Find a quiet spot, turn the page, and let’s see what this story has been hiding 🌙
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Faith let out a sharp laugh, as if she had just heard the most ridiculous joke of the year.
“I know you made a fortune and don’t know where to put it,” she said.
“Buy real estate.
Buy stocks.
Buy lottery tickets if you have to.
Any of that would be better than throwing money into record labels.”
“Why?” Julian asked.
“The music business has always had decent margins.
Nashville has plenty of young artists like her.
If you bet on the right one, a company can make a fortune.”
“And what happens even if you do bet right?” Faith said, giving him the industry answer without mercy.
“One of the majors buys you, squeezes you, or forces you to compromise.
Universal, Sony BMG, Warner, EMI.
The majors already control the pipeline from top to bottom.
The record business is old.
The good seats were divided up a long time ago.”
As an insider, Faith was telling the truth.
She was not wrong.
But this singer was not like the others.
She would rise with a speed and force that ignored more than a few normal rules of the business.
In Julian’s old timeline, Big Machine, a tiny label almost no one knew, released her first six albums.
That alone proved Faith’s rule had exceptions.
“Maybe Taylor is different,” Julian said.
Faith’s eyes narrowed with sudden understanding.
“So that’s what this is.
You noticed her.” Even then, she warned him.
“The record business is not a place for an outsider.”
This woman was stubborn.
For a moment, Julian saw no obvious way to persuade her.
She was trying to protect him, yes, but no one walked away from money just because the road looked inconvenient.
He was considering whether to let his mother handle the discussion when the young woman began humming in the back seat.
The truck had left the open highway and turned onto a quiet road.
In the sudden hush, her clear voice drifted through the cabin, sweet but sharp enough to cut.
She sang a rough draft, a fragile goodbye about driving away from someone she could still picture, about an ending no one had expected.
No studio recording could compete with hearing the idea form in the room.
The moment Taylor opened her mouth, Julian recognized the song.
It was “Breathe,” a heartbreak ballad from the second album he remembered.
At this point, she clearly had not lived through the loss that would give the song its final weight.
Her version lacked emotional depth, and even the words and melody had shifted.
This was not the finished track.
After a few more lines, she stopped, embarrassed.
“Sorry.
I may not be very good at this kind of song.”
“No,” Julian said.
“You sound great.
When I was your age, I knew nothing at all.”
Then he added, carefully, “It may only need a few small changes.
At the end of the phrase, try adding a little breathy hum, like this.
And the chorus should be simpler.
Hold the ending longer.
Let the emotion gather around the key word, breathe.
What do you think?”
He knew nothing about music.
He was simply nudging her toward the final version he remembered.
“I think…” She hummed twice under her breath.
“I think that works.”
It did.
The line gained a raw ache it had not had before.
‘Julian must have been through a terrible breakup.
The kind that hurt.’
In the passenger seat, Faith lowered her phone and turned to stare at Julian.
“Did you study music somewhere?”
“Maybe he inherited Miss Danielle’s ear,” Taylor said.
That breath at the end of the line was perfect.
How had she not thought of it?
“Just a thought,” Julian said.
“Also, to make the emotion fuller, I would add more harmony.”
The final version he remembered had another voice woven through it.
“That’s it.” Faith slapped her thigh.
She had heard the demo before and always felt something was missing, though she could not name what.
Julian’s suggestion was like opening a door she had not known was there.
“You really are a fucking genius.
Taylor, do it the way Julian said.
We can put this song directly on the first album.”
“It could even be a lead track,” Faith said.
In the back seat, Taylor twirled a curl around one finger, already imagining the future.
In Julian’s memory, “Breathe” should have gone through several revisions before landing on Taylor’s second album.
Because of his suggestion, the process had suddenly accelerated.
He had pressed fast-forward on her career.
For him, it was almost too easy.
He had heard plenty of Taylor Swift songs.
“Faith,” Julian asked again, “do you still think I’m an outsider?”
“America gained a greedy financier and lost a gifted singer,” Faith said honestly.
“Faith, I already sold the finance company.
I’m using the money to take Playboy private.” He glanced at her.
“Don’t look at me like that.
I’m not joking.”
“That company is in rough shape, and I’m preparing to expand into new lines of business, including music.
I think Taylor is a rare talent.
Add a boss with a little musical instinct and Playboy’s promotional platform, and tell me: could we break through the majors’ control?
Could we create something new?”
Julian laid out the first piece of his larger plan.
“I think…” Faith stopped.
“I don’t know.
Give me a second.”
The shock was too large.
Her heartbeat seemed to stumble.
She opened her black Givenchy handbag, took out a small prescription tablet, swallowed it, and only then looked a little steadier.
“Call her boss,” Julian said.
“Tell him you are optimistic about her future and want to take over the project.
I don’t need to appear at all.
That should keep the price low.
Afterward, you will still be her teacher and album producer, and I will pay you far more than you’re making now.”
Julian was already running the numbers.
He wanted Faith in the deal too.
Her fee did not matter.
She had connections in the industry, she was still a singer herself, and she could release new records under his banner.
With his mother helping behind the scenes, this first move was almost certain to work.
“What if my boss refuses?” she asked.
No matter how mismatched the brands looked, Playboy with Julian’s capital and media platform was stronger than Big Machine, that scrappy little startup.
Faith would remain with her.
Of course Taylor was willing to move.
“Think it through,” Julian said.
“Faith Hill is your album producer and your teacher.
If she walks, this album has to be rebuilt from the ground up.
Would your boss rather put in more money and start over for an uncertain future, or take a reasonable payout now?”
Teacher and student exchanged a look of excitement and uncertainty.
“UPenn finance graduates really do think different,” Taylor said before she could stop herself.
It was Apple’s famous late-nineties slogan, shorthand for people who saw possibilities others missed.
‘That’s all it takes to count as thinking different?
Careful, sweetheart.
Don’t oversell me yet.’
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Ready for more?
I hope this chapter drew you further into the story.
Stick around, because there’s still a lot waiting just ahead.