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Chapter 5
Court was back in session. Jack and his client sat side by side at the defense table, watching as the plaintiff’s second witness took the stand.
Shaky Nichols was a handsome man, fast approaching the age at which the trendy facial stubble that made younger men look stylish and cool made older men look lazy and unkempt. Based on the photographs Jack had pulled from the internet, Shaky spent most of his time in T-shirts and baseball caps. His lawyer had apparently won the courtroom fashion debate. His conservative dark business suit and baby-blue dress shirt looked brand-new, just delivered from Armani. Jack wondered if the tags were still on.
“Mr. Nichols,” his lawyer began, “let’s walk through your background for the court’s benefit.”
Shaky clearly loved talking about himself. He’d never finished college, having dropped out to take a job in marketing at a small record label, which basically made him the party planner in chief. He’d met a number of up-and-coming musicians in various states of late-night inebriation and convinced a few of them that he should be their manager. Still, his career was going nowhere, until he invested every penny of his inheritance in an unknown tech company, and cashed out to the tune of an eight-figure profit right before the dot-com bubble burst. At age thirty-two, he formed an investment company that teamed up with a private equity firm to buy EML Records on the cheap, at a time when the major record labels, EML included, were losing $750 billion a year to piracy and illegal music downloads.
“Let’s talk now about your relationship with the defendant,” said Ellis.
Over the next twenty minutes, guided by the questioning of his counsel, the witness laid out a selective history of his professional and personal relationship with Imani, emphasizing the positive. His discovery of Imani in a Miami nightclub. Signing her to a record label. Her Best New Artist Grammy. Their friendship that became a romance. A happy marriage—for a few months, anyway.
The focus then shifted to the issue at hand.
“Mr. Nichols, did there come a time when you acquired ownership of the master recordings to Imani’s first four albums?”
“Yes. Through my company, Clover Investments.”
“From whom did you and Clover Investments acquire those master recordings?”
“Her record label, EML Records.”
“Did you hold any position with EML at the time?”
Shaky looked at the judge and explained. “You have to understand that I was wearing three hats. First, I owned Clover Investments, which bought a minority interest in EML Records. Second, I became CEO of EML Records, which owned the master recordings to Imani’s songs. Finally, I became Imani’s husband.”
“What kind of arrangement did Imani have with EML?” his lawyer asked.
“Until Imani became a star, she had the same contract EML gives all new artists. She didn’t own the master recordings. Most of the revenue from those songs went to EML. Imani got a small royalty.”
“Even smaller than his dick,” Imani whispered to Jack.
It was in the category of “too much information,” and Jack chose not to respond.
Shaky’s lawyer continued. “What prompted you to buy those master recordings from EML?”
“This is where I started thinking like Imani’s husband. I knew the arrangement with EML made her unhappy. I wanted to make her happy. So, when I resigned as CEO of EML Records, I bought the rights to her master recordings.”
Imani’s nails dug into the back of Jack’s hand. “Give me a break,” she muttered.
“Did you tell Imani about this?” Ellis asked the witness.
“No. It was going to be a surprise. My plan was to give them to her at her thirtieth birthday party.”
“Did you follow through with that plan?”
“Obviously not.”
“Why not?”
“She filed for divorce two weeks before her thirtieth birthday.”
“When did Imani find out you owned her master recordings?”
Shaky glanced in his ex-wife’s direction, unable to hide the smirk of satisfaction. “During the divorce proceedings.”
His lawyer went to the computer and brought up an image on the screen. Some in the audience had to crane their necks to see, but it was plainly visible to most. It never ceased to amaze Jack how things that didn’t look so bad in a little screenshot could make your skin crawl when blown up on a big projection screen in a courtroom.
