Halid Frochill wore scarves indoors and referred to himself as “a curator of genius.” His voice was syrupy, his handshake just short of sincere. He carried a leather-bound datebook, always closed, and said things like “We’re waiting on Denmark” even when no one had asked. Halid represented nearly every hopeful musician within a hundred-kilometre radius of Trois-Rivières. A jazz fiddler from Montmagny, a banjo-savant who spoke only in limericks, a folk trio composed of siblings who refused to harmonize. To each Halid said: You are my only true artist. And to each venue, he said: They’ll play for exposure or a charcuterie tray, whichever’s available. Of course, he took a generous cut, always. Sometimes before the show. Sometimes gas money. Sometimes in “expenses” no one ever saw. One February, just as the Saint Lawrence froze over, Halid signed accordionist Yaël Tremblay, who wore red wool and smiled as if she knew how every story would end. Yaël played waltzes. Only in the key of C. She brought her own chair. She never asked about ticket sales or posters or branding. She played cafés, bookstores, or curling rinks that smelled of melted popcorn. As always, Halid kept more than his share. But after one more tiny show in an old train station turned museum, Yaël handed Halid a package wrapped in a bandana. “A thank you,” she said, with a bow. Halid unwrapped it later that night. Inside: a cracked mirror, and a note written on the back of an old setlist: “You’ve built a beautiful stage. But no one wants to perform in your reflection.” Halid frowned, tossed the note aside. By spring, his phone stopped buzzing. His name vanished from show posters. His artists were still performing but now booked by venues directly, by strangers who’d heard whispers. Halid still wandered Trois-Rivières, telling the baristas and anyone who’ll listen that he once helped launch something big. And once a month, he stands outside Yaël Tremblay’s show, hidden in the shadows, listening to her waltzes drift into the night each one simple, flawless, and unmistakably in C.