“Nick, I don’t think you love me anymore. You’re always with all your fans and never with me,” says Taylor Swift.
“Taylor, I spend any spare second I have with you.” Nick Jonas glides Taylor into the elevator.
The doors are six inches from closing when a delicate African American hand jolts into the space prompting a single ring of an elevator bell. The doors reopen.
“Why you gotta act like that?” T.I. asks. He strolls onto the elevator with his Chanel sunglasses still on. He presses the PH (Pent House Suite) button to the right of the door.

“I should’ve said no when you asked me to be your girlfriend! This secret is becoming too much of hassle with our growing fame,” says Taylor as tears wash down her dress and seep onto her guitar.

“Taylor, you’re right. I am burning up in this relationship. I will grab my things from your room and find a place for myself tonight after my concert,” says Nick.

Taylor’s grip on her guitar tightens. Her glare focuses on Nick.

“What did you say?!”

T.I. presses the PH button furiously sensing a brawl. Taylor raises the guitar and hammers Nick in the chest knocking the last ounce of air from his body. He falls hitting the elevator buttons and wheezes for oxygen to reach his lungs. The elevator stops as a circuit blows.

“I promote peace and positivity. I only got 45 days to redemption. I got gun possession charges comin’ up in court,” says T.I. He grabs Taylor by the arms and forces her to the ground. “Young lady I ain’t going to jail for some assault and battery I wasn’t in.”

“I…will…testify…if…you…keep…her…away,” gasps Nick.

“You promise man?” says T.I.

“Yes I will.” Nick gathers himself to stand and breathe freely.

Nick phones the crime into his black iPhone. Six minutes later, the elevator lowers to the fifth floor. The doors open and camera flashes flood the elevator. Cops stand waiting with handcuffs ready to arrest Taylor Swift.