Chapter 146 - The Big Reveal

Despite having had very little sleep since he'd taken over Patrick's workstation yesterday morning, Gary Smulder feels good today. His big story has undergone a few revisions, thanks to Patrick's keen editorial sense, and now he must only apply the few finishing touches. Maybe quite unnecessary, but this is for his ego: he'd insert a few "Easter eggs" here and there throughout the article, just for sh1ts and giggles.

And nothing could kick-start a late morning than a hot, steaming mug of brewed coffee, courtesy of the Muckraker magazine's old trusty Mr. Coffee coffeemaker. If there's anything good about this office, Gary ponders, it's these little freebies. If only Patrick could include an unlimited supply of donuts to go with the coffee, though. But perhaps that would be for another time, when the magazine hits paydirt.

He glances at the wall clock—it's nearly ten in the morning. Patrick would probably come in late today, while all the other staff are at the printers. They'd all come in late. Which means he has the entire office, small as it is, to himself. He could even pretend he's the lord of this domain. He could sit on Patrick's big boss chair, and prop his feet up on the table, without anyone looking down on him. So that's what Gary actually does. He sips his coffee, closes his eyes, and hums his favorite song, whose title he forgets at the moment. He could live like this forever. And if this article catapults him to the shining pantheon of the yellowest journalism, he would—

Gary is jolted back to the present, as the office's door swings wildly open. It's Patrick, red in the face, stomping through the threshold with murder on his face. "I swear to God, I will—" he doesn't finish his words, as he snatches the TV remote control and smashes the buŧŧons. The old TV attached to the wall blinks to life.

"Is there any problem, Patrick?"

"Oh, I don't have a problem, Gary. But I think YOU have a problem so gargantuan I think you can just kiss that promotion goodbye."

"What?" Gary tries to grin, as in "You're freaking kidding me, Patrick" kind of grin. "Are you serious?"

Patrick points to the TV. "Watch."

So Gary, as told, looks at the scene unfolding on the TV. At first it seems nothing important is happening; a bunch of reporters in a room, with a lovely woman sitting by a long table and thanking the press for coming. A tent card on the table right in front of her says her name is "Catherine Buenavista, TXCI." Gary's brow furrows—TXCI? Isn't that Gabriel's—

And as if on cue, Gabriel Tan appears and sits beside Catherine. He's wearing a gray suit over a white, crisp-looking shirt. No tie. The suit is unbuttoned. And yet, Gabriel's face is all serious, but still "pretty"—Gary could see why women swoon over this man.

"Thank you all for coming," Gabriel begins to say, making eye contact with the members of the press who at this point have fallen silent, awaiting his words with bated breath. "As mentioned by Miss Buenavista, what I'm letting you know this morning is not business as usual. This is not about a new product, or a new business, or my bold predictions on the business outlook of the world's industries for the coming year. This is about something old, as old as time itself." Gabriel pauses. He glances to the side, as though looking with longing at someone standing unseen in the corner. Then he turns to the press. "This is about love."

"What in hell is he doing?" Gary asks, not that he's expecting an answer.

"He's cramping our style, that's what he's doing." Patrick paces the floor, shaking his head, pointing a finger at the computer screen, where Gary's draft of a write-up is open on a word processor. "He's basically making that masterpiece of literature du jour totally irrelevant."

Gary's mouth hangs open; he couldn't believe it. A part of him hopes the next time Gabriel opens his mouth, lies and more lies would tumble out. The kind of lies that would only make his Muckraker write-up much more compelling for people on the streets.

The reporters rise in excited chatter. "What do you mean love?" "Do you have another new fiancée?" "What do you really talk about when you talk about love?"

"Yesterday morning, my brother, Miguel, had an accident," Gabriel says, gazing at each of the reporters' faces. "It was an accident that was largely because of the love he had for a woman he, or rather 'we', only met less than a month ago. In any other context, falling in love at first sight would have been fine; our movies and all literature is rife with such kinds of inexplicable romances. But Miguel's love only had one little, and yet vital, curve ball: the subject of his affection is the same woman I call my fiancée. Claire Monteverde."

The room explodes in excitement; cameras flash like crazy. "Do you mean it's a love triangle?" "Did you try to kill him?" "Where is Miguel now?"

Gabriel raises his hands to calm everyone down. He waits until the room falls into respectful silence again. "Miguel fell in love with Claire. I fell in love with Claire, too, but maybe I was just more fortunate. That's why I understood where Miguel was coming from. And although I was aware of his feelings, I did not take it badly. I was just waiting for him to move on, to get on with life. After all, he's still one of the most eligible bachelors on this side of town. He could get anyone else he wants, couldn't he?"

The crowd murmurs their ȧssent.

"But as fate would have it, Miguel continued descending into what we can call an emotional tunnel, until he couldn't seem to find his way back. That's when I tried to talk to him. Heart to heart. But sadly, I never got a good opportunity." Gabriel pauses. He takes a sip from a bottled water. He appears to be weighing his next words. "Until early yesterday morning, he arrived at my fiancée's home, and not in the finest moods and disposition. When I learned about it, I immediately drove all the way there. That's when I found him in what I thought was an act of ȧssault. So I grabbed him only to remove him from that situation where he might harm Claire irreversibly. And somehow, in the chaos of that moment, Miguel's head hit a table and was injured. That's the reason we're in the hospital. That's the reason why we're asking for blood donations from anyone who would volunteer. And if you all may know, the very first one who donated blood was Claire."

Gary, still in the Muckraker office, feels his throat has run dry, parched, like a desert. Patrick stands so near the TV on the wall, his face inscrutable.

"Miguel is fine," Gabriel continues. "He's receiving the best possible medical care. We're all trying to solve this problem as a family, and by family, I mean also including Claire. We are going to have a good talk when he gets well, and I will continue to appraise you of any update regarding his condition. Which I will do just so there wouldn't be any nasty rumor circulating that is only meant to throw shade at my family's name."

"Get up," Patrick says to Gary at the Muckraker office. "We're done. There's no story. Go out there and find a new one. We're deleting this goddamned thing."

"But Pat—"

"Go," Patrick says; he's so upset that his ears are red. When Patrick's ears are this red, you better vanish instantly or risk earning his volcanic wrath. So Gary jumps out of the chair. But as he's about to go, he takes one glance at the TV—and stays glued to it, especially when one reporter has the guts to throw a question everyone has been itching to ask Gabriel Tan.

"But is it true, Gabriel," a reporter says. "That Claire Monteverde isn't the world-weary, cosmopolitan, uber-rich and fashion-forward personality you painted her out to be? She—"

"Next question, please," Catherine Buenavista buŧŧs in. "We won't dignify such questions with an actual response, so please—"

"No, it's fine," Gabriel finally says. "Thank you, Catherine."

"The persistent rumor is that you merely hired her to pretend to be your fiancée," the reporter says. "So is it true that she's not the person you've tried to make her out to be? That she's just a common girl?"

Catherine, who sits beside Gabriel, is gazing at him with that odd expression, like she's also dying to know the truth. She knows Michelle Alcantara had planted some of her people here, posing as reporters, paid to ask the most embarrassing questions. This last one was definitely one of Michelle's henchmen, and up to the last moment, Catherine believed that Gabriel would just laugh off the question and dismiss it like the dirty speculation it's supposed to be. But now Gabriel actually looks like he's about to give an actual answer.

Gabriel gazes at Claire standing on the sidelines; she's teary-eyed, but she manages to nod and mouth out the words, "Go ahead." Face the music, he said yesterday. And yes, he's tired of hiding, of telling lies. Claire deserves a day out in the sun, to be recognized for who she really is.

"Yes, it's true," Gabriel finally says. "And the truth is much more wonderful than fiction."