Kapitel 18: [F.S.T.T.S] [018]

[Chapter 18: Consequences (I)]

Last Time on Chapter 017 of [From Shadows To The Spotlight] —

"Did you hear the boss when he called for her? Sammy told me he was pissed."

"I can't say I'm surprised. What was she thinking, leading the charge with fake evidence?"

Linda's jaw tightened. She didn't need to hear more. The vultures were circling, gloating at her misfortune. She straightened her back, refusing to show any sign of weakness. Her reputation might be in shambles, but she wasn't going to let these nobodies see her crumble.

Now Continuing —

The summons had come that very morning. Mr. Thatcher, one of the magazine's owners, had ordered her presence personally—a rarity that had immediately sent waves of panic through her.

Even his secretary had looked unnerved when she passed on the message, whispering with wide eyes, "He's furious, Linda. Be careful."

Furious. That word rang in her ears now, each step bringing her closer to what felt like an inevitable doom. She was no stranger to pressure; after all, she'd clawed her way to the top, becoming the youngest editor-in-chief in the Tribune's history.

But this? This felt different.

The public backlash had been relentless. Angry letters, calls, and emails flooded the magazine's offices, demanding accountability for the hit piece on Alex Masters. Fans and industry insiders alike had been horrified by the exploitation of a dead man's name to smear someone's reputation.

It didn't help that the evidence in the article had been thoroughly debunked just days after publication—thanks to that sanctimonious Margaret Ross and her pristine reporting at Variety.

Linda cursed under her breath. Margaret's holier-than-thou attitude grated on her nerves. That woman had made a career out of being untainted, and it infuriated Linda that the damning evidence had landed in her lap. As if fate itself had chosen to shield Alex Masters.

Her thoughts turned dark. She cursed John Langston for roping her into this disaster. That bastard sold me on this smear campaign like it was a golden ticket.

He'd assured her the story was airtight and that Alex Masters was a nobody in the industry—a small-time director who wouldn't survive the storm. And now? Now her career was teetering on the edge of collapse while Langston skated free at Warner Bros., untouched by the fallout.

And Alex Masters—God, Alex Masters. The man seemed to have the luck of the devil. What kind of person had a clean reputation so impenetrable that even the slightest falsehood could crumble under scrutiny? And how had evidence proving his innocence just happened to emerge so conveniently?

Linda grit her teeth. Evidence, her ass. She didn't for a second believe that the evidence proving Alex's innocence wasn't in his possession from the very beginning. That nonsense about it being in Elizabeth's hands?

Nothing but a calculated lie, meant to throw everyone off. She scoffed to herself, her pace quickening as her irritation mounted.

It had been over two weeks since the scandal broke. Two weeks of Alex refusing to give interviews, declining to defend himself, and staying maddeningly silent while the vultures in the press—her included—picked his name apart.

The allegations had spread like wildfire, and for every day Alex kept his mouth shut, the flames grew hotter. He looked guilty. Hell, he looked beyond guilty; he looked cornered.

And it had been her publication that had led the charge. Her exposé was one of the first to call him out, one of the most vicious pieces, painting him as a cold, calculating opportunist. Every word she wrote had been laced with her own disdain for men like him—arrogant, untouchable moguls who thought the world revolved around their whims.

But now…

Her stride faltered. Linda nearly stumbled in her high heels, her breath catching as realization struck her like a blow to the chest. What if she'd been played?

Not in the obvious sense of Alex holding onto evidence and waiting for the perfect time to strike. That was a given. No, she had figured that much out already. What was dawning on her now was the sheer scale of his plan—the audacity, the cunning behind his silence.

For years, Alex had operated in the shadows, a man of immense influence but virtually no public profile. His name was known in industry circles, whispered in boardrooms and on film sets, but the average moviegoer wouldn't have been able to pick him out of a lineup.

He was a ghost, a puppet master, content to pull strings from behind the curtain.

And then this scandal hit.

Alex didn't just survive the onslaught; he orchestrated it. He let them—let her—drag his name through the mud, knowing full well that he held the ace up his sleeve. He let the world think he was guilty, let them scream for his head, all while the tension built to a fever pitch.

And then, when the moment was right, he flipped the narrative. Released the evidence. Turned the tables.

Linda's lips pressed into a thin line as she remembered the public's reaction—how quickly they shifted from outrage to adoration. He wasn't just exonerated; he was practically canonized.

The genius director with the moral high ground, the misunderstood visionary who refused to stoop to the level of his detractors.

Her begrudging respect simmered in her chest, no matter how much she tried to squash it. Damn him. Damn his intelligence, his foresight, and his ability to turn the entire industry on its head.

And damn herself, too, for underestimating him.

She could still feel the heat of her anger, but underneath it was something else—a flicker of respect. Alex Masters might have been the most infuriating man she'd ever encountered, but she couldn't deny it: he was a master of the game.

She passed a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking Los Angeles. The city's endless sprawl of golden lights usually filled her with pride, a reminder of the empire she had carved out for herself. Now, they only reminded her of what she was about to lose.

Her thoughts turned to prayer—not something she often resorted to. God, please, just one miracle. Just one lifeline to get me out of this. She didn't expect divine intervention, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

If she lost this job, she wouldn't just lose her title—she'd lose her connections, her influence, her power. And after this scandal, no other magazine or news outlet would touch her.

She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palm. One mistake, one lapse in judgment, and her entire career was unraveling.

-------

Finally, she reached the corner office. The nameplate on the door read Charles Thatcher in bold, golden letters. Her fingers hovered over the polished wood for a moment before she knocked, her knuckles sounding far too loud in the stillness of the hallway.

She stared at the nameplate while she waited, imagining her own name there someday. Owning her own news outlet, controlling the narrative instead of bowing to men like Thatcher—those had been her dreams once. But dreams didn't pay the bills, and her greed and carelessness had led her to this moment.

"Come in," barked a deep, impatient voice from the other side.

Her reverie shattered, and reality came rushing back. She pushed open the door.

-------

Charles Thatcher sat behind his imposing oak desk; his face was a mask of cold fury as he stared at the woman who had nearly undone his life's work. The usually debonair man, known for his calm demeanor, looked like he wanted to hurt her in the most terrible of ways until she eventually gave out and died.

"Sit," he said, his voice like steel and ice.

Linda obeyed, her legs suddenly feeling weak, yet her face remained calm and composed; she couldn't afford to start off the meeting looking weak.

He wasted no time. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I—"

"Don't. Just don't." Thatcher cut her off, slamming a folder onto the desk. "It isn't about what you did, Linda, that angers me. Do you think I care about ethics? I've done far.. far worse things than you can imagine, so I'm not going to stand here and play the moral high ground."

Linda blinked, caught off guard by Mr. Thatcher's upfront honesty.

"No," he continued, leaning forward. "What infuriates me is who you went after. You didn't even bother to check who Alex Masters really is."

"He's a freaking nobody," Linda snapped, her frustration boiling over, yet despite that she didn't say the F word, it was just her years of media training kicking in. "Just a behind-the-scenes guy who got lucky. He doesn't belong in the big leagues."

Thatcher let out a hollow chuckle, cutting her off. "That fucking 'nobody' just bought out nearly all the major stakeholders of The Hollywood Tribune. He owns this magazine. And now, Linda, he owns you."

Linda stared at Charles Thatcher, her face frozen in disbelief. The words he had just uttered hung in the air like a death knell.

Linda's breath hitched; it was at this moment that she realized that she had fucked up big time, and it was time for her to pay up. She just hoped that she would still be left with a job and not throw out yesterday's stale goods.

"What?" she finally croaked. "He—he bought the magazine? How? That's impossible!"

Thatcher leaned back in his chair, his expression grim yet tinged with mockery. "Impossible? Nothing's impossible in this world when you've got the money and the connections to pull it off."

"And Masters? Turns out, he has both in spades. He didn't do it directly, of course—he's smarter than that. Did it through a shell company, probably through an associate or friend. None of it can be even tied back to him. I checked."

"Then how do you know th--" Linda tried to say, but was ruthlessly cut off by Thatcher's reply. "Because the new owner called to deliver an ultimatum on behalf of his friend."

Linda's lips parted, but no sound came out. Her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out the hum of air conditioning in the background.

"You should've done your homework," Thatcher continued, his voice icy. "This isn't some starry-eyed amateur trying to make it big in Hollywood. Masters is connected and savvy, and he knows how to play the long game. Do you have any idea what kind of man you went after?"

"I thought he was just a director," Linda said weakly. "A nobody with a lucky streak. He—"

Thatcher slammed his palm on the desk, making her jump in fright in her chair, nervous sweat pouring down her back despite the air conditioning.

"Stop calling him a nobody!" he barked. "Do you know why I'm so furious? It's not just the mess you've made for this magazine—it's because I know exactly what Alex Masters is capable of. You've pissed off the wrong man, Linda. And now I have to clean up your mess."

Linda finally asked with her fists clenched, and her teeth gritted in frustration. "So what happens now? Are you firing me?!"

Thatcher leaned forward, steepling his fingers. The fury in his eyes was replaced by a cold, calculating look. "Firing you? No, not yet. That would be too easy. You're going to fix this."

Her heart sank. "Fix it? How?"

"You're going to issue a public apology," he said, enunciating each word like a judge delivering a sentence.

"A sincere one, at least it should look the part. You'll admit that you failed to properly verify the so-called evidence you had and acted recklessly in your zeal to publish a story."

"You'll ask for forgiveness—from the public, from Masters, and from the memory of his dead friend."

Linda's face twisted in anger. "You want me to grovel?!"

Though on the inside she was jumping for joy as this meant she would get to keep her job, at least in some capacity. She was confident that as long as she wasn't fired off, she could still make a comeback.

Thatcher smirked humorlessly. "If that's what it takes to save your job, then yes. Grovel. Crawl. Beg."

"I don't care what you have to do, Linda. You've tarnished this magazine's reputation, and now you're going to fix it, or you're out. Permanently."

-------

Linda swallowed hard. She wasn't ready to lose everything she had worked for. But the thought of publicly admitting her failure, of apologizing to Alex Masters, of all people, made her stomach churn.

"What if I don't?" she asked, testing the waters of rebellion.

Thatcher's laugh was cold and mirthless. "Then I'll fire you, and you'll never work in this industry again."

"Do you think anyone's going to hire you after this debacle?"

"You're damaged goods, Linda. And with Alex keeping an eye on you, you better believe me when I say this, no one will even want to touch you."

Her nails dug into her palms. She gritted her teeth when she realized she had no choice, she had no chance from the very beginning, she just didn't know it.

And now.. now it was too late for regret.

"Fine," she said through gritted teeth. "I'll do it."

Thatcher nodded, satisfied. "Good. Now, one more thing. I want the name of the person who put you up to this."

Linda blinked. "What?"

"Don't play dumb," Thatcher snapped. "Someone fed you this garbage about Alex Masters. Someone convinced you it was a good idea to publish. I want to know who was that son of a bitc*."

For a moment, Linda hesitated. But her anger, humiliation, and desperation quickly overrode any loyalty she might have felt. If she was going down, she wasn't going down alone.

But she was also smart; if she gave up Langston's name too soon, then she would've made it look too easy; she knew she could use this to her advantage and improve her standing.

"It was a she. Grace Mallory," she said, her voice laced with venom. "She works for some executives at Warner. If you just give me a few days, I might just be able to narrow it down to the man responsible for orchestrating this dumpster fire."

Thatcher's eyes narrowed. "Warner, huh? I can't say I'm surprised. Those bastards have been playing dirty games for decades, especially now that they're barely hanging onto the coattails of the rest of the Six."

Linda sat back in her chair, feeling a flicker of vindictive satisfaction. If she was being thrown to the wolves, Langston deserved to join her, and soon he would after she had gained some kind of evidence of his involvement.

Sadly, currently she had nothing that would make her accusation of his involvement stick; she didn't really need to go that far, as just giving up the name would've been enough.

But she wasn't born yesterday; she knew very well just how badly she had fucked up, and that she would definitely be ordered to announce stepping down from her role as the Chief Editor.

She realized that she had hugged the wrong person's leg to get ahead; if she could somehow get closer to Alex and earn his trust or favor, then she might still have a shot at fulfilling her dream.

Thatcher sighed heavily and rubbed his temples. "You've got until tomorrow to issue your apology," he said. "Make it count. And don't even think about trying to pin this on anyone else. The apology has to come from you and you alone."

Linda nodded mutely, feeling the weight of her defeat settle on her shoulders.

— To be Continued...

{2.5k words}

{TRL: This is the new Hollywood story that has been bouncing around in my head. I really need to get this out so here's another chapter.

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