Chapter 3 - The Judge's Throne
The main auditorium of the convention center felt less like a building and more like the inside of a thunderstorm.
Blinding white spotlights swept across a massive mahogany stage. Five television camera booms hovered overhead like mechanical snakes. In the center of the dark theater, illuminated by a halo of blue neon, sat the executive judges' desk.
Three people sat behind it.
On the left was Brianna Cole, a twenty-four-year-old pop star with platinum hair and ten million followers. On the right was Beau Montgomery, a grizzled country music legend with a cowboy hat and three Grammys under his belt.
And in the center sat Julian Vance.
Julian was forty-two, impeccably dressed in a dark, tailored charcoal suit without a tie. He was a billionaire music mogul, a former multi-platinum songwriter, and the co-creator of American Spotlight. He was also known as the most terrifying man on American television.
Julian didn't smile. He didn't offer fake comfort. He tore bad singers to pieces with razor-sharp precision, and he hadn't backed down from a single confrontation in fifteen years of public life.
"Next," Julian’s low, bored voice echoed through the PA system. He didn't look up from his phone screen. "We’ve been here six hours, folks. Bring out someone who can actually hold a pitch."
The heavy stage doors creaked open.
Lily stepped out under the blinding white spotlights.
She looked microscopic on the eighty-foot stage. Her yellow jacket caught the glaring lights, and her small sneakers squeaked against the slick black floor. She carried her guitar, stepping up to the solitary silver microphone standing in the center.
Brianna Cole gasped softly into her lapel mic. "Oh my goodness... look at her. She’s adorable."
Beau Montgomery adjusted his cowboy hat. "Well, bless my soul. Howdy there, little lady."
Julian finally set his phone down, resting his elbows on the long desk, his dark, piercing eyes fixing onto the child standing before him. His jaw was tight, his dark hair greying slightly at the temples.
"Name," Julian commanded coldly.
"Lily," she said, her voice echoing through the massive, empty arena. "Lily Parker."
Julian’s left hand twitched slightly against his glass of water, but his expression remained impassive. "And how old are you, Lily?"
"Seven."
Julian leaned back in his leather executive chair, crossing his arms. "Seven years old. Lily, do you know what this show is?"
"Yes, sir."
"It is not a school talent show," Julian said, his tone biting, ruthless, yet devoid of anger—just cold facts. "We are looking for an arena-level artist. We are offering a one-million-dollar contract. We don't give pity votes to children because they look sweet in yellow jackets. If you sing poorly, I will tell you that you sing poorly. Do you understand?"
"Julian, take it easy," Brianna whispered beside him, glaring at him. "She's seven!"
"She stepped onto my stage," Julian replied smoothly, his eyes never leaving Lily. "She gets the same rules as everyone else."
Lily stood her ground. She didn't flinch. She leaned up toward the microphone, her small hands adjusting her grip on the guitar neck.
"I don't want pity, sir," Lily said, her voice clear as a bell. "I just want the million dollars."
A light chuckle echoed from Beau Montgomery, but Julian’s eyes narrowed.
"A million dollars is a lot of candy, kid," Julian remarked dryly.
"I don't buy candy," Lily answered. "It's for my mom. Her cancer spread, and she needs surgery before the month ends."
The quiet that fell over the auditorium was instantaneous and heavy.
Brianna’s hand flew to her mouth. Beau looked down at his boots.
Julian stared at the little girl. For a fraction of a second, his ruthless corporate mask cracked, revealing something dark and troubled beneath.
"What are you going to sing for us, Lily?" Beau asked softly, his tone turning fatherly.
May you like
Lily looked straight at Julian Vance.
"A song my mom taught me," Lily whispered. "She wrote it a long time ago. It's called 'Morning Will Find Us'."
