Chapter 10 - The Banks Name
Jacqueline Banks had spent years avoiding her husband's shadow.
Where Victor was loud power, Jacqueline preferred controlled rooms.
She ran the Banks Foundation's scholarship committee and was respected for funding instruments, arts camps, and college application fees.
Students liked her.
Teachers thanked her.
Malik had met her once.
She had complimented his piano playing at a winter recital.
That memory made Superintendent Carter's discovery difficult to understand.
Jacqueline came to the district office the following morning.
Victor was not invited.
Neither was Jordan.
Carter placed the access record on the table.
“Your credentials removed Malik Turner from the talent-show roster.”
Jacqueline read it.
Her face remained composed.
“I did not remove him.”
“Who has your password?”
“No one.”
“Then either you're lying or your account was compromised.”
Jacqueline looked down again.
Slowly, something changed.
“My foundation laptop.”
“What about it?”
“Victor uses it sometimes.”
Carter leaned forward.
“Does he know the password?”
Jacqueline did not answer immediately.
That answer was enough.
At home that evening, she confronted her husband.
Jordan heard them from upstairs.
“You used my account.”
Victor poured a drink.
“I handled a complication.”
“You used my name.”
“Our name.”
“No.”
Jacqueline's voice hardened.
“You used mine.”
Victor sighed.
“Jordan needed that opportunity.”
“He needed to earn it.”
“He is our son.”
“And Malik Turner is somebody's son.”
Victor looked at her.
“Don't become sentimental.”
Jacqueline laughed softly.
“You're calling integrity sentimental now?”
Jordan moved closer to the staircase.
His mother continued.
“I spent ten years making that foundation credible.”
“And who funded it?”
“There it is.”
Victor's jaw tightened.
“What?”
“The thing you believe money buys.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Ownership of everyone.”
Victor's voice lowered.
“Be careful.”
Jacqueline stared at him.
“I have been careful for twenty-two years.”
Jordan stopped breathing.
Twenty-two.
His parents had been married twenty years.
“What does that mean?” Victor asked.
Jacqueline looked toward the stairs.
She saw Jordan.
For half a second she appeared frightened.
Then she said, “Nothing.”
But Jordan knew.
There was another secret.
Not a melodramatic one about parentage.
Something older.
Something about power.
The next day, Ms. Reed's suspension was lifted pending the investigation.
When she entered the auditorium, students applauded.
She hated it.
“Sit down,” she said.
They laughed.
This time the laughter was warm.
Malik waited near the piano.
Ms. Reed approached him.
“You okay?”
“Depends what day you ask.”
“Fair.”
“Did they fix the nomination?”
“Not yet.”
“What are they waiting for?”
“Due process.”
“That phrase means adults need more meetings.”
“Usually.”
Malik looked toward Jordan, who sat alone in the auditorium's back row.
“Can he still perform?”
“Until findings are final.”
Malik frowned.
“So he steals my song and still gets a stage?”
“He has rights too.”
Malik hated that answer.
He also knew it was correct.
“What if he performs mine?”
“He won't.”
“How do you know?”
“Because the regional committee froze his submission.”
That surprised him.
“They know?”
“They know there's a dispute.”
Malik sat.
Ms. Reed handed him a form.
“What is this?”
“Copyright registration paperwork. Camille said you wanted help.”
He looked at her.
“You did this?”
“I printed a form.”
“Still.”
She smiled.
“You wrote the music. Protect it.”
Malik ran a thumb along the paper.
His song suddenly existed in a world of legal definitions.
Composition.
Authorship.
Rights.
Before, it had belonged to him because he had made it.
Now he understood that other people sometimes respected ownership only after paperwork told them to.
Across the auditorium, Jordan watched.
Brianna sat two rows away from him.
He approached her after rehearsal.
“My mom's involved.”
Brianna looked up.
“How?”
“Her account removed Malik.”
“Did she do it?”
“I don't think so.”
“Then who?”
“My dad.”
Brianna closed her notebook.
“Jordan, you need to stop protecting him.”
“You think this is easy?”
“No.”
“My entire life is tied to him.”
“So was Malik's apartment.”
Jordan flinched.
Brianna continued.
“You know what scared me?”
“What?”
“You keep talking about your father's power like it's weather.”
Jordan frowned.
“Something that just happens to people.”
He sat beside her.
For once, he did not defend himself.
Brianna asked, “What are you actually afraid he'll do?”
Jordan took a long time to answer.
“Stop loving me.”
Brianna stared.
Jordan laughed bitterly.
“Pathetic, right?”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“Dangerous.”
That evening Malik received an email from Halston Conservatory.
The regional committee had reviewed public footage of his audition.
They wanted a complete recording of “Stay Standing.”
Malik stared at the screen.
Then at the cracked keyboard.
His chance had returned.
But at the bottom of the email was another line.
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Because authorship of the composition was formally disputed, the committee required documentation within fourteen days.
Malik's future now depended on proving that his own song was his.
