On the other side, within the living room.
All around was silence, broken only intermittently by the audible sighs of Jordan Thompson and Hank Thompson. Grace Thompson tugged on Jordan’s arm, the young girl strained her neck to see, but still she could not understand what was written.
Cyrus Thompson held a document in his hands, he flipped a page and upon seeing the conditions set forth by the production team, his eyebrows rose in surprise.
By his side, Hank sat a little closer. He looked on with confusion, then reached out with his chubby little hand to count the zeros on the paper.
After he finished counting, he became even more bewildered, a look of surprise spreading across his fair baby face.
He looked up at his beloved uncle and after a pause, asked, "Uncle, why can participation in a variety show earn so much money?"
At this, Jordan’s face showed a blank expression.
Jordan, who had always spent money liberally, never knew how much money could be considered a lot. But now, looking at a long list of zeros printed on white paper, he was suddenly silent.
The Thompson family was always elitist, with Henry Thompson succeeding Mr. Thompson’s business; running the Thompson enterprise as capably as his father did, even his sister had exhibited a genius-like talent in design. In Ashton, within the design circle, Jordan’s sister was revered and seen as a myth.
A inexplicable sadness welled up within him.
Of course, Jordan was not just an average person either; he had loved rock music for over a decade, but to date had not made much noticeable impact.
He took the contract dejectedly from Cyrus, sighed, and when he glanced at the last signature, his gaze paused. The most update n0vels are published on Nove1Fire.net
This name was not at all unfamiliar to him; he often hears it when he is at the bar with friends discussing the gossip in the entertainment industry.
Although most of the conversations were somewhat off-topic, he had heard Lincoln Smith’s name many times.
Apparently, Lincoln was also a legend in the circle.
Jordan felt his fragile little heart take another hit, and he leaned back, his tone incredibly heavy: "Really jealous that my sister was personally invited by Lincoln, with such good terms."
He looked up at the ceiling in distress, his body sprawled on the soft sofa in a "lay-back" pose.
He lamented, "Really don’t know when my rock music will have its moment in the limelight, ideally to the point of extreme popularity. At that time, Grandfather should stop criticizing me for not being productive with my days."
Admittedly, Jordan’s rock music always appealed to a niche market and was virtually ignored by everyone else.
Despite sinking a lot of money into it with no significant achievements, fortunately, Mr. Thompson, despite his frustrations, had never taken any substantial steps to stop him.
The plus side was that he could afford it, otherwise he would only be left with unrequited love for the music.
After sighing several times, Jordan’s face bore a look of mournful distress.
Hearing his self-pitying murmurs, Hank alongside him could no longer sit still. He leaned over in a mysterious manner and said, "Uncle, don’t be discouraged. Who says rock music has no future?"
Hearing this, Jordan paused, turning his head to look at his nephew. After a second, a glimmer of excitement flashed in his eyes, as if he had found a kindred spirit and was about to speak.
Who would have thought that Hank with a sly gleam in his eyes, paused for a moment and teased, "But Uncle..."
"If you happen to do rock music..."
He dragged out the last syllable in a suggestive manner, deliberately keeping Jordan in suspense.
Upon hearing the word "but", Jordan had a slightly bad feeling.