The Prince & The Popstar

Rooftops

"When our time is up
When are lives are done
Will we say we've had our fun?
Will we make a mark this time?
Will we always say we tried?"
— LOSTPROPHETS

     The next day, Vincent and Lena threw all of the bagged-up discarded items down by the curb for collection, then made the trip downtown to meet up with Savannah at The Harris County Civil Courthouse, an architecturally significant building, nestled in between Franklin and Congress. They walked up the granite steps and through the glass double doors, taking an elevator up to the ninth floor. Just outside the courtroom, sitting on a bench, was a middle-aged, stocky man in a gray Hugo Boss suit—the much lauded defense attorney, Dorian Braunholz.
     "Do you have it?" Dorian asked anxiously.
     "I've got it," Vincent replied through a smile. "This is going to be interesting."
    "The judge is a bit of a stickler, so make sure you follow the instructions I gave you to the letter," Dorian sternly advised. "The last thing we need to do is give the opposing counsel a reason to throw out this evidence."
     "Even if they do, I've set up a timed post that will release it online," Vincent retorted. "Once it reaches the major media outlets, Tyson won't be able to cover it up."
     "I'm liking the confidence, Mr. Spencer," Dorian said as he opened the courtroom door, made of reclaimed maple with prismatic glass inlays. "Let the games begin."
     As they entered the courtroom, everyone inside began whispering and snapping photos with their cell phones. This was going to be an epic showdown: Joules v. Spencer—the ultimate rivalry, ten years in the making. Vincent took a seat at the table on the left side of the courtroom as he adjusted the Windsor Knot in his purple-striped, silk necktie.
     Not a moment later, Tyson and his lawyer entered the courtroom and as they made their way to the opposing table, the softly-spoken, overlapping whispers grew in volume while more photos were taken. Tyson glanced over at Vincent, ready to take his rightful place as the new Golden Boy of Houston.
     Lena leaned over the railing separating the gallery from the front of the courtroom. "Look at Tyson with that shit-eating grin of his. How do you think he's going to handle the news?"
     "Honestly," Vincent said. "I think it's going to be a paramount moment. He's going to feel the bottom fall out of his life and nothing is ever going to be the same again."
     Lena placed her closed fist in Vincent's hand and then dropped two small gizmos onto his palm. Vincent arched his eyebrow, unsure of what exactly he was holding.
     "What are these?" he asked.
     "One plugs into the phone; the other, a television," she replied. "It'll make it so you can project the video on a larger screen."
     Vincent smiled. "What would I do without you, Lena?"
     "All rise!" the bailiff called out. Everyone in the courtroom, aside from the stenographer, stood up silently. The bailiff continued, "The Honorable Judge Alyssa McElroy is presiding. The 11ᵀᴴ Civil Court is now in session."
     Once Judge McElroy sat down on the bench, she said, "Thank you, please be seated." She opened her leather padfolio and shuffled a few papers. "So, today we are looking into the claims of Eugene Tyson Joules IV, who has officially stated that the chart-topping song 'Douchebag'..." Judge McElroy took a moment to make sure she was reading it correctly. "...the song 'Douchebag' is in direct violation of copyright infringement as Mr. Joules had originally composed the song back in 2018. And I believe everyone in this courtroom has seen the viral video by now. Mr. Spencer, do you have anything you'd like to say before we continue?"
     Vincent rose to his feet and stood up straight. "I do, Your Honor. I would like to give Mr. Joules a moment to recant his accusation."
     Judge McElroy slowly removed her reading glasses and looked at Vincent curiously, then over to Tyson, who sat quietly.
     "Mr. Joules," Judge McElroy said. "If you'd like to respond, the time is now."
     "I have nothing to say, Your Honor," Tyson said, leaning back in his chair. "The evidence speaks for itself."
     Judge McElroy turned back to Vincent. "Is there anything else you'd care to say?"
     "No, Your Honor," Vincent replied. "I simply wanted to extend an opportunity to Mr. Joules before we went any further. I won't waste any more of your time. Thank you."
     As Vincent sat down, his attorney stood up and said, "Your Honor, I would like to log this newfound item into evidence." Dorian held up the archaic, silver cell phone.
     The bailiff took the cell phone and handed it to Judge McElroy who examined the device, very interested in what it held.
     "I'll allow it," Judge McElroy stated. "Log into evidence, 'Exhibit A' from the defense."
     The bailiff then brought the phone to the plaintiff's table where Tyson and his lawyer gave it a quick scan, wondering what kind of game was being played. After a couple of minutes, the bailiff handed the phone back to Dorian, who, in turn, handed it to Vincent. The Prince plugged one gadget into the phone. After receiving a nod from Dorian, Vincent stood up and walked over to the angled television to the right of the judge's bench.
     "Your Honor," Dorian said. "The defendant is making it possible for everyone in this courtroom to see the contents of this cellular phone." Vincent plugged the second gadget into the HDMI outlet of the TV. The screen flickered for a few seconds and then held steady, ready for playback. Vincent took a deep breath and pressed the round button at the top of the dialpad on the RAZR V3. A video began to play. "This was shot in the year of 2009," Dorian declared. "The time and date are embedded in the digital file. Let the record show that this was recorded on Saturday, July 4ᵀᴴ at 4:05 PM, Central Standard Time."
     The judge, the bailiff, the gallery—everyone's attention was focused on the television. A young boy with sandy brown hair sat at an antique upright piano, slowly playing the notes of the D Major scale. After a moment, he started to play a simple melody which eventually morphed into a distinct riff. It was a riff that was playful and incredibly catchy. The judge even began tapping her foot. A number of people in the gallery pulled out their phones and live streamed the unfolding event. Tyson's eyes widened as he continued to listen to the music. It was undoubtedly the music that he had claimed as his own. Tyson felt his future slipping through his fingers. Everything was going up in smoke and all he could do was sit there and let it happen. The music played on. It truly belonged to Rufus Spencer, who spun it into 90 Percent Ninja's hot, hit single and now the world knew that Tyson Joules had nothing to do with it.
     The young boy in the video turned around after hitting the final note of the improvised composition. His winning smile lit up the screen. A woman could be heard in the background, "That was amazing, Roo! Savannah, get in here! You've gotta hear this." Everyone could hear the pride in the voice of Gran'Renèe. She was positively giddy.
     "As you can see, Your Honor," Dorian began. "This digital footage negates the plaintiff's allegations and I would like to file a motion to have this case dismissed immediately."
     Judge McElroy sighed. "In light of this evidence, there's really not much left to say. Pending authentication, the court rules in favor of Mr. Spencer. Case dismissed."
     The hollow thud of the gavel striking the sound block was one of the most satisfying things Vincent had ever heard. It marked the moment when a prince from a faraway land rose to the occasion and brought down a giant, despite the bleak odds. This was the overwhelming sensation of triumph.
     All in the courtroom clapped their hands and the applause washed over Vincent. He shook hands with Dorian and then brought in Lena and Savannah for a tight hug. After a few high-fives and fist bumps with some attending fans, The Prince sauntered over to Tyson who sat at the table, completely dumbfounded.
     "How did this—I mean, where did I—Jesus, what the hell just happened?" Tyson stammered.
     "Justice, Mr. Joules," Vincent replied. "You just witnessed justice."
     Tyson pinched the bridge of his nose. "So, did you come over to hit me Will-Smith-style?"
     "Oh, no, nothing like that," Vincent said, sliding into his native English accent. "I just wanted to say, 'You call that a storm?'" He took a brief pause, grinning. "I believe the phrase goes: 'Bitch, please.'"
     Tyson furrowed his brow, beyond befuddled. "Who are you?"
     Vincent sighed, satisfied and content. "Why, I'm Prince Vincent of The House of White, son of King Alexander, the crowned ruler of Verastoria."
     The only word Tyson could manage to say was, "What?"
     "You can just call me 'Karma'," Vincent jabbed. "Good day to you, Mr. Joules."
     Lena circled around the table with her signature Cheshire smile plastered on her face, pulling Tyson into the frame of her phone's camera, his eyes empty, his mouth agape. "On the count of three, say 'Vanquished'!"
     Outside the courtroom, Vincent approached Savannah who was giving an official statement to a reporter from The Houston Chronicle.
     "...and we're absolutely thrilled that the truth of the matter is finally out there for everyone to see," Savannah stated. "Thank you—no further questions."
     A number of journalists begged for answers to the myriad of questions they had, but Savannah waved them off and walked toward Vincent.
     "That was really something, Roo," Savannah said, rubbing his shoulder.
     "I need to talk to you about something," Vincent urged. "Something I've kept from you for quite some time now."
     "Oh, my, I don't like the sound of that," Savannah replied.
     Vincent gently took her by the arm and led her inside a family restroom a few feet away. He locked the door and turned around, facing her with a solemn expression.
     "What's going on?" Savannah asked.
     "On Friday, August 25ᵀᴴ, your son accepted a proposition," Vincent explained.
     "A proposition?"
     "Yes, a proposition to switch lives with an overzealous prince from the kingdom of Verastoria." Vincent then straightened his posture. "And that prince is me."
     "Switched lives? You're a prince? I really don't understand. I'm like a thousand miles behind."
     "Somehow, for a reason that even I don't understand, your son, Rufus, and I are undeniably identical. I capitalized on this unique circumstance and convinced him to take my place in Verastoria while I filled his shoes here in Houston, with the hopes that I would experience the world in a way I never could before. There are only a handful of people who know my true identity. And now, you are one of those people."
     Savannah stood frozen, trying to process all of the information thrusted upon her. "I... I... I don't..."
     "It's a lot, I know. I just felt like you deserved to know the truth."
     "The truth..." Savannah muttered. "The truth that you're a prince who's been waltzing around the city as my son."
     "I wouldn't say 'waltzing', but—"
     "This is crazy. I don't even know where to start. Is Rufus okay?"
     "He's fine," Vincent assured. "I talked with him a few weeks ago."
     "And when exactly is he coming back?"
     "We agreed to switch back on Christmas Day."
     Savannah sighed as she tucked a few strands of her brunette hair behind her ear. "I'm at a loss for words. I don't even know your name."
     "Vincent," he replied with the smile of her son.
     "Vincent... okay... I mean, I suppose there's nothing I can do but accept the situation. What's been done has been done. But, tell me—why did you go through all of this trouble to vindicate my son? You could have easily walked away."
     "That's just not who I am. I deeply admire your son, Ms. Spencer, and I promised myself that I wouldn't tarnish his sterling reputation. I did what I did because I believe in Rufus. I always have. He's a fine, young man. You should be very proud."
     Savannah cracked a small smile. "I am, Prince Vincent. I'm very proud."
     Vincent then took out an envelope from his pocket. He extended it toward Savannah, who was still a little dizzy from the details.
     "What's this?" she asked, opening the envelope.
     "It's a ticket to Verastoria," Vincent replied. "I figured you would like to spend the holidays with Rufus. Moreover, I knew you wouldn't want to miss out on all of the birthday festivities. It's an important one. The big one-eight."
     "Thank you," Savannah said, allowing her smile to widen. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

     Vincent wove around the gathering journalists in the foyer of the courthouse, looking down at the marble flooring while shielding his face. Suddenly, he was pulled into a stairwell.
     "What's going on? What are we doing?" Vincent asked, his voice echoing.
     "Follow me," Lena said as she began walking up the stairs. She led Vincent to the roof of the 20-story courthouse where there was a beautiful view of the Houston skyline.
     "Wow," Vincent said, drinking it all in. "This is amazing."
     "Yeah, it really is," Lena replied. "It's hard to believe that this will all soon be nothing but a memory of yours."
     "It's one hell of a memory."
     "What will you do when you go back to your life?"
     "Well, I believe I'll use everything I learned here in Houston and apply that to my responsibilities and obligations as a Royal. It's time for Verastoria to know the face of their prince. Even if it's not a unique face. I don't think I can carry the mantle of 'The Secret Prince' any longer, not after my experiences here—my experiences with you. I'll never forget you, Helena Redding. You're truly one-of-a-kind."
     "Nah, I'm just your average trust-fund spawn. The only thing that makes me special is the company I keep."
     "It's much more than that. You have this immutable energy that cannot be quantified. That is what makes you special."
     There was a pause in the conversation as Lena looked out into the distance. "Promise me something," she said.
     "Anything," Vincent replied.
     "Promise me that this won't be the last time we see each other." She sighed deeply. "Promise me that you won't cut me out of your life."
     "Oh, Lena. I have a strong feeling that this is only the beginning of our story."
     "You think?"
     "I know."
     "Okay," Lena said, pivoting from her intimate emotions. "Now, it's time for the reason why I brought you up here." She faced Vincent and loosened his necktie. "I want you to scream. Right here, right now."
     "Scream? What? Have you gone mad?"
     "No, no, no—you're not getting it. This is a moment in time that you're never going to want to forget. You're on top of the world right now, Prince Vince. You have just accomplished the seemingly impossible. And the only way to fully feel the weight of that is to scream your heart out and let everyone know that this moment—this moment you fought so fiercely for—it's yours. And no one can ever take that away from you."
     Vincent brushed Lena's cheek with his fingertips, truly appreciating her relentless efforts, her unparalleled spirit, her priceless friendship. Then, he turned in place and screamed at the top of his lungs. He let the world know that he was alive, that he was an unstoppable force of nature, that he was Prince Vincent of Verastoria and he was that much closer to his destiny. The unbridled release of his voice was absolutely incredible. He had never felt something so cathartic. This was a feeling, etched into his mind, a feeling that would reverberate throughout time, leaving an indelible mark that would forever be his.