TheKitchenTable

It's 11 PM. The second monitor glows against the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city smeared gold and black behind you. There's a glass of something brown and expensive sweating on the desk. You loosen your tie with one hand and move six figures through a shell company named after your dog with the other. The numbers are getting creative. Your heart rate has not moved. You are calm, you are unbothered, you are — allegedly — a consultant. This is the soundtrack to a man who has never been audited and never will be, because he is simply built different. Not panic music. Swagger music. The sound of getting away with it clean and expensing the celebration. Lean smooth, slick, and unbothered — funk, yacht rock, slinky R&B, lounge, anything with a groove that sounds like it's wearing a very expensive watch. If it would play in the elevator of a building you secretly own, you're on the right track.