Hollywood: From Shadows To The Spotlight

[Chapter 20: Consequences (III)]

Alternative Title - [Chapter 20: The Sacrificial Pawn]

Last Time on Chapter 019 of [From Shadows To The Spotlight] —

Across the set, Nicole Kidman stood with her arms crossed, watching the exchange from a distance. She leaned closer to Catherine, who was adjusting her scarf in the crisp air. "It's wild, isn't it? I mean, I've worked with so many directors and stars, but this guy? He's built different."

Catherine raised an eyebrow. "Built different?"

"You know what I mean," Nicole said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "He doesn't just direct a film—he commands the whole process. It's like he's orchestrating a symphony. And now, with this whole scandal behind him… Honestly, it just adds to his mystique."

Now Continuing —

Catherine smiled faintly, her gaze shifting to Alex, who was engrossed in conversation with Peter Jackson near one of the set monitors. "I think we're all seeing him a little differently today. Even the crew."

And indeed, the crew's demeanor had shifted. Earlier whispers of gossip and uncertainty were replaced by laughter and camaraderie. The prop masters moved with an extra spring in their step, and the lighting team meticulously set up for the next sequence. The group of background artists exchanged knowing glances, as if silently agreeing that this project was in the best hands possible.

Sarah Walker, one of the junior AD's, approached Alex with a clipboard. His usual brisk tone was tempered with an edge of reverence. "We're ready for the next shot when you are, Alex."

Alex looked up, his expression as calm and collected as always. "Great work, Sarah. Let's keep the momentum going. Today's been a good day."

Behind him, Orlando leaned in towards Elijah and murmured quietly, "A good day? Understatement of the century."

Elijah grinned. "The guy doesn't try to win battles; he wins wars."

Nearby, an extra dressed as a Rohirrim soldier adjusted his helmet and spoke to his fellow actor in a hushed voice. "You hear what Mr. Ian said about him? Integrity and all that? I can help resonate with that thought, you know. I've been on sets where directors lose their heads over the smallest things. But Alex? He's unshakable, or at least appears to be so that we all don't worry."

The other extra, an older gentleman, couldn't help but nod in agreement. "It's not just about the films he's making; it's about how he makes them, the care and effort he puts in. You can feel it, can't you? It's like we're part of something special; that level of dedication and conviction are quite rare."

As the day wore on, the renewed sense of unity on set became undeniable. Every camera angle, every line delivery, every meticulous detail felt charged with purpose. The crew rallied behind Alex, not out of obligation but out of respect.

Nicole, watching from the sidelines, turned to Catherine again. "You think he knows how much they all look up to him?"

Catherine chuckled. "I think he has some clue."

And as Alex called for the next take, his voice steady and commanding, there was no question in anyone's mind: they were following a man who had not only weathered the storm but emerged stronger, his integrity still intact, and his vision clearer than ever.

- - - - - -

Alex sat alone in his trailer, watching Linda's apology play out on a small TV screen. His face was calm, unreadable. The words washed over him like distant waves. He didn't smile, didn't frown—just sat there, his hand resting lightly on the armrest. This apology wasn't to stroke his ego, unlike what Mrs. Carver might be thinking, nor was it a hazing ritual to put her in her place.

That did happen, but the real intent behind him making her sincerely issue a public apology was to put his family's worries at rest and make them feel better. Even though he didn't show it at the moment, his mother's worried phone call, hearing her all teary-eyed and emotional about the people spreading lies about him, really pissed him off.

So, this one wasn't for him but rather them, because he couldn't care less about the apology as he knew Linda didn't truly mean it or felt remorseful about her actions.

When it was over, he turned off the television and leaned back, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. A deep breath escaped him, not of relief but of quiet resolution. He didn't need vindication to validate himself. He knew who he was.

He heard the sound of the shower turning off and the shower door opening and closing as Catherine's figure emerged from it wrapped in a towel. Seeing her broke him out of his reverie.

Catherine headed to the bed to get his T-shirt and then poked her head back in while drying her hair with a towel; her usual fiery and sassy demeanor softened. "Saw the apology?" she asked, to which he quietly nodded, to which she asked again. "Justice is finally served, right?"

Alex gave her a small, knowing smile. "Justice has a long memory, Cat. This is just the beginning."

- - - - - -

In a modest living room, Alex's stepmother, Abigail, and his two younger sisters, Sophia and Clara, sat huddled on the couch once again. This time, instead of seeing people cursing their brother or son, they were gleefully watching Linda's public apology.

Clara clasped her hands tightly, being the more emotional of the two despite her tomboyish nature; her tears were streaming silently down her cheeks. But there was a huge grin on her face as these tears were of joy, her joy at her brother's innocence being proven, and the ones who badmouthed and called him out on the media were now apologizing.

"See, Mom? She had to apologize," Clara said, her voice tinged with relief.

Abigail nodded, her voice trembling. "I never had a doubt that the truth will come out eventually. My boy has always had a knack for coming out on top, no matter how badly the odds are stacked against him. He's been through too much, worked too hard, to ever fall for something like that."

Sophia leaned forward, switching the channel to catch a replay of Margaret Ross defending Alex earlier that week. "Mrs. Ross did a wonderful job, but this... Seeing her humbled... It feels like justice."

Abigail wiped her tears and looked at her daughters with pride. "Your brother has always been a fighter. He didn't need this apology to prove his worth or innocence, but it's good to see the world finally catching up with the truth."

Clara, who looked thoughtful from this incident, raised her head and said to her mom, "Mom, I've finally decided what I want to pursue as my career."

"What is it, Honey?" Abigail was bursting with a bright smile; her youngest just hadn't been able to decide what field she wanted to pursue her career in. Her being so effortlessly talented at whatever she tried her hand at made her lose interest in the field pretty soon.

"I want to be a journalist, or better yet, an investigative journalist." She had a determined look to her, as if confident that she wouldn't lose interest this time.

"Were you inspired after seeing Margaret defend Alex on TV and prove him innocent?" Sophia's lips quirked up as she felt like she hit the nail on the head.

"Yes. I want to stand for the truth and help big bro when others are trying to launch a smear campaign against him." Clara replied confidently, unwilling to be flustered by her sister's teasing.

"Careful with what you wish for," Abigail said with a far-off look on her face. "The truth can be hurtful sometimes, while Alex would never stoop to their level. He can't always just turn the other cheek to people like these, as they will take it as a sign of weakness."

- - - - - -

Back in her office, Linda sat in silence, the weight of the events of the day were pressing down on her. She had done what was necessary to save her career—or at least what was left of it—but the cost was steep. The public might forgive her eventually and maybe even forget this ever happened, but her peers wouldn't forget.

The only thing left to do was to meet up with Grace at her apartment to see if she could get her to confess about Langston's involvement in this incident.

She knew any evidence gained this way wouldn't be admissible in court, but she had a hunch that Masters didn't want to settle this matter in the court like a goody-two shoe. No, the man had been hiding in the shadows for years, and this scandal, despite ending up being proven to be faked, had painted him in a bad light.

And as they say, "First impressions, last," she knew that this wasn't over. No, it felt like this was just the beginning.

That very evening she had met with Grace at her apartment, and acted as a sympathetic ear to listen to her woes as the two old friends drank their fill of their favorite red. But what Grace had been completely unaware of was that Linda had been taping their entire conversation on a recording device. 

She felt a little bad for selling out her friend like this, but this was her only way to find an in with Masters.

Her guilt only increased when Grace profusely apologized while crying to her about getting her in trouble; she even promised about using a few favors people owed her to see if she could get her a job elsewhere. 

But she politely refused, as she knew running away from the Tribune would only make her look guilty and unrepentant in the public's eye, so she could only choose to stay and eat her share of humble pie.

Another reason she didn't want to leave was because Alex was purchasing the Hollywood Tribune by proxy, a fact that she knew not to reveal unless she could possibly leverage a deal out of it in the future.

The establishment had become her in to get into contact with Alex's men, at least the ones that were involved with the buyout or the ones that were trying to find the person responsible for the attack on Alex.

- - - - - -

It was roughly a day later, around nighttime, everyone had left, except for the security and the skeleton crew that took care of the midnight re-runs. In Thatcher's office, the tension lingered thick in the air. He poured himself another glass of scotch; his hands shook so violently that the amber liquid nearly spilled over the rim.

He quickly downed it in one gulp and then picked up the phone, dialing the number given to him by Alex's man, who had warned him not to do anything smart.

When the gruff voice on the other end answered, Thatcher exhaled; his voice was a mix of desperation and compliance, masked by composure that seemed to be fraying at the edges. "It's done. You must've seen her apology by now. She also gave me the name of the man behind this mess—John Langston."

There was a pause before the PI responded, his voice cold. "That was quick. Make sure that apology makes waves. And remember—your secrets stay safe only if you remain cooperative with us, and who knows, it might just end up benefiting you as well."

Thatcher swallowed hard, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Understood. There's more."

"What?" The man's voice sounded intrigued, as he knew the kind of fear he had instilled in Charles; talking to him for even a moment longer was probably the thing on earth he'd want to do, so he was really interested in hearing what it was that made the old man muster up the courage.

"I-It's Linda; she's got evidence on Langston's involvement in this mess." Thatcher replied; his voice broke in the beginning, but he got it back under control.

"Really? That's interesting." The man mused while going over the building plans for the Warner Bros. Studios complex in Burbank.

"What kind, though? And seeing how easily you fessed it up, I'm already assuming it can't be used in court." He said, while biting off the cap of a marker with his mouth and marking down a path to the executives' office floors.

"I'm not made aware of the details, but I don't think so. She asked me to get her in contact with the people the new boss had sent in." He explained the reason for why he was still on call in a tense voice.

"She wants to make a deal?" Now the man was truly interested, though he didn't stray from his current task as he recalled the information he had gotten on the various executives and their daily habits. He made a note to do a detailed background check and surveillance on Langston to build a profile of the man.

"Probably, but that's her business; I held up my end, and I promise I will continue to do so. So please, let me be."

"If you can keep your nose clean, sure." He replied with a shrug as he began to sift through the different prosthetic faces he had made over the years after learning the art of special effects makeup from Alex.

With that, Thatcher ended the call and poured himself another drink. The fear of Alex Masters, and the threat of his secrets being revealed, felt like there was an actual sword hanging above his head that lingered long after the line went dead.

- - - - - -

~A few days later at night~

Nicole lay in bed beside Alex, wrapped in a contented silence as she traced lazy circles on his chest, a faint glow from the dim lights above her lighting her features. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so relaxed, so at peace, as if a weight had finally lifted from her shoulders. After a long moment, she looked up at Alex, her voice soft but filled with genuine relief.

"I'm glad it's finally over," she murmured. "I know it didn't bother you, but it was driving me mad watching everyone's attitude on set. And now—now it's like things are finally starting to get back to normal."

Alex chuckled, his arm tightening around her as he reassured her. "They never left normal for me, Nicole. Just a little more noise in the background."

Nicole smiled, rolling her eyes as she shifted closer to him. "It must be nice to be you. It's as if nothing rattles you. If it were me, I'd probably already be halfway to Australia by now."

He laughed, a low rumble that made her laugh with him. "It's part of the job. When you've seen enough storms, they're easier to ride out."

Nicole sighed, her expression growing dark for a moment as she thought about the people who had put Alex through this. "Those people who tried to bring you down—they're despicable. Whoever they are, I hope they get exactly what they deserve."

She didn't notice the flicker of darkness and rage that flashed across his eyes, but before he could respond, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. He reached over, picking it up, and glanced at the screen. His brow furrowed slightly when he saw that there wasn't any call; his fogged mind began to clear as he realized that the buzzing was actually coming from the locked drawer of his nightstand.

— 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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