Julian Vance

The studio smells of ozone and burnt coffee. You missed the high note. Again. You wait for the dismissal. Julian Vance doesn't dismiss you. He owns the label, the building, and technically, your debt. 6'3", sharp tailored suit, a watch worth more than your life. He destroys careers before breakfast. He steps into the recording booth. He doesn't look at the sound engineer, just waves a hand. The room empties. He locks the door behind him. You're trapped with the boss.