said (oh, oh, oh)
'67 GTO (oh, oh, oh)
Turn up the radio, " (oh, oh, oh)
Yeah, and she knows where to go
We'll leave the world behind
So won't you turn me over?
take me for a ride."
They played it twice, then three times, each pass trimming the rough edges. Tommy suggested a syncopated fill before the second chorus; Emily proposed a variation on the bassline to give the bridge more push.
David nodded at both and they ran it again, the groove settling deeper like a coin finding the slot.
***
Next was the duet practice. Avril had come in a month ago , eyes bright, with a demo tucked into her jacket. She'd been nervous the first time she brought it up.
"David?" she had said, half-smiling. "I've got something. It's… a song I wrote. I was thinking, if it fits, could we do it together? A duet. Me on the verses, you on the bridges. Or maybe like a conversation? I was wondering if we can Make it a part of the album."
He remembered how quiet she'd gone after the ask, the tremor beneath the bravado. He remembered being younger at her age, writing on stolen paper in a cold room.
"Let's hear it first," he'd said. "If it works, we can put it on the album. If it doesn't, we'll keep it anyway for later , maybe for a show."
She immediately lit up like a Christmas tree and jumped on him , hugging him like a koala. But the next part was the horror show David wanted to forget.
As he tried to put the new jailbait down, fate decided to fuck with him again. He tripped and fell, with Avril on top. And very conveniently, her lips crashed into his.
David's eyes widened in horror as she just closed her eyes blushing, not moving from there. He gently pushed her away , which made her realize the situation, and she ran away after apologizing.
They barely got over the awkwardness, and David made it a mission not to be alone with her.
After the sweat and laughter, they moved to Avril's song. This had a different emotional charge — quiet at first, then snapping into youthful defiance.
She'd titled it Skater Boy. Avril's demo had been a spare guitar and a notebook of teenage angst and regret.
For the record it would be gentled, given depth — hers the naïve center, David the ragged realist, and together they'd push it into something honest.
Avril started with a quick rhythm, playful and staccato. When she sang the first verse it sounded already intimate:
" He was a boy, She was a girl
Can I make it any more obvious?
He was a punk, She did ballet
What more can I say?
He wanted her, She'd never tell
Secretly she wanted him as well
But all of her friends, Stuck up their nose
They had a problem with his baggy clothes"
David answered in the second voice with a rougher edge:
"I was a boy, and She was a girl
Can I make it any more obvious?
I was a mess, full of distress
While she wore the picture perfect dress
I wanted her, But I was afraid
Would she even look at my way?
And all of her friends, they kept her away
Never giving me a chance to stay"
Avril then sang the first chorus. David offering a background voice.
"He was a skater boy
She said, "See you later, boy"
He wasn't good enough for her
She had a pretty face
But her head was up in space
She needed to come back down to earth"
Their harmony on the chorus turned the two narrators into one chorus of memory and regret. They sang together into the mike, staring at each other, pouring out their passion, telling the story.
"He was a skater boy
She said, "See you later, boy"
He wasn't good enough for her
Now he's a super star
Slammin' on his guitar
Does your pretty face see what he's worth?
I'm with the skater boy
I said, "See you later, boy"
I'll be back stage after the show
I'll be at a studio
Singing the song we wrote
About a girl you used to know"
They rehearsed it slowly at first, Avril's voice clear and emotional against David's deep calmness.
They cut a middle eight with a spoken interlude where David's lines tumbled into Avril's higher melody — a back-and-forth like a phone call left on hold. Tommy kept it crisp and urgent; Emily's bass walked a line between tenderness and push.
When Avril smiled after the take, something in the room shifted, the song belonged to her as much as to David.
"Thanks," she said awkwardly. "I've wanted that to be heard… properly. You gave me this chance, I will never forget it."
David chuckled nervously, stepping back a little.. "It's your song, Av. You wrote the map. I'm just learning the turns."
They took a long lunch, the kind with too much garlic bread and too little conversation about charts. Talk drifted instead to studio mic setups and the stupid things roadies say.
***
After the break they worked on the final track — Kryptonite.
David had brought it into the band after last year's late-night writing session when he was scribbling sown all popular songs he remembered from past life.
It started as a rusted acoustic idea and grew into a swelling rock closer. He wanted it to be the album's emotional center, not triumphant so much as honest: a man measuring his edges.
They opened with a slow, deliberate guitar pattern. David sang the first verse like he was admitting to the room his own flaws:
"Well, I took a walk around the world to ease my troubled mind
I left my body lying somewhere in the sands of time
But I watched the world float to the dark side of the moon
I feel there's nothing I can do, yeah
I watched the world float to the dark side of the moon
After all I knew, it had to be something to do with you
I really don't mind what happens now and then
As long as you'll be my friend at the end"
Emily's bass held low and thick, a ballast under the lyric; Tommy's brushes at first, then slowly morphing into a full drum swell that pushed the song forward. The chorus rose like tidewater:
"If I go crazy, then will you still call me Superman?
If I'm alive and well, will you be there and holding my hand?
I'll keep you by my side with my superhuman might
Kryptonite, yeah "
They worked the chorus until the pain in the lyric felt earned — David's voice delivered on the higher lines with deep and powerful vocal, lending the song a brighter hue.
Recording sessions were a give-and-take of egos and mercy. Sony sent engineers over sometimes; other days it was just the band, a microphone, and a can-do stubbornness.
David was meticulous about vocal takes—he'd ask for one more line if a breath didn't sit right, or if a consonant slipped. Avril learned to tweak her phrasing to match his grit, and Emily found a tone in her bass lines that made the songs feel anchored and human.
Between takes, they talked about arrangements. Tommy wanted a tighter fill before the third chorus of Take Me for a Ride.
Emily suggested a counter-melody on Kryptonite that would haunt the listener after the note faded.
Avril kept scribbling harmonies in the margins, sometimes laughing aloud at a line she loved.
One evening, after a near-breakthrough on the duet, David and Avril stayed late, running vocal leds back to back until they could finish it with one perfect synchronized breath.
Sweat dried on their foreheads; the hands of the clock wound past midnight. They stepped out into the alley behind Dreamforge with cold air on their faces.
"You did good in there," Avril said, voice small and almost shocked at her own confidence.
"You did great," David corrected. "You wrote a song that can carry the record's heart. That takes guts."
She kicked a pebble and grinned. "Wasn't easy to let you sing on it, you know."
He shrugged, playful. "I was just borrowing your thunder. I'll give it back."
She laughed, then looked away. "Umm, look David, can we... Talk about what happened?"
David immediately backed away . " Nothing happened."
Avril tried to push agai. " But.."
"Nothing happened. It was an accident."
"B-but, it was my first kiss!" She yelled out with her face turning red. "Atleast say it was good or bad! I actually like...."
"Whoa! Lemme stop you right there jailbait! Look Avril, You're a nice kid... Girl." He changed his phrasing at her glare.
" I get that teenage hormones can be rather... difficult, but I ain't no Diddy! You're 16 , I'm 21. Plus I have a girlfriend.
So I don't want to drag you into something you'll regret later. Plus we are working together. I don't want to complicate stuff. You saw the awkardness after that incident."
She looked down, her eyes watering. " Do you really not like me ? At all?"
David softened his tone. " You are a nice girl. Fun, pretty and energetic. But I prefer not to be sodomized in a prison for dating a minor. Even Harvey can't get me out of that one."
Avril was dumbfounded for a moment then burst out laughing. " Hahaha, What are you even saying! That's gross. But I understand."
David raised an eyebrow. " Do you? Because my brother always say that, and he doesn't understand shit."
She giggled despite wiping her eyes. " No, I get it. I put you in an awkward position. Sorry about that."
He waved it away. " It's cool. No harm done. Still breathing the fresh air of freedom outside, so it's all good."
As he walked away, she muttered softly. " So, I guess I have to wait a little more."
When the recording files were final and the mixes returned from the engineer, David sat with Harvey's assistant to sign off on the masters.
Sony's A&R asked for one more tweak on the mix of Skater Boy, less vocal reverb, the duet more 'in the room'. David agreed. They'd all argued for authenticity over polish, and the label had begun to understand that rawness had value.
In March 2001, with the last wave of mastering completed, David sent the masters to the label.
The Dream Begins was done. Sony promised to send cover mockups within a week. For a band that had started as four uncertain people , the scale of the thing felt heavy and real.
To celebrate, David took Tommy, Emily, and Avril out to a small Italian place. They ate too much pasta and toasted with juice that tasted like victory.
They talked about touring routes, about set lists, and about keeping their heads as their names began to show up on radio lists.
"You nervous?" Emily asked, finishing her cake.
"Always," David said. "But the good kind."
Avril clinked her glass to his. "To the record. To not messing this up."
Tommy raised his bottle. "To never forgetting how we started."
David drove home under a sky that smelled faintly of ocean and diesel. He pulled into his driveway and sat in the car a long time, the engine warm, the city lights flickering in his rearview like postcards from another life.
He poured himself a drink, leaned back, and let the small hunger that had driven him for years settle.
The Album work was out of the way — now the real work would be touring, promoting, and surviving whatever fame might come.
For a moment, though, there was only the amber glass, the hum of the night, and the feeling of having built something real from a handful of chords and stubborn hope.
He switched off the lights, locked the door, and for the first time in a long time allowed himself not to worry about the next call, the next negotiation, the next headline.
Tomorrow there would be practice, edits, and a thousand minor crises.
Tonight he let the silence keep him company. A small, clean victory in a life that kept changing around him.