Pirate's Gold Read Free Page A

ago…”
    â€œYou’re not telling me that it still exists?” Kyle asked, astounded. Had he neglected his business that badly?
    â€œSee for yourself.” Ryan nodded toward the report.
    Kyle’s dark eyes scanned the black print and his frown deepened into a scowl of anger. His gaze was even when it was raised to meet the pale blue eyes of Ryan Woods. “You’re certain of all this?” Kyle asked, skeptically running his fingers over the pages.
    â€œI’d stake my reputation on it.”
    â€œYou just have.” Kyle rubbed his thumb over the edges of his straight white teeth and his eyes narrowed in thought. “Damn!” he cursed, mainly at himself.
    â€œWhat is it?” Woods inquired. He’d known Kyle for eight years and had seen the dangerous look of anger in the recording company’s executive more than once in the past.
    â€œIt’s just hard to swallow, that’s all. We’ve been dealing with Festival Productions for over three years. Everything we’ve gotten from them has been the best—top quality recordings.” He shook his head as if trying to dislodge a wayward thought. “Why would Maren McClure try and rob me blind?”
    â€œShe only owns the company. It doesn’t necessarily mean that she’s involved. Anyway, the problem will be solved once you stop dealing with Festival, and as far as I can tell only three of the tapes have been copied and sold on the black market.”
    Lydia knocked on the door, refreshed the drinks and provided a tray of sandwiches. Kyle managed a quick smile for her and then turned his attention back to the problem at hand.
    â€œAll right, Ryan, so you think we should just ignore the problem and maybe it will just go away?”
    Ryan smiled and set his partially eaten sandwich aside. “Unfortunately, it’s not going to be that simple.”
    â€œThat much I already know.”
    â€œThen you realize that you have some long-term contracts with Festival?”
    Kyle tented his fingers under his chin and nodded. Ryan finished his sandwich, withdrew a cigar from his pocket and rolled it between his fingers. Thoughtfully he studied the tip of his cigar before lighting it and puffing a blue cloud of smoke that circled lazily to the raised ceiling. Theatrics were part of the game, the rules of which he had learned while studying law at Yale. “As I see it, you have several options.”
    Kyle raised his eyebrows, encouraging the other man to continue. “You can buy out the contracts and quit using Festival completely, or you can confront the owner with your suspicions and hope that she’ll back out of the contracts because of fear of bad publicity and a possible lawsuit.”
    â€œToo easy.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œI can’t do either one.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œFirst of all, I don’t have the time. I’ve just signed several big names to Sterling Records, paid top money for them, and I can’t take the chance that the video cuts of their top hits will be stolen or reprinted. I’d not only lose the artists, they’d sue me for every cent I’ve got based on any grounds their agents or their lawyers might dream up.”
    Ryan puffed on the cigar and shrugged. “So have the tapes produced by someone else until you get your crew together. There must be a hundred production companies that can make a four or five minute minifilm. Those videos aren’t much more than advertisements for a song…easier, really. There’s no dialogue involved.”
    Kyle downed the rest of his drink and his clear gray eyes looked suddenly stormy. “That’s where you’re wrong. The videotape of a current song is the single most important piece of artistry put together. In some cases it’s more valuable than the recording. It sells the song. A good video can beef up a mediocre record, and unfortunately, the reverse is