Chapter 7 — Music Without Chorus

USB number 7 is not plugged into Water Circuit's computer. An placed it in an anti-jamming box, took a double-sided photo and sent the identification code to Tung, whom Nam introduced as a data reporter who had investigated copyright cases. Tung met them at the city library at noon on Monday, where there was a computer disconnected from the network to check for strange devices.

Before the appointment, An still had to work with Gia Linh. The record company wanted a sample recording for an internal meeting, without using track seven, without mentioning Le Chi's name. Nam suggested recording at Mach Nuoc to control the files. Quang Vu did not like it, but he agreed on the condition that An sign the addendum within the same day.

An read the appendix at the bread counter near the company. The image rights section has removed the sentence "personal stories may be used", but replaced it with "media cooperation within a reasonable scope". The words are softer, the meaning is broader.

“Reasonable to whom?” she asked.

Quang replied over the phone: "For professional people."

“So please write clearly the name of the person doing the profession.”

“Mai An, don't turn every conversation into war.”

“I only ask that the words have a subject.”

Quang hung up. Nam was standing next to Mach Nuoc's door, not listening to everything but seeing that she hadn't signed.

“He won't fix it any further,” he said.

“So the album won't start.”

“If you need it, I can bear that part myself.”

“No. I don't want you to be the hero for a bad deal.”

Nam smiled unhappily. “I don't want to either.”

Gia Linh arrived with a bag of food, shared it with everyone and then went into the studio. She sang better than last time, not trying to hold the last note. An heard the change through his shoulder and breathing. The new mix features woodwinds, a layer of dry drums and a long space after the verse. Nam let An decide when to start the next part, even though that made the recording session slower.

During the break, Linh asked An about the vibration transmitter. An let her try placing her hand on the table. Vy plays a very low bass line. Linh was startled, then burst out laughing.

“I can't hear anything.”

“But I know something is coming.”

“Do you work like that?”

“Partly.”

“So were you scared when the sound disappeared?”

An looked at the cup on the table. "Yes. But being afraid doesn't mean you have to do what others decide."

Linh sat still for a moment. "The company asked me to tell you that you overcame the accident thanks to Mr. Nam's music."

Nam walked out of the control room. “What did they say?”

"Not important."

"Important."

Linh looked at An. "I don't want to say that. You can decide for yourself."

Thank you An. Nam pulled out a chair for Linh, then turned to An. “I will add a clause prohibiting the use of anyone else's story in the campaign.”

"You must also prohibit using Le Chi's story without permission."

"I know."

“I never told the company that the demo had her voice in it.”

"I did. They said it was a sample sound."

“And you accept?”

Nam did not answer. Linh looked at both of them, then asked permission to go out. The door closed, the sound of cars on the street poured in.

“Do you want the album to be successful because of Le Chi, or because of you?” An asked.

“I want to know where I went wrong.”

“What if you know?”

"I can't pay for Lam's time. But I can pay for his name."

“Someone else's name is not something you can use to atone for your mistakes.”

Nam sat down opposite. “You're right.”

The answer did not make An feel any lighter. It left her with no points to attack, and it was more dangerous than she thought.

The next day at noon, they came to the mail city institute. Tung waited in the computer room, wearing a wrinkled shirt, with two data recorders and a stack of documents in front of him. He did not shake Nam's hand.

“I only work with data, not with reputation.”

“I don't bring fame,” Nam said.

“You carry it in every article.”

An placed the USB on the table. Tung wore gloves and plugged in the isolated reading device. The screen shows a single folder named “N_07”. The capacity is just over three hundred megabytes, but there is an audio file nearly an hour long and a spreadsheet file.

Tung opened the spreadsheet first. Columns record date, equipment, operator and room code. On August 16, room B was marked "electrical failure", but in the column the operator's name was Duc Minh. Another line says “copy transferred to southern warehouse”.

“Where is the southern warehouse?” An asked.

Tung turned over the documents. "The warehouse of a media company affiliated with the Milky Way. The company was dissolved after Le Chi's lawsuit."

The audio file opens. Not the music, but the sounds of people walking in the hallway, the sound of doors locking, the sound of tape machines. A male voice said to someone: "Cut the female part. Keep the beat for the sample." Another voice asked if Le Chi knew. The first person replied: “She will no longer have the original to compare with.”

Nam stands behind An. You don't need to listen to the whole thing to know who the first voice is. Duc Minh.

Tung stops the file. "Not enough to press charges. This could be a build."

“But enough to open an investigation,” An said.

“There is a problem.” Tung pointed to the time code. “The file was copied three days ago.”

An turned to Nam. “Did you send it to anyone?”

"Are not."

Tung opened the device log. The USB was plugged into Milky Way's machine before reaching them. The logged in user is Quang Vu's account.

“So he sent it?” Nam asked.

“Or want us to think he sent it,” Tung replied.

Tung's phone reported a new email. He read, his face changed color. "The Milky Way sent legal notices to all three. They accused us of unauthorized use of archived assets and demanded that all copies be turned over within twenty-four hours."

An looked at the USB on the table. “They know we have it.”

“And know we're open.”

Nam asked: "What if I deliver?"

Tung removed the device and placed it in the box. "If we hand over the only copy, we lose the evidence. If we don't hand it over, they can sue."

An took the notebook and wrote three lines: "Source - right - witness."

“We're not in a hurry to announce it,” she said. "But don't hand over the only copy. Make a certified copy and send it to an independent lawyer and Le Chi's family."

Nam looked at her. “What lawyer do you know?”

“Tung knows.”

Tung nodded. “I have someone.”

Outside the library door, sunlight shines on the street. No one is talking about whether the album will still be made or not. When An put the device in her backpack, her phone showed a message from Gia Linh: "An, the company just sent me another recording. It has Le Chi's voice. They want me to sing over it."

An gave the phone to Nam. After he finished reading, his face lost all color.

“They already know we're looking for track seven,” he said.

An closed the backpack. "So from today, we don't just have to investigate the music. We have to save it before they replace all the human voices with a new name."

An kept a copy of Linh's report in a separate folder, not mixed with the audio data. Hanh reminds everyone not to send documents via group chat because an account can be accessed. Vy sets up rules: Every file has a code, everyone receiving the file must confirm in writing.

“The studio is now like a national archive,” Linh said.

“The National Archives still has a budget,” Vy replied.

Linh smiled, then asked An if she could record a piece of music. She wanted to try singing a song without a chorus without being dragged by Le Chi's old voice. An plays the rhythm from the ferry wharf, very small. Linh sings the first verse, stops, changes direction to catch her breath. The third time, she didn't try to make her voice beautiful. The sound had a scratch, but An kept it.

“Why don't you fix it?” Linh asked.

“Because it's a trace of when I found my own voice.”

“It doesn't sound perfect.”

“Perfection is a word often used to cover the person who makes it.”

Nam stood behind the glass, watching the two people work. He didn't give any comments, just wrote down the rhythm in the notebook. When Linh went out, he asked An if he needed him to play the piano again.

“No. This song is by Linh.”

“I just want to support.”

“Supporting is holding space for others to hear you.”

Nam nodded, then turned off the piano. An realized he was learning not to butt in, something harder than she expected for someone used to controlling the entire studio.

Tung sent the results of tracing account N_07. The last server logged in at a rented warehouse in Thu Duc, but the warehouse contract in the company's name was dissolved. The new tenant pays with a personal account, initials L.M.

“Hospital spirit?” Vy asked.

“Or Lam Minh, not sure.”

An doesn't let people guess. They sent a request to a lawyer and decided not to go to the warehouse before a preservation order was issued. While waiting, Linh called from the company, saying Quang asked her to sign to confirm that the leak was created by an outsider.

“Do you sign?” An asked.

“No. You said you didn't know.”

"Good."

"Mr. Quang said that if I don't sign, I will no longer be an artist of the label."

“Do you want to be their artist at all costs?”

Linh looked at the screen. "I want to sing long enough to choose my own label. If my contract is cut, I don't know where to start again."

I don't advise you to quit. She only helped Linh make a list of customers, classes, and independent singers who could record together. That's not a career promise, just a map to let Linh know she doesn't just have one door.

In the evening, Linh sent the recording without Le Chi's voice class to three friends. One person replied that the song was difficult to remember, but the last sentence kept coming back to his mind. Linh took a screenshot and asked An if she should consider it a good sign.

An replied: "Don't measure it by it coming back like a chorus. Measure it by the listener finding it for themselves."

Nam read the message and said: "You always turn your answers into exercises."

“Because people who make music need to listen for themselves.”

“Am I doing my homework too?”

“I'm learning the hardest part.”

“Which part?”

“Don't control other people's reactions.”

Nam smiled, then received a call. The caller is Tran Duc Minh. He didn't say anything, just played a sound clip over the phone. Le Chi's voice sounded incomplete, then a younger Nam voice said: "Let me handle it."

Nam turned off the phone, his face turned white.

“He wants you to listen?” An asked.

“He wanted me to remember what I promised.”

“What do you promise?”

“I promise to convince Le Chi to sign.”

An placed his hands on the table. “Are you convinced?”

"I tried. She refused."

“So he could be using this passage to create another story.”

Nam nodded. He sent the recording to Hanh immediately and did not keep it private. That was the first time he proactively handed over something that could make him worse.

Hanh texted: “Hold it original. Don't answer Duc Minh."

An turned off the studio lights. Outside, traffic was still running, but no one turned on the demo anymore. They wait for a legal order to return to the Thu Duc warehouse, which may contain the last part of the cut song.