| The five singers sat in the office of their business manager, unmoving, unblinking, unable to comprehend what they had just been told. It was ludicrous, really, just coming off a multi million dollar tour, to be told they would have to declare bankrupcy just to save their homes, and necessary items. Bad investments? No, just filthy advisors, men who made a living off swiping money from celebrities, carefully hidden bank accounts and patience to slowly sift the money away. "Are you sure?" JC asked again, not sure if he could really comprehend what was happening. All the time and energy spent leaving one bad situation, just to tumble helplessly into another one. Their business manager nodded. "It seems the investment group hired to watch out for your money took most of it, leaving barely enough to finish paying for the tour bills. We still have the stage company to pay off, but payroll has been met." He shuffled the papers in front of him, pinching the bridge of his nose. An unexpected illness had caused him to place his assistant in charge, and when he finally did look over the deals made, was shocked to see the damage that had been done in just a month. He hadn't told them yet, about their awards, that most of them would need to be sold to pay off debtors. He couldn't bear to think about the look on their faces. They'd trusted him with their money, and he'd failed them miserably. Looking up, he studied each one of their faces. Lance sat quietly, hands gripping the arms of the chair he occupied. He was listening to what was being told to him, and while he had his other companies which were seperate from N Sync, that was where most of his earnings were. His mind whirled, trying to calculate if he could save everything with just his other money. His house, his parents house, hell, he'd even paid for his grandmother's new house. Cars, everything, it was all on the line. Justin paced, trying to block out the harsh reality that was just starting to set in. Being broke was not something he thought would ever happen. He'd tried to be so careful, wanting to stockpile enough money for generations of his future family, kids and grandkids, enough that they would always have nice things. That's what this fame was all about, future. That's why he sacrificed so much of his own life, so that his legacy could continue, and now, it was going to have to be started all over again, and he wasn't so sure he'd have the strength to do it. Chris shook his head, glad he had his clothing line, but thouroughly pissed that he'd allowed this to happen. He'd been planning his wedding, and working so hard with his designers that he'd let the N Sync business end of things slip, assuming as usual, that JC or Lance had it under control. They'd leaned on one another so much during this tour, each one figured the other one knew what was going on. Now his Irish temper flared, and he wanted to break stuff, throw his business manager to the floor, and pummel him. Instead, he stood up, jaw set tightly, and stormed out of the office, needing some space before he did something foolish. Joey listened half heartedly. He loved money more than anything, more than singing, more than sex. Sad to see it go, he took it in stride, wondering how much longer he'd be stuck in this group now, how many more millions of albums they'd need to sell to get back what they were bound to loose. He shook his head in wonder, amazed that after all these years, they could still make such shitty decisions. "Are you really sure?" JC asked again, moving behind the desk to peer at the papers himself. They were covered with red marks, all signs of their deficit. He couldn't believe the amount of negatives there were. "I don't understand how they could have access to all of it." Lance swallowed hard, his face turning to stone. He struggled to push his emotions back, think with his business savvy mind. "We have to go after them, find the money." He said it with such conviction, such ease, it caused Justin to feel a glimmer of hope. "You think we can?" His blue eyes brightened for just a moment. All he could think about were the Grammy nods they'd been given, and the fact that if they won, the statues might need to be hocked to pay debts off. That would kill him, a slow and painful torture. Ever since he was a child, he'd dreamed of holding one of those golden phonographs in his hand, with his name on it. JC rubbed his hands over his face and stared expectantly at the man who held the ropes, the papers. By all rights, he should pay. Even though he was sick, it was his responsibility to leave their money with someone who could handle it, not piss it away to these investors who were evil, and theives. "Can we? Has it ever been done?" Their manager shook his head, leaning back in his leather chair, his hand tapping on the arm. "It hasn't. These people are professionals. They've most likely hidden most of it in foreign bank accounts, and would have some kind of paper trail." JC scooped up one of the investments, his mouth dropping open. "Clydesdales? They fucking invested our money in horses? Why?" It was just one of several items listed as investments, along with glow in the dark toothpaste, and ridiculous internet sights. Joey had enough. He couldn't listen anymore. While he was trying to be practical, it was too much. He needed a drink, badly. "I gotta get out of here." He pushed the door open and hurried out, brushing by Chris, ignoring his question as to where he was headed. Justin folded his arms across his chest, suddenly chilled. "What else did they do?" He wasn't sure he really wanted to know, but from deep within, he knew it was necessary for his brian to process it all. Lance joined JC, and togeher they grabbed the folders, the papers and the calculator. Their manager jumped up. "That's for me to do," he complained, already feeling like a shit, but not wanting his mistakes to be blown out of proportion. After all, he had several other clients, and if word about this spread, he would loose it all, being put in a postion as destitute as N Sync's was right now. JC ignored him, sitting on the floor with Lance. "Justin, Chris, come here. We're going to do this." "I'm insisting you give those papers back to me." JC shook his head firmly. "It's our money, we earned it. You lost it. Now we're going to try to get it back." His blue eyes burned with rage, anger, all the frustration of trying so hard in 2000 to set themselves up. God only knew if they'd be able to do it again. "So fuck off." Lance saw the man approach quickly and grabbed the papers in his arms, standing up. Chris opened the door, waving him out. "Go, Lance!" JC and Justin blocked their managers way, sorry to do so, after all, he had been quite ill, but if they wanted to salvage anything of this blockbuster year, they would need to figure it out. "This is our fight now," Justin said coldly. "Just leave us be." He stood there as Lance took off, flabbergasted. "You need to understand, boys. This wasn't my fault. And I am so sorry. Call Lance back, and I promise, I'll try to get some of it back for you." "It's too late," JC stated, heading out the door. "We're fucking broke, and have nothing to loose." He waited for Justin to head out, trailed by Chris. "And let me tell you something," he continued, pointing a finger at him, "if we have to make a fucking movie of the week just to save ourselves, I'm going to hunt your ass down, and cut off your balls." The manager gasped at the harsh words spoken by a man half his age. For a moment, he was unsure what to say, then anger of his own rose up, causing his face to turn red. "You little shit," he growled, as JC stormed out. Standing in the doorway, he shouted at them. "You'll never see it. It's gone, all gone boys. And you're fans won't be able to save you now." ********************************************************************************************* The warm carribean sun beat down on the five singers as they sat on the deck of the house they'd rented, relying on their good names for credit to pay for it. Papers were strewn everywhere, and they studied them carefully. "Okay," Lance said, rubbing his temples, which had ached since being told of this travesty. "So, we know a large chunk is hidden in the Caymens. If we can get that back, we should be alright." Justin sipped his orange juice. The few weeks it had been since finding out had made him grow, turning him into a sharp minded, take charge 19 year old. He just didn't take any crap anymore, even forcing the VIP carrier to actually do his job and carry his luggage throught the airport. Normally, he just felt too guilty to let them do it. That was the old Justin. The new one demanded respect. "So what' the plan?" he asked, taking a seat next to Lance. "Alright, we have about 15 million in this one account alone. The investors think we went away, that we're not going to realiate, so we have a bit of cover." He paused to place his glasses on, shading his eyes from the bright sun. "I understand that Mr. Kennedy has a daughter, a very pretty daughter who happens to like N Sync, JC in particular." JC nodded, hating the fact he'd been discovered the favorite of this little brat, but accepting his job all the same. He picked over a danish, not really hungry, but needing something to occupy his hands. "So, she's in LA. I go there, cozy up to her, and then we make our move." Chris grinned sourly. "This better fucking work." He'd had it with the whole thing, and it had fallen upon his shoulders to watch over Joey, who had decided to become a drunk, hammered during his waking hours. He'd cleaned up enough vomit and piss to last a lifetime. "When do you leave?" JC's stomach rolled with nerves. There was no telling what this investor would do if he realized they were messing with his only child, his baby girl. "Tonight. Red eye into LAX. I'll stake her out in the morning." He glanced through the papers a private eye friend of theirs had dug up on the family. "Fuck, I feel like I'm in a Sopranos episode." "Be thankful it's not the mob," Justin warned, shuddering to think what would happen if it was. Of course, they wouldn't be plotting such a plan if it were, but still. "All you gotta do is get in her house and get the account numbers." "Without her telling daddy that you were there," Lance added. His headache progressed, and he reached for the bottle of Advil, popping two more. Sighing, he pulled out the tickets and handed them to JC. "You ready, man?" JC shrugged, forcing some coffee down his throat. It was still hot and scalded him as it burned it's way down. "I guess." "It's just us, now, guys. Just the five of us." Justin looked over his shoulder at Joey passed out on the couch in a drunken state. "Well, four of us anyway." "That's right," Lance agreed, gathering up the papers and shoving them into the briefcase. "And it's our money. We fucking earned it, and they're going to give it back." He stood up and headed inside, ready for a nap to refresh himself. He hoped they could pull this off. He prayed JC would be safe alone. They'd talked about another one of them going with him, but two N Syncers would cause media alerts more so than one, and they decided to be very public while in the carribean, causing a diversion. That way, JC could sneak away, with minimal attention, and divert the press. He laid down on his bed and closed his eyes. This had to work. It just had to. |