Roman glided down the aisle of his collection, pausing to caress each glass case, his stubby fingers leaving smudges on the pristine surfaces. Inside each display, a human larynx floated in clear preservation fluid, its pale tissues suspended in the liquid like a moth trapped in amber.

  Thirty-seven voice boxes lined his office walls, each in a temperature-controlled case, each labeled with a name.

  "Beautiful," he whispered.

  The specimen—labeled "Marisol Vega"—had been his most recent acquisition. The former indie darling who signed eight months ago. The bonus from her sales paid for a vacation home in Aspen—or was it Breckenridge? He had lost track.

  His phone buzzed. He checked the screen and grimaced. The CFO.

  "What?" Roman snapped, his gold tooth catching the light as he spoke.

  "The board members are furious," the CFO said. "Our synthetic voices aren't performing. We're down eighteen percent from last quarter."

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  Roman's short frame tensed as he rolled his eyes. "They lack the cognitive capacity to grasp what I'm creating. Visionaries are always misunderstood by lesser minds."

  "They understand money, and we're hemorrhaging it. Your little... collection... costs millions in medical procedures and preservation."

  "My pioneering methodology requires anatomical precision," Roman replied, running his hand over an empty case at the end of the row. A silver nameplate was already engraved: "Sophie Reeves." "Lesser companies use digital approximations. I've perfected the science of voice capture."

  "The board's giving you one month. Either your collection starts paying dividends, or they're shutting it down. And you with it."

  Roman ended the call. They didn't understand his vision. Didn't appreciate his genius.

  He turned to his computer, pulling up a video of Sophie Reeves. Her TikTok covers had that special something—her distinct accent gave texture to every note. She was the missing piece.

  Roman opened his desk drawer, extracting a small black book. He leafed through it, stopping at a page marked "Glorify Executives." His finger traced down to a name: Ted Hammond.

  He reached for his phone, a smile spreading across his face.

  "Hello, Ted? It's Roman. About that girl coming to see you tomorrow... Sophie Reeves? I need a favor."