"Well, isn't this swell?" Pete said, as he read today's newspaper. The front cover said, 'T-Rax is the world's new sensation, even after one whole month!' And it had a picture of him performing on stage from last night.

"T-Rax is a popular rock star with a huge fan base and we are making plenty of money, thanks to him. Everyone here is a winner."

Then Mortimer came in, carrying his briefcase.

"Hey, Morty, check this out," Pete said. He gave his business partner the paper.

As he read it after he read it, Mortimer's smile grew and grew like a Cheshire Cat. "Didn't I tell you that this job would be a good idea?"

"I thought I told you," Pete said.

"No, you didn't!" Mortimer snapped. "You were the one worried about losing money instead of making it."

"No, I wasn't! That was you!"

They didn't stop arguing until there was a knock at the door. Pete was the one who answered it and saw that Michaela was standing at the door.

"Well, what do you want?" he yelled.

Michaela was a tough girl and she didn't so much as move a muscle when she got yelled at by Pete. "It's not what I want, Mr. Pete. It's what she wants."

"She wants? Who?"

Michaela waved the envelope in her hand, but Pete, as stupid as he had always been, didn't even notice it. He just looked around for someone else.

"I don't see anyone else here besides you."

"No, the Angel of Music," Michaela said. "She sent you and Mr. Mouse a letter."

"Well, why didn't you say so?" Pete demanded, as he snatched it. He saw that she was right; it was for the managers. Then he noticed that Michaela was still standing where she was. "Well, what are you waiting for, a massage? Get back to work!"

Again, after Pete slammed the door, Michaela just scoffed and walked away.

Pete opened the envelope and read the letter. As he read it, he laughed his head off. When Mortimer read it with him, he laughed his head off as well.

"Put T-Rax on for more nights? Leave Suite Five empty for her? Her salary of twenty thousand dollars per month has not been paid since we took office?' Who would have the gall to send this?" Pete laughed.

"Does this person who doesn't even exist expect us to take orders from her?" Mortimer laughed.

Then they didn't stop laughing until the door opened violently. They saw saw the diva pop star Chilly Phil marched in. He was looking angrier and more demanding than his usual angry and demanding self.

"Welcome, Mr. Phil," Pete greeted. "How are you?"

Phil just stood there silently like a stone. He didn't make any 'eh' noises at all.

Do you want anything?" Mortimer asked. "A glass of water? A cup of tea? A bottle of…"

"My career!" Phil roared.

"Your career in a bottle?" Mortimer was confused. "I don't see how we can put your career in a bottle."

"No, idiots! That's how my career feels right now! Trapped in a bottle!"

"Well, what can we do to fix that?" Pete asked.

"Let me do a concert tonight!" Phil yelled.

"But it's T-Rax tonight," Mortimer said.

Phil slammed his fists on the desk. "Do not – I repeat – do not mention that name to him. Ever since he did that show a month ago, this place hasn't had anything new. Don't you guys want do something different?"

"And risk losing a lot of money?" Pete asked.

"And losing the most loyal fans this place has ever had?" Mortimer asked.

Phil just sighed. "What do people see in T-Rax?"

"Well, for one thing, they're paying a lot of money to see him," Pete said.

"And he's making their lives feel better with his songs," Mortimer said. "If that's not popularity, I don't know what is."

"Well, I do know popularity is," Phil said. "It's about people cheering you and demanding that your hero goes on stage. T-Rax is not the only one with fans, you know. Now, find a way to get on stage tonight!"

The managers started to think of a way.

"I got it!" Mortimer cried. "How about you do a duet concert with T-Rax?"

Phil scoffed. "No way!"

"Well, Mr. Phil, either you do with T-Rax tonight or you don't do it at all!" Pete snapped.

"Yeah!" Mortimer agreed. "There's no way you're doing a show tonight on your own!"

"Unless..." Pete cleared his throat. "Unless you pay us to let you go on stage."

Phil just laughed rudely. "I, the biggest rock star in the world, have to pay you to put on my own show in your stadium?"

"That's the thing," Pete said. "You are not the biggest star in the world anymore. Or ever was. T-Rax is now."

"Anyway, you know your three options," Mortimer said. "Choose one and choose one quickly too. We're very busy."

Phil sighed. "Fine, I'll do it with that loser. But I sing my songs and my way, okay?"

"Fine," the managers said together.

"Now, I want my dressing room a stuffed crust takeaway pizza ready for me at six sharp. No toppings! Just cheese!" With that, he stormed out of the office and slammed the door behind them.

The managers sighed.

"Boy, dealing with difficult divas wasn't in the job description when McDuck and Horsecollar sold this stadium to us," Mortimer said.

"But look on the bright side," Pete said. "Look how much money we've made."

"How much have we made?"

"I don't know. Let's go and find out by counting."

Mortimer smiled. "Good idea, Pete."

They took the money out of the safe, spilt it into two piles and they started counting. But before either of they could put the last bill on top of their own pile, both piles dropped down quickly and flew in the air. They looked to see what made their money piles fly in the air. Their office door was opened and there stood the patrons looking very angry at them.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Mortimer said. "What seems to be the problem?"

"We give you guys a lot of money and how do you repay?" said one patron.

"By disrespect!" another one yelled.

"Yeah!" agreed all the angry patrons.

The managers just sighed again as they hoped they had enough energy to deal with this matter, after dealing with the Phantom's letter and their meeting with Chilly Phil.