The anticipation for Renaissance Act II was supposed to be a triumph—another glorious chapter in the unparalleled career of Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter. Instead, the air is thick with the toxic cloud of accusation, threatening to tarnish the carefully constructed legacy of music’s reigning monarch. Queen Bey, the global icon who built her brand on empowerment, feminist anthems, and unparalleled artistic control, is now facing a career-defining crisis that rips at the very fabric of her integrity: widespread, systemic allegations of stealing publishing rights, hiding songwriting credits, and silencing vulnerable artists.

This isn’t the first time the whispers have followed her, but this storm is different—it’s detailed, it’s organized, and it’s led by voices from within the industry who are no longer afraid of the consequences. The latest, and perhaps most explosive, testimony comes from songwriter Tiffany Red, who has openly accused the singer’s team of demanding an unethical chunk of songwriting royalties and using airtight Non-Disclosure Agreements (NDAs) to enforce a culture of silence. This new wave of controversy transforms a simple credit dispute into a potent conversation about power, ethics, and the brutal economics of the modern music business.

The Publishing Power Grab: When 30% Means Financial Ruin

To understand the gravity of the latest allegations, one must first grasp the inner workings of music publishing. Publishing royalties are the lifeblood of a songwriter—the money earned every time a song is streamed, played on the radio, or used commercially. They represent the intellectual property of the song’s creation. According to Tiffany Red, Beyoncé has allegedly been demanding and receiving anywhere from 15% to a staggering 30% of these publishing royalties from the actual writers, even when she did not contribute a single lyric or melody to the track.

In an industry where digital streaming has already gutted the earnings of creators, every percentage point of publishing is critical. For a working songwriter, a 30% cut siphoned off by a global superstar—who already profits massively from performance fees, touring, and album sales—can mean the difference between paying rent and financial disaster. This practice, when deployed by an artist of Beyoncé’s magnitude, sends a clear message: that the creative intellectual property of a collaborator is merely a tax on the opportunity to work with the Queen.

The allegations are backed by claims that this exploitation is secured by force, not consent. Red and others assert that those who collaborate with Beyoncé are immediately locked into rigorous NDAs. These legal documents, while common in high-profile entertainment, are reportedly used as a weapon to prevent songwriters and producers from ever speaking publicly about the true nature of their contracts or their experiences. As one insider lamented, the reason nobody talks about the inner workings of the organization is simple: “She silences people so that nobody can speak.” This creates a chilling dynamic where creators are left powerless, forced to accept low pay and unjust credit splits to avoid professional blacklisting or costly legal battles they cannot afford.

The Renaissance Row: A Pattern of Disrespect and Deception

The accusations of financial exploitation are deeply intertwined with a prior, highly public wave of controversy that erupted with the release of Renaissance Act I in 2022. The album, celebrated for its embrace of House music, quickly became a flashpoint for disputes over sampling and respect, particularly toward the Black artists whose sounds were being utilized.

The first tremor came from Robin S., whose iconic 1993 hit “Show Me Love” was sampled for Beyoncé’s track “Break My Soul.” In a stunning admission, Robin S. revealed she only learned her music was being used when her son called her, excitedly saying, “Mom, you’re trending all over the place.” A global superstar, whose entire process is managed by an army of lawyers, had failed to extend the basic courtesy of a professional heads-up to the original artist.

Beyoncé’s team attempted damage control, sending Robin S. a lavish bouquet of flowers and a card, which the singer initially shared on Instagram, writing, “Beyoncé you are now a part of my legacy and I’m a part of your legacy.” However, the peace offering quickly turned sour. Robin S. abruptly deleted the post, and later, in a street interview, admitted she had never actually heard back from Beyoncé after the flowers were delivered—suggesting the gesture was a hollow PR move designed to quell the public backlash. The final sting came when Robin S. publicly declared that Chris Brown’s sample of her song was “way better” than Beyoncé’s—a subtle, but devastating, piece of shade that confirmed her true feelings of having been used and ghosted.

A second, more high-profile storm brewed with Kelis, another Black female artist, whose song was sampled on the Renaissance track “Energy.” Kelis was equally blindsided, hearing about the sample the same way as everyone else. Her outrage was directed not at the legality—Beyoncé had technically cleared the sample with Pharrell Williams and Chad Hugo of The Neptunes, who owned the publishing rights, not Kelis—but at the basic human respect missing from the transaction.

Kelis felt betrayed, especially within the small community of Black female artists. “We’ve met each other. We know each other. We have mutual friends. It’s not hard,” she argued, emphasizing that a simple phone call or message was the least Beyoncé could have offered. For Kelis, who had been vocal about being swindled out of her masters by The Neptunes, Beyoncé’s failure to acknowledge her felt “cold and calculated,” adding insult to years of financial injury.

The hypocrisy of the situation was magnified when fans recalled Beyoncé’s own extremely strict policies on her music being sampled. Rapper Fivio Foreign, for instance, revealed he had to repeatedly rewrite his lyrics for a Destiny’s Child sample because Beyoncé deemed them “a little vulgar.” To demand such rigorous standards for her own music while failing to extend the smallest professional courtesy to her peers further eroded public trust. Ultimately, the backlash grew so intense that Beyoncé quietly removed Kelis’s sample and vocals entirely from the track—a silent admission that the ethical cost was too high.

The Precedent: Rewriting History with ‘Bow Down’

The foundation for these credit and integrity disputes was set years ago, long before the Renaissance era. One infamous example is the track “Bow Down.”

Beyoncé once painted a powerful narrative about the song’s creation, claiming she went into the studio channeling her personal “anger and heartbreak” to create an aggressive, defiant “chant.” She framed it as a deeply personal artistic expression. However, this inspirational story later crumbled when the actual songwriting team, Rock City, revealed they were the true writers. More embarrassingly, they admitted the song wasn’t even written for Beyoncé; it was originally pitched to Rihanna, who passed on it.

This incident established a pattern of alleged historical revisionism, where Beyoncé is accused of seizing narratives and credits to bolster her brand image as the sole visionary, even if it requires fabricating the truth. When combined with the latest allegations of publishing theft, this historical context suggests not a series of unfortunate mistakes, but a long-term business strategy designed to maximize control and minimize compensation for collaborators.

The Unbothered Queen and the Legacy at Stake

The response from Beyoncé’s camp, as filtered through industry insiders, is reportedly one of utter indifference. The supposed stance is that Beyoncé has done nothing legally wrong; the songwriters willingly signed the NDAs and contracts, knowing the terms. “She didn’t hold a gun to anybody’s head,” goes the argument. If the writers are now complaining, they are merely facing the consequences of decisions they made when they chose to “play the game.”

This defense, however, rings hollow against the powerful narrative of empowerment and equality that is central to the Beyoncé brand. How can a self-proclaimed beacon of light and hope for generations—a figure who advocates for Black power and female strength—allegedly operate a business model that systematically undercuts and silences the very artists she claims to uplift?

As more voices join the chorus of dissatisfaction—from established artists like Kelis and Robin S. to working songwriters like Tiffany Red and even dancers claiming unfair standard rates—the credibility of the system is collapsing. “Everybody can’t be lying,” as one commentator noted. When multiple, unconnected voices from different corners of the industry point to the same pattern of unethical behavior, it demands a painful re-evaluation of the artist’s public persona versus her corporate conduct.

Beyoncé may not have technically needed Kelis’s permission, and her lawyers may have crafted publishing deals that are legally airtight, but the court of public opinion operates on a different standard: respect, fairness, and integrity. As she prepares to drop new music, her legacy is being judged not just by the quality of her art, but by the morality of her business practices. The $100 million question isn’t whether she’s a queen, but whether her crown rests on a foundation of borrowed, and possibly stolen, bricks. The answer will determine the true emotional and financial cost of the Beyhive’s relentless loyalty.