The Royalty Trap: How I Beat My Killer Brother

irement Community. It was a nice place, with

as a retired record producer and one of my father' s oldest friends

e saw it. "Liam, my bo

id. "And I wanted t

at the factory, about their shared love fo

I said. "Derek found some old demo tapes he

eep, rumbling sound. He too

ies. He was also paranoid about thieves. Years ago, he told me he was worried someone

aged the boxes, the whole nine yards. He even made a fake map and hid it. He figured if anyone e

faster. This was it. Th

erek found are

d. "Your father buried them himself out by the old quarr

was never in some buried treasure, Liam. The real va

ng. Derek was about to sell a box of

of a brand-new red sports car. The caption read: "First down payment on my ne

lector, just like the news reports said in my first life. He was flaunting

all would be t

tel. He was a big guy, with a cheap suit and an intimidat

. "There's the contract. Your

lder and looked at the document.

sting document, Ma

upposed to mea

ll the solvent. I had a document examiner friend look at a photo. He confirmed it. Also, my father's signature alw

t pale. He wasn'

uires a notary stamp from the time of signing. There isn't one. Presenting a fraudulent document to co

ely gone. He was just a thug, out of his d

ere was no threat in his voice. He tur

as mine. Fr

e few records I' d managed to keep from the collection before Derek to

I knew the real value wasn't a map. I

had one massive, global hit in the 70s. My father loved this alb

il

slight thickness on the back, a seam that didn't look

ment. And in that compartment was

ther, a quiet factory worker, had co-written the lyrics before the band ever made it big. He sold his righ

share of the profits. Decades of royalties that had be

re. It was a river of gold