"This is…" came the stunned whisper from Bill, his voice barely making it past his lips as he stared down at the document in front of him.
His eyes moved slowly, hungrily, over each line of text—then back again, just to make sure he hadn't imagined the zeroes. His pupils dilated, heart skipped, and for a split second he forgot where he was. All he could focus on was the mind-numbing, reality-questioning number glaring up at him.
Thirty million dollars.
And that was just the first draft.
That meant… it could still go higher. More negotiations. More clauses. More room to bump the numbers up.
Bill had seen a lot in his career. Deals with labels. Brand sponsorships. Festival cut-ins. But this? This was… monstrous. It wasn't just a bag—it was a vault, a treasure chest, a lifetime's worth of "Are you kidding me?" tucked into a few printed pages.
He leaned back a little, reading further, now completely immersed. With every new paragraph, his eyebrows twitched upward, then upward again, until they nearly vanished into his forehead. His lips parted, stunned silence stretching longer and longer as he absorbed the depth of the deal.
It was insane.
Brilliant.
...Terrifying?
He flipped a page without realizing it, barely noticing that there were two files on the desk. The second lay untouched, forgotten, its importance eclipsed by the monster he was already reading.
Who sent this? That question hadn't even occurred to him until he'd reached the last page. And as the thought bloomed, his eyes instinctively scrolled back up to the top.
His gaze landed on it—a bold, minimalistic logo, positioned just above the eye-watering number he'd been fixated on. It had been there the whole time, but how could anyone be expected to notice a company name when thirty million dollars was sitting right underneath it?
His lips moved as he read it aloud, confused.
"Binance…?" he muttered.
He blinked once.
Then looked up slowly from the papers.
Lisa was standing in the same spot, grinning from ear to ear like a child who had just shown her parent her report card—with a row of A+ grades and a gold star at the bottom. Her eyes sparkled with excitement, practically bouncing where she stood, hands clasped together in anticipation.
Bill, however, was still stuck in a fog of disbelief. He tilted his head and squinted.
"Binance?" he repeated, his voice rising slightly in confusion. "What's that?"
Lisa's face lit up even more—if that was even possible.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, stepping forward as if she'd just been waiting for this exact question. "They're a crypto company—the crypto company, actually! Massive. Global. Ridiculously loaded."
Seeing that Bill's confusion hadn't budged an inch, she continued quickly, diving into explanation mode. "They reached out hoping to join Ethan's tour—sponsor it, integrate with it, make it the first ever full-scale crypto-powered music experience. I mean, this thing is being promoted as the first global concert tour to incorporate Web3 technology!"
She sounded like she had been rehearsing the pitch in her sleep.
Lisa lit up, eyes sparkling with the kind of excitement that could power a city.
"This is history, Bill," she said, stepping closer. "Ethan's tour isn't just a concert series anymore—it's about to become the first global tour ever to fully integrate Web3 technology. Nothing like this has ever been done before."
She flipped to another page in the document, pointing as she spoke. "Binance wants to build an entire digital ecosystem around Ethan's shows. Exclusive NFTs tied to each concert. Co-branded merchandise. Fans will get virtual ticket stubs they can redeem for limited-edition digital collectibles. Basically, we're talking about turning every show into an unforgettable, blockchain-powered fan experience."
Bill blinked, still trying to wrap his head around it.
"And that's just the beginning," Lisa continued, her voice picking up speed. "They're proposing interactive elements too—like a virtual Metaverse Dimension that mirrors the concert experience online. Fans from anywhere in the world can tune in, interact, explore. There's even an online challenge called the Dimension Puzzle Box—part game, part mystery, part musical journey. All of it connects back to Ethan's music, his tour, his story."
Bill stared, slack-jawed.
"They want to do all that?" he asked, voice hoarse with disbelief.
Lisa beamed. "Yes. With Ethan as the face. This isn't just a sponsorship. It's a digital revolution. A walking, singing, dancing blockchain experience. And for Binance, the visibility? Off the charts. We're talking headlines, buzz, global media attention. And for us—Ethan, his brand—this could skyrocket him to a whole new stratosphere."
She paused, then added with a conspiratorial grin, "Crypto firms like this? They have money that doesn't even make sense. Like… alien money. And the publicity alone? Worth every dime."
Bill leaned back again, silent.
He wasn't dumb. He'd heard of crypto, of course. He remembered his son going on and on about it, years ago. Something about Bitcoin or… Ethereum or… banana coins? He couldn't recall. What he could recall was brushing it off like every sensible, middle-aged man with a mortgage and a healthy distrust of invisible money.
He'd scoffed back then, arms crossed, saying things like, "If I can't hold it in my hands, it ain't real money." Or, "Don't come crying to me when your internet dollars vanish."
Now… here it was. Internet money. And it was offering him a deal with more zeroes than his entire department's annual budget.
Bill's eyes dropped to the page again.
He read it one more time.
"Thirty million dollars," he muttered.
hey were offering thirty million dollars—and that was just the baseline. Pure sponsoring fees. No backend clauses. No vague milestone bonuses. The craziest part? The label had nothing to do with it.
That meant the money was Ethan's, clean—well, as clean as it could be after taxes, management cuts, legal fees, and whatever else always showed up like clockwork to snatch a slice. But even after all that, the money he would still walk away with was mind-boggling. It eclipsed every deal he'd ever even imagined. Coca-Cola had offered him ten million dollars for a three-year ambassadorship—a massive deal for them. Now this? This was thirty million for three months. Three fucking months just for the tour.
He couldn't believe it. Lisa's voice was still ringing in his head, and even now, he wasn't sure if he had processed all of it.
And what was truly insane—this was just the beginning.
Because there were still other benefits in the package. Binance wasn't just offering a check and walking away. No, they wanted to go big. They also pledged two million dollars to any charity of Ethan's choosing—a move that carried both weight and warmth, giving Ethan the chance to make a real difference, while still building public goodwill.
But then came the trickier part. The area where the label would have to be involved: the merchandise.
That was where things got layered.
See, in most music careers, merch—T-shirts, hoodies, collectibles, even digital merch like NFTs—was deeply intertwined with the label. Contracts were drawn up to ensure the label got their cut, often holding control over production, branding, and especially distribution. So any time a brand like Binance wanted to integrate merch into a broader partnership, they couldn't just bypass the label.
That meant negotiations, concessions, and most likely a cut going somewhere else.
Even so, the offer for the merchandise side of the deal wasn't one to brush off lightly. According to the draft, Ethan was set to receive 10% of all merchandise profits, with an additional 5% pledged directly to charity. That alone could turn into a multi-million dollar stream. If the merch hit hard—which, with the right marketing, it likely would. These were the kind of numbers that made your head spin.
In all fairness, it was unbelievable. Mind-boggling.
Bill wasn't even sure how he was still sitting upright, still functioning. The volume of money in play, the scale of the opportunities—it was too much for one sitting. And this was only the first draft. He could still negotiate better terms. Normally, he should be grinning from ear to ear, pumped like Lisa, maybe even doing a little happy dance around the office.
But he wasn't.
Because deep down, he was a little disappointed.
When the team first started dreaming about big endorsements for Ethan, Bill had imagined deals with names that had decades of history in the entertainment space. The household titans. The ones with deep roots and long-term influence. He'd wanted a secure, reputable brand—not just for the money or exposure, but because of the protection they could provide. The kind of name that opens doors, commands respect, and offers a solid foundation in a cutthroat industry.
So when he saw Binance—the crypto giant—he felt a twinge of hesitation. It wasn't that they weren't impressive. They were. But they were also new to the entertainment scene. Unproven, in some ways. Sure, the money was wild, but money wasn't everything—not in this game.
Still… thirty million dollars.
Newcomer or not, those kinds of numbers demanded attention. And respect. And action. Bill didn't have the luxury of being snobby about tradition. The money on the table had made Binance very real, very quickly.
"And what of the second one?" Bill finally asked, his voice calmer now. He'd had a minute to breathe, to think, to reboot his system. If this was the first deal, he couldn't even imagine what kind of madness the second one would bring.
He gently placed the Binance file down and picked up the next folder.
Lisa was already speaking before he even flipped the first page. "Now this one isn't really about the money," she said carefully, her tone adjusting, "it's more about what it represents."
That made Bill pause. His brow furrowed.
"An energy drink?" he asked, confused as he glanced at the logo.
Lisa jumped in quickly. "No, no—it's a hydration drink," she clarified, "but yeah, they do have an energy line too."
She was bouncing with excitement, like she was trying to hold back a grin. For some reason, this deal had her glowing. She couldn't explain it, but she felt something big here. Something different.
Bill stared back at the folder. This one wasn't anything like the Binance offer. Where that was loud and explosive and three months of flash and spectacle, this was… longer. Deeper. It almost felt like a legacy deal.
The drink brand—new and up-and-coming—had already begun small-scale production. It wasn't just an idea; it existed. But they weren't just asking Ethan to hold the bottle and smile. They wanted him to be the face of it. The core identity. The representation of what the drink meant, who it was for, and where it was going.
And they were offering something even crazier than money.
They were offering equity. Real equity. Thirty percent of the entire company. Not shares. Not some marketing cut. A full thirty percent ownership in the brand.
Bill leaned back slightly, lips pressed into a thin line.
"About this one… I'm not so sure," he said, cautious.
Attaching Ethan's name to a new, unproven brand was a risk. No matter how polished their pitch was, they were still a mystery. And the entertainment world wasn't always forgiving. One bad headline, one faulty batch, one misstep, and Ethan's name could be dragged with it. The risk of associating with something so fresh was real—especially without a safety net.
The Binance deal at least had the money to justify taking the leap. This one didn't.
Lisa saw his hesitation and walked over, her voice steady but fired up. "I know, Bill. I know these deals aren't what you were hoping for. I know you wanted the big names. The legacy corporations. The ones everyone knows."
She paused, then smiled.
"But maybe… just maybe, that's the point."
Bill glanced at her.
"With the big names, people might say they bought into Ethan's success. That they were the reason the product sold. But with this? If this thing takes off—if we help it rise—it'll be because of Ethan. No one else. This isn't just a partnership. It's a statement. About his market power. His influence. His brand. This could show the world exactly what he's worth—not just as an artist, but as a force."
Her eyes sparkled now, her whole body buzzing with the belief in her own words. "You always say we have to build something that lasts. Well, this could be the foundation."
Bill blinked slowly, taking it in.
"Okay, okay…" he said at last, exhaling. "You can call them. Let's start negotiating."
Lisa grinned.
"I already called them. They're coming tomorrow. Different times."
Bill's jaw dropped slightly as she burst out laughing.
"Youuu," he said, pointing at her as she laughed her way to the door.
"Trust me!" she called back, waving over her shoulder. "This is about to be huge, ooo And help me greet Stephanie when you get home!"
With that, she disappeared, still chuckling.
Bill sat alone now, both folders on his desk. He looked at them again, processing, replaying everything in his mind. The money. The equity. The charity. The risks. The rewards.
Then his eyes fell back to the drink folder. He reached out, touched the logo at the top—the smooth embossed finish beneath his fingertips. His lips parted slightly as he whispered the word:
"Prime."
Fun Fact: The Binance deal happened with the weeknd also in 2022