The Book of Jay

On December 4th, Jay turns thirty-six, and there's no midlife crisis anywhere in sight: He's worth more than $320 million and he is the president of the most important label in the history of hip-hop, Def Jam. Founded in 1984 by Russell Simmons and Rick Rubin, the label has been home to several generations of major rappers: LL Cool J, the Beastie Boys and Public Enemy in the Eighties; Jay, Method Man, Redman and DMX in the Nineties; and, more recently, West -- whose first major break came in 2001 as a producer for Jay -- and Young Jeezy. "Def Jam is the number-one hip-hop label in the world," says Antonio "L.A." Reid, chairman of the Island Def Jam Music Group. "Having Jay says that the legacy continues. If you're a sixteen-year-old rapper in Brooklyn or Atlanta or Houston, and you know that Jay-Z carries on the legacy of hip-hop, then Def Jam becomes your preferred destination."

Jay's deal with Universal reportedly pays him between $8 million and $10 million a year. He's also the president and part owner of Roc-A-Fella Records, the proud owner of a small piece of the soon-to-be Brooklyn Nets ("I was happy to cut that check!" he says) and owner of two multimillion-dollar Manhattan apartments, one of them a 10,000-square-foot loft in Tribeca worth $7.5 million and the other a penthouse at the Time Warner Center near Central Park worth more than $10 million, from which he can see a penthouse owned by his girlfriend, Beyonce. He is also, sometimes, an MC. "My life is crazy," he says, in awe of his own journey. "I'm not jaded. I'm on the board of the Nets. I'm the only black guy and I'm the youngest one there. I'm a fuckin' president-CEO of Def Jam. That shit still sounds crazy to me even to this day. What the fuck does that mean?" Then he gets all philosophical. "And I'm outside of it, too, baby. I'm outside of it, like, goddamn -- that's some crazy shit. And it's not stopping. It's gonna get even crazier."

But as far as he's come, he never forgets who he was, still carries old habits. For example, typical of a multimillionaire, his wallet has no money in it. Today there's just a single, lonely dollar. But in another pocket he's got a two-inch-thick knot of big bills, the sort you'd find in the pocket of a hustler. "I don't feel right without it," he says.