That was exactly why Phil was fighting tooth and nail to stop Cardi from going to Texas.
Zero pay, plus the high risk of his human cash cow getting scrapped at any moment?
As a manager, there was no way in hell he'd agree to that kind of deal.
But Cardi B didn't give a damn. "What's there to be scared of with those damn rednecks?"
"I'll strap grenades to my tits and hang weapons all over my body!"
"If they've got the balls, let 'em come and try me! This bitch ain't one to mess with!"
If any other woman said this, Leon might have scoffed. But Cardi B was different.
This woman was a completely emotional lunatic; no one could predict what kind of outrageous shit she'd pull next.
Phil sneered. "You'll get locked in a pigsty by those hillbillies... Have you seen The Texas Chain Saw Massacre? That shit is based on true events..."
"Just think about what those freaks would do to you after tying you up in a basement!"
Cardi immediately fired back without mercy, "Then let them try! I'll work them to death inside my tunnel!"
Leon ignored their bickering, completely immersed in thought.
Two minutes later, he made his choice. "I'm greenlighting the Texas trip. But we need to double down on security."
"Hire more shooters from the Bronx. Pay them extra to stick to Cardi like glue—human shields, bullet blockers, whatever."
Phil's jaw practically hit the floor. He couldn't believe Leon would agree to such an arrangement.
Cardi wasn't just Phil's cash cow; she was Leon's money tree. How could this scumbag, whose greed knew no bounds, agree to a losing deal?
"Are you joking, Leon? This doesn't benefit any of us."
"Look at the big picture... Why can't a challenge be an opportunity? If we pull this off, it'll do wonders for Cardi's reputation!"
Phil froze, taking a moment to process the angle.
The accidental police killing of a Black man had been the focus of media attention lately. As public opinion fermented, movements for Black civil rights were erupting all over the US.
Many Black singers and athletes were using various channels to speak up for the victim.
The video of the local Austin gang issuing death threats to Cardi B was racking up insane views on YouTube.
The timing, the location, the people—the stars were aligned. If Cardi B could show up in Austin fearlessly at this specific moment, twerking her ass in the faces of those rednecks at a charity concert...
Phil knew exactly what that meant.
It meant wall-to-wall coverage and a tsunami of clout.
Cardi B was thinking about genuine charity, but in Leon's brain, charity automatically converted into business.
Phil stared hard at Leon, a trace of fear in his eyes. "A challenge is also an opportunity..."
With the title "Daughter of the Bloods," Cardi B had debuted in the Billboard Top 20. But as the initial buzz faded, it was becoming hard to climb any higher.
If they could use this charity gig to expand her influence, maybe she really could touch the threshold of the Top 10.
Billboard Top 10. That was a temptation no manager or singer could refuse.
He raised another point. "So... how do we guarantee Cardi's safety?"
"From what I know, those hillbillies recording the videos aren't just talk. They have ties to the Aryan Brotherhood and local biker gangs..."
Leon laughed. "Don't be stupid, man. There will be over ten thousand Black people from all over the country there. Who would dare shoot a Black female star at a rally like that? Getting torn to shreds by the crowd would be their only outcome."
Finally, Phil gritted his teeth and agreed, treating it like a gambler's all-in bet.
---
Once the Austin trip was set, Leon and Phil sat alone in the office, puffing away on their cigarettes.
"I asked you to contact some experts in electronic music. How's that going?"
"Done. But you might find the conditions and quotes from those Top 100 DJs hard to swallow."
Saying this, Phil went downstairs to his car and brought back a black briefcase containing a list of famous DJs.
Since 1997, DJ Mag has published an annual non-official ranking of the world's Top 100 DJs.
This list is currently recognized as the most authoritative DJ ranking.
As the highest honor in the DJ world, the Top 100 list is something every EDM practitioner dreams of.
"Are they crazy? The inspiration for the backing track is mine. I'm just asking them to produce it according to my ideas, and they want this much money?"
The quotes on the list made Leon click his tongue. The top ten DJs were asking for a minimum of $50,000.
Not only that, but they all uniformly demanded at least 20% of the copyright royalties.
Leon had plenty of complaints about this. "All they do is scratch discs and push buttons on a synthesizer. Why the hell is the price so high?"
Phil shook his head. "It's not as simple as you think. The composition of complex chords, inversions, and progression rules aren't things laymen like us can understand."
"Plus, they have to blend the synthesized audio perfectly with the vocals according to your requirements, without missing a single beat."
"Don't underestimate these guys. The headliners earn way more than you do."
Leon didn't doubt that. If a DJ could produce a track that swept through the clubs, the copyright revenue alone would be astronomical.
Phil continued, "I recommend David Guetta. He ranked third on last year's Top 100 DJ list, and many people are betting on him taking the crown this year. His cost-performance ratio is high right now..."
"The Black Eyed Peas' chart-dominating hit I Gotta Feeling last year was a collaboration with him."
Leon flipped through David Guetta's resume. This French DJ had just been nominated for Best Electronic/Dance Album at the Grammys last year. His ability was unquestionable.
Coupled with Phil hyping him up to the skies, Leon made the decision on the spot.
However, the hefty $70,000 asking price made him suspect Phil was taking a kickback.
Phil smiled, predictably. "Actually, I'm curious who you're going to give this masterpiece to."
"How about Cardi B? The contrast would be something the American public loves to see."
As expected, the old geezer proposed a nonsensical suggestion just to scrape a bit more profit off the top.
Let a gangsta female rapper whose brain is filled with nothing but pssy and dck perform an ethereal electronic track?
That's not contrast; that's schizophrenia.
---
After finally getting rid of Phil, Leon hurriedly drove to Roc Nation.
At Apocalypse Music, his word was law, but in the Kingdom of Roc, he was a B-lister at best.
He could rarely refuse any company arrangements, including the long and boring vocal lessons.
Company VP Lenny believed that while Leon's grasp of rock emotion was spot on, his high notes were still a thorny issue.
For studio recordings, this wasn't a problem; even the biggest flaws could be fixed with autotune.
But as a rock singer, you couldn't survive without powerful live capabilities.
Walking into the recording studio, the gold-standard music producer Max Martin had already been waiting for a long time.
"Mr. Martin, is the backing track for Demons ready?"