One Man Band System

A few hours later, in the middle of the bustling downtown shopping district, Eric stood staring at his phone, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He checked the address on his screen, looked up at the building in front of him, double-checked the map one more time, and looked back up.

He stood there completely bewildered, staring at a property roughly 50 feet wide, spanning four stories high with a spacious basement, right in the dead center of the commercial district. His mind flashed back to a little earlier at Richard’s office.

***

Just a short while ago, Richard had been reading the will out loud. Eric’s face had remained completely flat. He was entirely numb to everything happening, his mind a total blank. Then, Richard started listing the assets being passed down to him.

"Your grandfather set up a $180,000 trust fund for your college education. He also left you a music studio and instrument shop in the downtown commercial district, complete with the keys and a business license that was renewed three years ago, right when the will was amended," Richard said.

Richard noticed Eric just sitting there, staring into space. He waved a hand in front of Eric’s face, but Eric didn’t even blink.

"Hey... Eric, are you listening to me?" Richard asked loudly, snapping Eric back to reality.

"Oh... sorry, sir, what was that?" Eric asked, finally tuning back in.

"Man... you’ve got to pay attention. Alright, I’ll read it through one more time," Richard replied patiently.

Richard went over the details again, and this time, Eric forced his personal distractions aside and actually listened.

***

Back in the present, Eric was still looking at his smartphone screen, which displayed the address of his grandfather’s home and business, then looked back up at the structure.

"Huh? This is his house? No way. This definitely doesn’t look like a house," Eric thought to himself, standing frozen in confusion.

He was throwing himself off because what stood before him was clearly a commercial building. He wondered if he had completely misheard Richard’s explanation. He double-checked the location one more time.

"The address matches perfectly. Man... this is confusing. Who am I even supposed to ask? Should I call Mr. Stone?" Eric thought.

"Can I help you with something?" a voice called out.

Eric turned around and found a middle-aged police officer standing behind him with his arms crossed. The cop looked distinctly skeptical, his expression making it obvious he found a random kid he’d never seen before hanging around the block.

"Sorry, officer. I’m looking for my grandfather’s house. This is the address," Eric said, holding up his phone.

"Hmm," the officer muttered, glancing at the screen. He then studied Eric’s face intensely, as if trying to find a family resemblance across Eric’s features.

"Hmm. Did you know Mr. Elliot?" the officer asked.

"Oh... Elliot is my grandfather’s name," Eric said, feeling a spark of hope.

"Yeah, that’s his place," the officer said, gesturing toward the building behind Eric.

Eric looked back at the building, then turned back to the cop.

"But this is a music shop and recording or music studio, right?" Eric asked, confused.

"Yeah. He lived up on the fourth floor. What’s your relationship to Mr. Elliot? Do you have some ID on you?" the officer asked.

"I’m his grandson. My name is Eric," he replied.

Eric handed over his ID along with the official transfer-of-rights paperwork from Richard’s office. The officer read through the documents, pausing because Eric’s ID clearly read Eric Watts, not Eric Reed.

"Hmm, you’re his grandson? The lawyer’s paperwork says you are, even if the last names don’t match up," the officer said, cracking a slight smile while keeping a watchful eye on him.

"Yes, sir. Did you know my grandfather?" Eric asked.

"Everyone on this entire commercial strip knew him. He was the only businessman around who actually lived inside his own shop," the officer replied.

"Oh... I see," Eric murmured.

The officer looked up at the building, a faint, nostalgic smile crossing his face.

"This place used to be packed back in the day. Tons of indie bands and new singers recorded in his studio and went on to become massive stars," the guard reminisced.

"Is that so? To be honest, sir, I didn’t really know my grandfather," Eric admitted.

"Alright then, I’ll be on my way. Don’t just stand out here blocking the sidewalk, okay," the officer said.

"Will do, sir. Thank you," Eric replied.

As the officer walked away, Eric gripped his duffel bag and walked toward the entrance of the music shop. He glanced to the side and noticed a set of stairs leading downward; the private rehearsal studio was located in the basement and could be accessed directly from the street if the doors were unlocked. The moment he stepped inside the storefront, his jaw dropped.

"Whoa."

Eric’s eyes went wide as he took in the rows of diverse guitars and basses hanging along the walls. Drum cymbals were suspended between them, keyboards sat on designated stands, and drum kits were lined up neatly down the center of the floor.

Glass display counters ran along the perimeter, stocked with various musical accessories, with violins beautifully arranged on top of them. There was a checkout counter at the front and a door positioned right behind the cash register.

Eric walked around, absorbing his surroundings as he approached the counter, then stepped through the back door. Behind it lay an employee breakroom, a locker area, and a freight elevator for moving inventory. There was also a rear exit door leading out to the main avenue behind the shop. Next, Eric took the staircase beside the main counter up to the second floor.

Reaching the second level, Eric was stunned to find several grand pianos dominating the center of the room. Cellos stood tall against the walls, and a glass case held trumpets, saxophones, and a tuba resting on its own table next to the counter, alongside trombones, brass instruments, and an array of marching band gear like tambourines, snare drums, cymbals, a glockenspiel, and clarinets.

On the wall near the stairs, numerous photos and posters of legendary musicians were framed. Eric’s eyes anchored on a photograph of an elderly man with a neat white beard, dressed in a sharp suit. He was smiling broadly, flashing a thumbs-up next to a group of people who looked like studio musicians.

"Is that... Grandpa? I had no idea I had another grandfather besides the two I grew up knowing," Eric thought to himself.

Eric walked up to the photograph, studying his grandfather’s face, which looked completely cheerful and free of burdens. Eric smiled and silently thanked him before turning to head up to the third floor. He unlocked the door at the top of the landing and stepped into a massive recording space.

It featured a high-tech control room loaded with advanced soundboard equipment for mixing and optimizing audio, separated by a large glass window. On the other side of the glass was a soundproof live room complete with a full band setup, amplifiers, and overhead microphones hanging right in front of the window.

Eric’s eyes lit up. Even though it was covered in dust and he had no clue if any of it still functioned, he was filled with awe and disbelief that all of this belonged to him now.

"Wow... a recording studio... I wonder how many icons got their start in this room," Eric muttered in admiration.

Then, he made his way up to the fourth floor. Reaching the top, he found a door and used his keys to open it. Stepping inside, he discovered a wide, open layout styled like a studio apartment, complete with a kitchen, a living area, a bed, and a door leading to a bathroom.

He opened the bathroom door to inspect it; it was fairly large and featured a bathtub. Eric looked around the rest of the living space.

"So this is where Grandpa lived," he murmured.

Finally, Eric headed up to the fifth floor, the building’s rooftop. Unlocking the door, he stepped out onto a concrete roof deck, half of which was covered by a canopy. To the right was a built-in planter box, though it was currently empty. Behind it stood a long, narrow structure that looked like it contained a few bedrooms or storage units, likely meant for employees or maintenance staff.

To the left sat a barbecue grill, and right under the canopy was a pair of lounge chairs and a round table for relaxing.

"This is a pretty nice spot to unwind... even if it’s a bit loud with the street traffic below," Eric thought.

Eric stepped out from under the canopy and walked to the edge of the roof. He looked down at the bustling shopping district below, then shifted his gaze toward his new university, which wasn’t too far from his grandfather’s building.

He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the campus from a distance. He texted the photo to Richard, who instantly replied with a thumbs-up emoji and a wide smiley face. "Ding." Another text came through right after.

"Hope you’re settling in well. If you need anything at all, just let me know," Richard messaged.

"Thank you, Mr. Stone," Eric texted back.

"Don’t mention it. No need to be formal with me; your grandfather was a dear friend of mine," Richard replied.

"Will do, sir. Thanks again," Eric sent.

After pocketing his phone, Eric leaned against the rooftop ledge, looking down at the surrounding city layout. As he stared out at the sprawling urban landscape in front of him, his mind began to drift.

"If only Vivian could see all of this... Ugh... why am I even still thinking about her? She’s nobody to me now... she’s with Jason," Eric told himself, hardening his heart and trying to suppress his feelings, though the sting of the betrayal was still incredibly bitter.

Eric shifted his focus to the future. He began mapping out plans to revive his grandfather’s shop and studio, intending to turn it into his primary source of income. Once his trust fund cleared, he planned to continue his education, specifically choosing a major that would help him grasp the ins and outs of his grandfather’s business.

Even though he knew absolutely nothing about running a company right now, he was fully determined to learn.

"Alright, this is it. I live here now. Time to get to cleaning," Eric said aloud, turning back toward the door to head downstairs.