CHAPTER SIX — HENRY SPEAKS
Henry answered Claire’s call from a quiet hospital room.
His voice was weak but steady.
“Is Nora there?”
Claire put the phone on speaker.
“I’m here,” Nora said.
“They told me you had a difficult night.”
“I’m recovering,” he replied.
“Please forgive the confusion.”
Nora looked toward the white screen, now dark.
“Did you know they added words for your wife?”
A long silence filled the auditorium.
“I heard one version,” Henry said.
“It was a song she never wrote.”
“There’s another version,” Nora told him.
“It talks about your company preserving love, and people clap even when the seats are empty.”
Henry made a small sound that might have been anger or pain.
“Marion hated applause tracks.”
Martin moved toward the phone.
“Uncle Henry, we’re honoring her career.
”
“Then honor what she actually did,” Henry said.
Martin folded his arms.
“You signed the estate authorization.”
“I signed permission to restore her recordings for a tribute.”
“The language allows for derived performances.”
“You told me derived meant cleaned sound and improved pictures.”
Gideon lowered his gaze.
Claire spoke carefully.
“Father, the agreement may be broader than you understood.”
“Then you should have explained it to me.”
Henry coughed, and someone in the hospital room asked whether he needed water.
Nora considered ending the call.
Instead she asked one question.
“Why did you bring me into this?”
Henry answered without hesitation.
“Because you gave me soup when you could not afford the bus.”
“That doesn’t qualify me to settle a family’s contract.”
“No,” he agreed.
“It qualifies you to tell me when someone needs something and people with power pretend they don’t.
”
Nora looked at Lena and the empty music stands.
“Then your musicians need you to know they’re being asked to fake a performance.”
Henry said nothing for a moment.
“I want the show stopped until we understand what will happen.”
Martin shook his head emphatically.
“You cannot cancel with the sponsor livestream already scheduled.”
“I can ask my daughter to stop it,” Henry replied.
Claire looked at the crew waiting under the stage lights.
“I’ll suspend rehearsals until morning.”
Martin stepped forward.
“The production agreement requires a board vote for cancellation.”
“Then call the board,” Claire said.
Henry’s breathing grew tired.
“There is something else,” he said.
“The music box belonged to Marion’s mother.”
Nora opened the lid again.
“It’s broken.”
“She used it to mark the tempo of a song she refused to record commercially.”
“Why?”
“Because she wrote it for the people who cleaned and built this theater,” Henry said.
“She sang it once after a show, and nobody made a tape.”
Nora ran a fingertip along the chipped wood.
“So no computer can reconstruct it.”
“No,” Henry answered.
“No machine ever heard it.”
Martin gave an impatient sigh.
“We’re running out of time.”
Henry spoke one last time before the call ended.
“Then use your time to find out who still remembers the song.”
