"Enough, btches! Back off!"
Faced with the increasingly aggressive behavior of the girls, Leon finally couldn't help but shout.
That one yell brought the chaotic scene back under control.
The girls all looked disappointed, weighing their "headlights" and "tail lights" in their hands.
"Are they too small? Doesn't he like them?"
"Fk, I should have gotten the biggest implants available..."
"I heard celebrities are into some weird sht."
Leon had no interest in responding to their malicious speculation. He walked over to T-Ray and asked, "Tell me, what is going on?"
In Leon's experience, although T-Ray was a "rich man" in the ghetto and partying was his life, inviting this many girls at once cost serious money.
Even at a rate of $300 a night to bring them in from Manhattan Beach, a party like this would cost thousands of dollars.
Unless there was a major occasion, such a high price tag was clearly beyond the capacity of T-Ray's wallet.
"Bro, record sales are about to break 60,000 copies! I've already applied to the RIAA for Silver certification!"
Leon didn't show much excitement at this "good news."
A "Silver Record" was basically a participation trophy. There wasn't even a strict sales threshold for it anymore, though 60,000 was generally the accepted benchmark. Compared to Gold and Platinum, it wasn't worth sht.
Seeing Leon's lack of reaction, T-Ray grinned maniacally and continued, "Today is also the day we split the profits!"
Split the profits?
Hearing this, Leon finally perked up.
He had been planning his escape from this godforsaken slum for days.
Although he still had nearly $20,000 on him—enough to rent a place in a middle-class neighborhood in almost any other US city—in New York, that was a pipe dream.
Forget about Manhattan where land is worth more than gold. Even renting in Brooklyn Heights or slightly cheaper Sheepshead Bay would drain his savings dry.
The obstacles to moving weren't just financial. Bonnie had made it clear she didn't want Leon to leave—or rather, wherever Leon went, she was going too.
Since appearing in the music video as the only eye-catching white girl among the Black dancers, Bonnie had gained a small amount of fame thanks to her skilled twerking and good looks.
She was now a micro-influencer on YouTube and social media, sharing makeup tips and OOTD posts featuring her signature thongs.
T-Ray enthusiastically pulled Leon aside. "If this trend continues, maybe I'll be a millionaire again very soon."
The reason he said "again" was because he had already tasted the millionaire life back in the 90s.
In the golden age of gangsta rap, there were countless examples of street thugs becoming millionaires overnight thanks to the music boom.
But most of those guys had a financial IQ of zero. After getting rich, they blew it all on luxury cars and women. Very few became legends like Jay-Z or Dr. Dre.
As he spoke, T-Ray made a call. A moment later, a young Black man with black-framed glasses walked in.
With his stiff plaid shirt and bulging, dead-fish eyes, you could tell at a glance that this guy wasn't exactly street smart.
T-Ray pointed at the young man and introduced him. "This is the only nr on Chester Street who understands finance, Liam. He handles the books for Black Panther Records."
"H-h-hello, b-b-bosses..." Liam bowed respectfully.
"Is he reliable?" Leon asked, looking at Liam's stammering demeanor.
"Don't worry. George poached Liam from a drug cartel. In five years, he never made a single mistake with their cocaine accounts!"
That statement instantly gave Leon a newfound respect for Liam's professional skills.
Working for drug dealers requires an insanely high level of professionalism. One wrong digit, and you might just get rebooted with a bullet.
"Take Me to Church has sold a total of 52,000 CDs and 7,000 cassette tapes in the last two weeks..."
"However, precise data from retail terminals is hard to gather instantly, and some loss is inevitable."
"Therefore, the calculated final revenue is $164,200.80."
This number made Leon secretly ecstatic. Making $160,000 in just two weeks was impressive, even after deducting printing costs.
Of course, according to the contract, printing costs weren't his problem. He just had to focus on his 25% cut.
T-Ray said smugly, "Besides that, many nightclubs in Brooklyn are playing your track."
"Since you don't have a financial advisor or a manager, I've temporarily collected all the synchronization royalties for this part."
When he said "manager," T-Ray noticeably emphasized the word, intentionally prodding Leon.
For American musicians, income mainly comes from four sources. Synchronization royalties (sync fees) are paid when a song is used commercially.
Leon's share of this was $8,000—not a small sum.
In the end, his total take from this split was $40,000, after taxes.
"I'll wire the money to your card," T-Ray said, not forgetting to tease Liam the accountant. "Remember to include the change. Don't miss a single cent... Mr. Leon is very sensitive about numbers."
Leon didn't retort to T-Ray's jab. Getting every penny he earned was only right.
More and more guys started filtering into the office. Without exception, they were all wearing red-themed clothing with gang tattoos visible everywhere.
Red is the color of the Bloods. Obviously, these were T-Ray's gang friends.
However, these fierce-looking gangsters were incredibly respectful toward Leon. There isn't a single person in the ghetto who doesn't dream of breaking into the entertainment industry and getting famous.
"Let's go, players! Long live the life!" T-Ray raised his glass and toasted everyone.
Soon, the room was drowned in aggressive gangsta rap and the skunky smell of weed.
Although the models were shaking their asses at Leon trying to curry favor, their looks really didn't interest him.
"Sht, I can't stay in this hellhole for another second!"
Lyrics filled with "psy," "dck," and "ass" made even dogs shake their heads, let alone Leon.
After downing the expensive whiskey in his glass, he stood up to leave without saying goodbye to anyone.
Ring, ring, ring—
Just then, Leon's phone rang. It was the blonde beauty, Margot Robbie.
He answered without hesitation. "Long time no see, Miss Robbie."
"Sorry... I think I had too much to drink last time. Please forgive my late apology." Robbie hesitated for a moment before asking, "I didn't do anything... excessive, did I?"
You didn't do anything excessive, you just almost raped me.
Leon could only think this; he naturally wouldn't say it out loud. "Not at all. You were the most elegant lady I've ever seen."
Lady?
Robbie racked her brain wondering if she had anything to do with that word.
"Mr. Leon, I'm leaving New York tomorrow. Before I go, I wanted to see my friend again."
"Congratulations on your record sales. I saw your name on Billboard. It's amazing."
"Are you free now? I'm at Columbia Street in Brooklyn Heights."