A modern fairy tale.
Executive Music Producer Marshall Spectre is driving his Ford Mustang 90 mph through the city,
Windows down, tires screeching, fish tailing around turns, like he's straight out of a Hollywood summer action blockbuster hit.
Emmy Bridges is a broke waitress, a college graduate with a degree in English.
She is walking on the sidewalk in the rain, singing a melancholic song.
Emmy had taken vocal lessons in high school and college, with the fanciful dream of becoming a pop star.
Spectre is a little behind Emmy, and after barely catching a glimpse of her voice he screeches to a halt, nearly running her over to stop and offer her a lift.
He tells her of his job and how he could use a sweet young thing like her on his record label.
He asks if she would like to sign a contract.
Speechless, Emmy nods furiously, heartily agreeing to the proposal.
After hours of multiple takes on her first single, the engineer tells her it's enough.
Spectre auto tunes the track, and plays it back thinking how perfect it is.
Her voice was mostly spot-on anyway, so instead of a robotic voice like Cher or T-Pain she sounds like a counterfeit diamond so well made no inspector would ever notice its deception.
Soon Emmy is #1 on the charts, with more singles and a grand tour to come.
Spectre writes a break-up song as a follow-up single, to pull at the audience's heartstrings.
It's an even bigger success, and becomes the main attraction of her debut album, "Burning Bridges," an obvious pun on Emmy's surname.
Emmy is now the hottest, most sensational star around. Her desire for fame is more than satiated, but despite the superfluous cash made off her music she rarely sees a cent.
First her producer Spectre, his extra writers, the engineer, the mixer, the manager, the marketers, the make-up artist, the sound guy, the set designer, the hairstylist, the costume manager, the video director and a plethora of other cronies get their extravagant paychecks.
Piggybacking on her swift and widespread success, within a year Emmy has another album out and multiple tours that span the world.
Stressed and burned out, though, she has a hard time keeping her heart in it.
She continues selling out concerts and breaking chart records, but Spectre senses that something is amiss.
A couple years later, Emmy is still creating music but her popularity has severely dwindled.
The public has moved on to the next big thing.
Emmy's fine with it, though. She had a good run, and made a decent living.
Marshall Spectre, on the other hand, is not pleased. He spent a lot of money from Emmy's success on investments in other artists that never made it very far.
Bankrupt and frustrated, he devises a scheme to earn that money and more back.
Emmy is leaving a high class award night, strutting down a red carpet with a thick feather boa tossed around her shoulders.
After a while, the crowd that followed her slowly disperses until she is alone.
Then, a Ford Mustang smashes her over the curb and into a brick wall, killing her immediately.
The car is empty, its only passenger a concrete brick on the accelerator.
The police never find out who was responsible, though there were rumors of bribes.
Spectre swiftly issues greatest hit compilations, tv specials, commemorative merchandise and more all for the sake of the horrifying tragic death of Emmy Bridges.
They sell like crazy, sympathetic fans all 'doing their part' to remember her, and all their money goes to Spectre and the engineer, the mixer, the manager, the marketers, the make-up artist, the sound guy, the set designer, the hairstylist, the costume manager, the video director, and other cronies.
And they all dance upon Emmy's grave.
Spectre is driving his new Enzo Ferrari 110 mph through the city, one of a dozen new cars, and thinks to himself, 'Now everything is perfect.'
He then crashed into a tree and died on impact.