[F.S.T.T.S] [017]

[Chapter 17: The Weight of Truth (II)]

Last Time on Chapter 016 of From Shadows To The Spotlight —

Margaret continued, her hands clasped on the desk, as she addressed the audience with the gravitas of a courtroom judge. Her voice remained resolute as she held up a small cassette tape for the camera. 

"This is an audio recording of Michael Carson himself speaking to his sister, Elizabeth, before his death."

"In it, he admits his mistakes, his regrets, and the truth of his relationship with Alex Masters. For those watching, please be advised—this recording may be difficult to hear."

The broadcast cut to black for a moment, then faded back into the scratchy, unsteady voice of Michael Carson. His voice carried a weight of sadness, a rawness that seemed to reach through the speakers.

Now Continuing —

"Liz," he began, his voice shaky. "I don't even know where to start. You're the only person I can tell this to—because you're my sister, and you deserve to know."

There was a pause, a deep breath. "I betrayed Alex. It's something I can't take back, no matter how much I want to. And I can't live with myself if I don't tell you why."

Langston's face turned crimson as Michael's voice filled the room, each word hammering into him like a nail in his carefully crafted story. He tightened his grip on the glass, his anger building with every word.

The recording continued, Michael's voice growing quieter, filled with regret. "Veronica… She was all about fame and money. She kept saying that Alex was holding me back and that I deserved better. And like a fool I… I listened to her. I let her get into my head. I started to believe her lies."

Another pause, broken only by the sound of Michael's shaky breathing. "Alex never betrayed me, Liz. I betrayed him. I took everything he gave me and threw it away. I hurt the only real friend I had in this business, and he didn't deserve that."

The camera cut back to Margaret, her expression solemn as she continued. "In addition to the recording, Elizabeth Carson has provided a letter Michael wrote to Alex, one he never had the chance to send."

"In it, he apologizes for his actions and takes full responsibility for the choices that led to the end of their friendship. The letter is a deeply personal account of a man struggling with his own mistakes."

As Margaret read a few passages from the letter, Langston's fury boiled over. He let out a guttural roar and hurled his whiskey glass across the room. It shattered against the television, shards of glass scattering across the floor as the screen flickered and went dark.

"Damn her!" he shouted, his voice echoing in the silence that followed. He turned on Grace, his eyes blazing. "How could you let this happen? I thought we had control over this narrative!"

Grace swallowed, her face pale as she took a hesitant step back. "I… I didn't know, sir. Elizabeth Carson must have gone directly to Margaret Ross without alerting anyone."

Langston's hands clenched into fists, his jaw tight as he struggled to contain his rage. "Everything I worked for—all of it—undone by one woman with a tape."

He fell silent, the weight of his failure settling heavily around him. In a single broadcast, Margaret had destroyed his carefully laid plans, turning the tide of public opinion back in Alex's favor.

A knock sounded at the door, and one of Langston's junior assistants peeked in, his face apprehensive. "Sir, I thought you should know… The Chicago Daily's broadcast is going viral."

"Hollywood is already reacting, and people are calling for retractions from every outlet that ran the original story. It looks like… people are rallying behind Alex Masters."

Langston closed his eyes, breathing heavily through clenched teeth. His mind raced, each thought more vicious than the last.

He'd invested resources, pulled strings, and now it was all slipping through his fingers. And worst of all, Alex Masters would walk away unscathed—no, not just unscathed, but more respected than ever.

His anger simmered into a cold resolve, and he turned to Grace with a glint of malice in his eyes. "Get out," he ordered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Grace hesitated, then turned on her heel, quietly shutting the door behind her. Langston stood alone in the darkness of his office, the shards of his broken glass crunching beneath his shoes as he paced.

'This isn't over, Alex,' he thought, his jaw clenched tight. 'You may have won this round, but I'm not finished yet.'

As the city lights gleamed outside his window, Langston's mind spun with ideas, plots, and plans. He would not let this small setback defeat him.

He had climbed his way to the top of Hollywood, and he had no intention of letting a man like Alex Masters take him down.

In Hollywood, after all, there were no rules—only winners and losers. And Langston was determined to win, no matter the cost he had to make others pay.. for that was the cost of greatness.

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Langston wasn't the only one watching the broadcast; the friends, and enemies that Alex had knowingly or unknowingly throughout his long career in Hollywood were seated in front of the TV as well.

While some were praying for him to really be proved innocent while some wished for his downfall.

That one of the evidence put forward to be revealed to be fabricated and planted to clear Alex's name.

But these weren't the only people tuning in, as even Alex, who was halfway across the globe, had tuned in as well.

He sat alone in the dimly lit study of his quaint, modest trailer in the corner of their current set location.

He had issued an hour-long break from shooting and excused himself so he could watch the live telecast. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the television.

On the screen, Margaret Ross, his friend from the Chicago Daily, delivered her broadcast with her signature calm precision, the evidence of his innocence laid out before her for the world to see.

Every word she spoke was like a weight being lifted from Alex's shoulders, yet it pressed down on his heart in equal measure.

The camera panned to the letter, the photographs, and the recorded confession of Michael—the man Alex had always considered a brother.

The proof was irrefutable, and the betrayal, though old, was laid bare in stark detail.

Michael's voice filled the room, shaky and burdened with guilt—a voice he could never forget, no matter how many years go by. "I lied to Alex. I did something terrible. He trusted me, and I broke that trust."

Alex leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together. His knuckles were white from the pressure.

His dark blue eyes, now rimmed with red, were fixed on the screen. Tears welled up and slowly rolled down his cheeks, but he made no move to wipe them away.

To Alex, Michael wasn't just a friend; he was family. Michael had been there during the hard times, through the grueling days on set and the sleepless nights spent dreaming up stories.

He was the one who had taught Alex how to write a script and how to craft a narrative so captivating that it could transport audiences to another world.

Michael, in a way, had been his mentor, his closest confidant, and his brother in every sense but blood. The man had a good heart but lacked that creative spark to create something original.

Though in his honest opinion, his friend was one of the best screenplay adapters to ever grace Hollywood's doors, and the ironic thing was that very few even know of this talent.

He did, though; he still had the volumes of screenplay adaptations he had written for his dream movies, a dream that had now become his.

After Michael's passing, he had decided to carry on that dream of his like torchbearer; he didn't care if he offended the Big Six or some hotshot studio head or exec.

He was willing to do whatever it takes to fulfill his best friend's dream.

The betrayal revealed by Margaret actually meant very little to Alex now. It was nothing but a distant shadow compared to all the other battles he had fought in his life.

He thought of the days when he had scraped by, growing up with a father who seemed to relish breaking his spirit and demeaning him in every chance he got, reminding him that he was the reason his mother died.

He remembered working himself to exhaustion, all for a dream that at times had felt impossible.

All to feed that bottomless, gaping pit of insecurity that had been formed by the bastard that had sired him.

It had been an excruciatingly slow-going process trying to fill that hole with accomplishments, love, friendship.. even therapy.

He had tried every trick in the book and even those that he found through his lived experiences, and still he felt like a piece of him was still missing.

A piece that had been chipped off by that bastard and stolen away. He was a broken man trying to mend his soul, trying to find something that will finally fill that missing piece and make him whole.

And through all hardships, Michael had been a beacon of hope and support, showing him that there was beauty in storytelling even when the world seemed dark.

As the broadcast ended, the room fell silent again. Alex remained still, his gaze lingering on the black screen. His chest rose and fell with deep, shuddering breaths, the tears coming more freely now.

His throat tightened, and he whispered, his voice raw with emotion, "Michael, you fool... You'll always be my brother."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Despite everything, Alex couldn't bring himself to hate Michael. The betrayal was insignificant compared to the bond they had shared.

The memories of laughter, of long nights spent discussing plots and characters, outweighed the pain of what had been done.

Wiping his face with trembling hands, Alex stood and walked to the window. The city lights stretched out before him, a glittering reminder of the industry that had both made and tested him.

He pressed a hand against the cool glass, his reflection faintly visible against the backdrop of Los Angeles.

"I'll make sure your dream lives on," Alex said softly, his voice steady despite the tears still glistening in his eyes. There was a quiet determination in his tone, a promise made not out of obligation but love.

For Michael, Alex would carry the weight of the truth. He would honor his brother's dream, ensuring that it found life even if Michael himself could no longer see it through.

Alex stood there for a while longer, letting the emotions wash over him. Then, with a deep breath, he straightened his posture. The world had seen the truth now, and his name was clear. But more importantly, he had a legacy to uphold—a dream to fulfill.

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The morning after The Chicago Daily's broadcast, Hollywood was buzzing with a new conversation.

Gone were the whispers of betrayal and deceit aimed at Alex Masters. Instead, people spoke of the courage of Elizabeth Carson and the integrity of Margaret Ross in airing the truth.

Another topic was directed towards Alex, Margaret, explaining the reason behind Alex's silence on the scandalous matter had earned him respect from the public.

The Tribune's smear campaign lay in ruins, exposed for what it was: a desperate attempt to tarnish the reputation of one of Hollywood's most versatile behind-the-scenes artists.

Even those who had entertained the rumors just days before now found themselves reevaluating their opinions of Alex, suddenly aware of the forces working against him.

Back on the set of The Lord of the Rings, the shift in perspective was tangible. After weeks of uncertainty, the crew and cast were finally returning to normal. The air was once again filled with the purposeful hum of diligent preparation and rehearsals.

Smiles were easier to find, and some cast and crew members were no longer casting anxious glances toward Alex, who moved through the set as confidently as he had before the rumors had taken hold.

Sam Patel walked across the set with a new sense of purpose, pleased to see his colleagues back on task.

He stopped by a group of extras, who were chatting animatedly about the broadcast and the revelations from Elizabeth Carson.

They fell silent as Sam approached, their expressions sheepish as though caught doing something they weren't supposed to. But Sam merely smiled and nodded.

"Crazy, isn't it?" He said, giving them a friendly pat on the shoulder.

"It must have taken a lot for Elizabeth to come forward like that, especially considering what the evidence revealed to the world about her brother. Alex must mean a lot to her."

One of the extras, a young woman, nodded vigorously. "It just goes to show; you never know the full story. We shouldn't have jumped to conclusions."

"True," Sam agreed, "but I think the boss knows we're all human. And I think he'd rather we move on now."

"Focus on the film—get things right. After all, that's what we are all here for, aren't we?" The extras nodded to his words, and he bade farewell.

As Sam walked on, he noticed Nicole Kidman, who was seated at a makeup station, watching him. She gave him a brief nod, a happy smile that conveyed her own relief.

The previous night's broadcast had been a balm for the cast, and she, in particular, felt a sense of pride for standing by Alex through it all.

Nicole found herself thinking about how much Alex had endured over the years.

Hollywood was no stranger to scandal, but it took a rare resilience to emerge from one's trials with dignity intact.

As she watched Alex directing the set, calm and unfazed, she felt a surge of admiration for him.

He had weathered the storm, and not once had he let the situation dampen his commitment to his vision.

After the day's work, the cast and crew lingered around the set, their conversations marked by laughter and renewed camaraderie.

It was a relief to them all, seeing Alex unbothered by the previous week's events, and in a way, it made him seem even more formidable. They were grateful, as he didn't call them out for their doubts and veiled words behind his back.

Their respect for him had only grown, and not just as a filmmaker, but as a man who had risen above the pettiness of the industry's underbelly.

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~A few days later~

Linda Carver walked briskly down the polished corridors of The Hollywood Tribune's executive floor, her designer heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.

The sound, usually a symbol of her confidence, now echoed ominously in the near silence that followed her like a stormy rain cloud.

Around her, employees lingered at their desks or leaned against doorways, their conversations halting as she passed.

Whispers filled the air, and though no one dared to speak directly to her, Linda felt their eyes looking at her with pity and contempt; it was like someone was plunging daggers into her pride.

She caught snippets of hushed voices in the background—

"She's done for."

"Did you hear the boss when called her in, 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.

— 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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