The music continued for another measure before the conductor looked up, confused. Chase blinked, and for the first time the little girl could see that she had asked a question he had not rehearsed answering. Around them, the audience grew quieter, though most guests did not yet understand why the request mattered. Some assumed she simply wanted to show off a good voice.
"The track is part of the arrangement," Chase answered. "That's how professional performances work."
"I know people use tracks," Zara said. "Ms. Johnson taught us that. But could you make it just the band? I want to sing it for real."
The final sentence landed harder than she intended. A few people in the front rows turned toward one another, and somebody near the center aisle gave an uneasy laugh. Chase's expression did not change at first, but his fingers tightened around the microphone. He glanced toward the orchestra as if hoping the conductor would begin again before the silence became meaningful.
"It's all real, sweetheart," he said. "Now let's not waste everybody's evening."
"Then could you show me the bridge first?" Zara asked. "Without the track, the way you tried it at soundcheck. I want to hear how you reach the high note."
Ms. Johnson started toward the stage stairs. Zara saw her teacher coming and felt momentary relief, because a responsible adult might finally end the confrontation. But the cameras had already moved in close, and Chase had begun to suspect that returning the child to the choir would look like retreat. He laughed loudly, the sound too sudden to be easy.
"You want me to audition for an eleven-year-old?" he asked the room. "Can you believe this?"
"No, sir," Zara answered, lowering her eyes for a moment. "You told me to sing your song. I thought you could teach me how."
A woman near the front smiled, as though the exchange were becoming a charming lesson. Another guest was less amused. Zara could feel the room choosing interpretations without knowing what she had heard. The sensation frightened her more than the spotlight because she understood that the richest man on the stage was also the one allowed to decide what her words meant.
"Fine," Chase said finally. "Kill the supporting vocal track. Everything except the band."
Aaron did not move at once. He looked across the console toward Chase and made a small questioning gesture, the kind technicians used when they wanted confirmation without filling the room with an argument. Chase nodded sharply. Aaron moved the slider, and a familiar channel went silent.
The orchestra started the song again. Chase sang the opening lines with the control of an experienced performer, and Zara listened with genuine admiration despite everything. He shaped the low phrases beautifully, drawing applause from guests who were glad to see him prove the troublesome child wrong. Even Ms. Johnson relaxed slightly as the melody moved toward its second passage.
The high bridge approached. Chase tried to preserve the same effortless posture he used in promotional photographs, but Zara saw the change in his shoulders. His breathing became shallow, and his neck tightened as the notes rose. He reached for the signature phrase, carried the sound upward for an instant, and then the note fractured into a strained, breathy break.