Opening collections

Noah adjusted the camera on his shoulder, the lens glinting under the dim basement lights. "Latham, you realize we're sitting on a documentary in real time, right?"

Lex smirked, flipping through another stack of reels. "That's why I called you."

Noah shook his head, eyes gleaming. "Then we ain't stopping here. Open the rest. Every damn crate in this basement."

Jason let out a sharp laugh. "Look at you, all demanding and shit. Latham, you let him talk to you like that?"

Lex exhaled, glancing around the rows of crates.

This wasn't just music. Some of the wooden storage boxes were marked with different labels, older handwriting, some barely legible.

Lex dusted off a crate near the back. The name on the side was familiar—but unexpected.

VIVIAN MADDOX – COLLECTION.

Lex stilled.

Jason frowned. "Who's Vivian?"

Lex's fingers hovered over the old lettering. His great-grandmother. The one who had built the Maddox dynasty, shaped the family into a powerhouse.

Lex slowly cut through the aged tape.

The crate creaked open, revealing layers of carefully wrapped packages. Lex peeled back the protective covering and let out a low hum.

Inside, stacked carefully, were large canvases, rolled prints, and cataloged art pieces.

Noah's camera zoomed in. "Hold the fuck up. Is this…?"

Lex pulled out a smaller framed painting, turning it toward the light.

Jason's eyes bulged. "Latham. That's a Basquiat."

Lex's grip tightened. "Yeah. It is."

Jason let out a breathless laugh. "Jesus Christ, your family hoards history like it's spare change."

Noah stepped closer, carefully filming the paintings. "These aren't just collected works. Look at the plaques—some of these were gifted."

Lex's jaw tensed.

His great-grandmother had been a legend in high society, an art collector with connections to every major artist of her time. If these were personal gifts, they were likely one-of-a-kind.

Jason nudged another crate with his boot. "Alright, I'm officially convinced. Open every damn box in this place."

Lex smirked, rolling up his sleeves.

"Gladly."

Lex exhaled slowly, surveying the mountain of crates stacked along the basement walls. What had started as a simple treasure hunt for lost jazz recordings had turned into something much bigger.

Jason let out a low whistle. "Jesus, Latham. This ain't a collection—it's a damn museum."

Noah's camera panned over the storage racks, capturing the sheer scale of it. "You realize you're sitting on a cultural goldmine, right?"

Lex smirked. "That's why I called you."

Jason ran a hand over a crate stamped with an old Radio Jazz label. "Alright, what's next? Music or art?"

Lex grabbed a box cutter, slicing through another crate. "Both."

The flaps peeled back, revealing a mixture of carefully wrapped vinyls, reel-to-reel tapes, and framed artwork.

Noah zoomed in as Lex pulled out a stack of recording sleeves. Each one was labeled with an artist's name, date, and session type.

Lex's fingers tightened around the first sleeve. "We've got… Dizzy Gillespie, 1954. Live session. Never released."

Jason let out a harsh laugh. "This ain't real. This is a goddamn fever dream."

Lex carefully set the recording aside and reached into the same crate, pulling out a framed painting. He flipped it toward the dim basement light.

Noah stepped in closer. "Holy shit. That's a Pollock."

Jason snapped his head toward him. "You're joking."

Lex turned it around, revealing the signature. "Not joking."

Jason dragged a hand down his face. "Lex. How the hell does a Pollock end up buried under a jazz collection?"

Lex smirked. "Vivian Maddox. She didn't just collect modern art—she knew the artists personally."

Jason stared at him. "You're telling me your great-grandmother was just casually hanging out with Basquiat and Pollock?"

Lex set the painting aside. "Not casually. Strategically."

Noah adjusted his camera. "This is insane. We're looking at **lost music history and modern art masterpieces—**and they've just been sitting here."

Lex cracked open another crate.

More reel-to-reel tapes. More vinyl test pressings. More wrapped canvases.

Jason let out a low whistle. "How many boxes are we talking here?"

Lex scanned the rows.

"At least six hundred."

Jason's jaw dropped. "Six. Hundred."

Lex smirked. "Give or take a few."

Noah let out a slow exhale. "Latham. You didn't find a collection."

Jason finished the thought for him.

"You found an empire."

Lex ran a hand over the nearest crate, feeling the rough grain of aged wood and time itself. Six hundred boxes. Six hundred pieces of history, wealth, and influence stacked in neat, forgotten rows.

He exhaled slowly.

"Alright," he murmured. "We need a system."

Noah, still filming, gave a short laugh. "Latham, you don't need a system—you need a fucking museum curator."

Jason shook his head, still reeling. "This ain't just a haul, man. This is legacy shit. Your great-grandmother wasn't collecting—she was stockpiling."

Lex cracked open another crate. The musty scent of old recordings and aged paint drifted into the cool basement air.

Inside:

A stack of vinyl test pressings. Three large canvas rolls wrapped in protective fabric. A sealed envelope marked 'Vivian's Private Collection.'

Lex stared at the envelope. His jaw tightened slightly.

Jason noticed. "What's that?"

Lex hesitated, then slowly picked it up, flipping it over. The ink was faded but elegant. Vivian Maddox had signed the seal herself.

Noah zoomed in. "Latham. Open it."

Lex peeled back the aged wax seal, carefully unfolding the yellowed paper inside.

The note was short. Blunt. Just like Vivian had been.

---To the next Maddox worthy of keeping this,

These are not for display.

These are for power.

Do not sell what makes men bow. Use it.

– V. Maddox

Lex read the words twice. Then a third time.

Jason leaned in. "What the hell does that mean?"

Lex didn't answer right away. Instead, he set the letter down and reached back into the crate, carefully unwrapping one of the rolled canvases.

As the fabric fell away, bold red and black brush strokes came into view.

Jason sucked in a sharp breath. "Holy shit."

Noah adjusted the focus. "That's a fucking Rothko."

Lex exhaled through his nose.

Jason turned to him, eyes wide. "Latham. This ain't just art—this is leverage."

Lex's jaw tightened. He understood exactly what his great-grandmother had done.

She hadn't just collected for beauty.

She had collected for power.

And now?

Lex had all the cards.