Chapter 3: Smoke Signals

Chapter 3

Smoke Signals

"Andra's POV"

The call from last night kept replaying in my head.

"Ms. Enriquez, I think I have something you'd like to know... about Montenegro."

It was the kind of voice that hid more than it revealed—raspy, careful, as if every word was being measured before it escaped. I tried tracing the number, pero unlisted. Burner phone, probably.

I knew I should tell Celeste, my editor. Pero may instinct sa loob ko na nagsasabing hindi ko dapat ipagkalat. Not yet. If this lead was real, it could break everything wide open. If it was a trap, then I needed to face it head-on—on my own terms.

The next morning, I found myself nursing a bitter coffee in a cramped café along Kalaw. Hindi ito sosyal na lugar; faded posters lined the walls, may amoy ng luma at lumang kape. But it was perfect for anonymity.

The man arrived twenty minutes late. Halos napansin ko agad siya—gray hair, nervous eyes, rumpled polo na parang hindi na-inironing for weeks. He looked like he hadn't slept properly in months.

"Ms. Enriquez?" he asked, barely above a whisper.

"Yes," I said, pressing record discreetly on my phone. "You said you had something for me."

He slid a small brown envelope across the table. Hindi siya nagtagal ng tingin sa akin; para bang kahit pag-eye contact, delikado.

I opened it slowly. Inside were photocopied contracts, receipts, and what looked like email printouts. Mga subcontracting deals under Montenegro Group—pero nakapangalan sa shell companies. Ang masakit? Halos lahat ng dokumento ay may notes tungkol sa "facilitation fees," amounts na obvious na hindi para sa project, kundi para sa bulsa ng mga opisyal.

"This..." I whispered, scanning. "This proves bribery. Kickbacks. Pero bakit mo 'to binibigay sa akin?"

The man swallowed hard. His hands were shaking. "Because I was part of it. Years ago. They cut me off when I refused to push another deal. Since then... I've been looking over my shoulder. Hindi ako safe, Ms. Enriquez. Pero kung kaya kong magparami ng boses laban sa kanila, kahit paano... baka mas ligtas ako."

There was fear in his eyes—deep, bone-deep fear.

"Do you have more?" I asked.

He nodded, barely. "But not here. If I give you everything, I'll be dead by morning. Just... remember this is not everything points to Theodore Zayne directly. Sometimes the dirtiest hands don't leave prints."

Before I could ask more, he stood up abruptly, chair scraping the floor. "I can't stay. They watch everything. Ingat ka, Ms. Enriquez."

And just like that, he was gone.

On my way out of the café, I felt it—that prickling at the back of my neck. Yung pakiramdam na may nakatingin. A black SUV was parked across the street, tinted windows, engine idling.

Coincidence? Or surveillance?

I clutched the envelope tighter and walked faster, blending with the crowd. Every step echoed with a warning, You're in too deep.

By the time I got back to the newsroom, Celeste was pacing by her desk.

"Andra, where the hell have you been? I've been trying to reach you!"

"Sorry, fieldwork," I said quickly. "Why? What happened?"

She waved her phone, frustration clear on her face. "Another call from upstairs. Andra, they're telling me to kill your story. Direct order. And now Montenegro's PR office is asking for a meeting with you."

My stomach twisted. "A meeting? With who?"

Celeste's lips pressed into a thin line. "Zayne Montenegro himself."

The Montenegro headquarters in BGC towered like a modern-day fortress. Glass and steel, all sharp edges and clean lines. Pagpasok pa lang sa lobby, ramdam ko na agad ang aura ng kapangyarihan. Security was tight, receptionists poised like models, and every employee moved with robotic precision.

They escorted me to the top floor. My heels clicked against the marble, the sound bouncing in my chest like a warning bell.

And then—there he was.

Theodore Zayne Montenegro, standing by the floor-to-ceiling window of his office, city skyline blazing behind him. He turned slowly, eyes locking onto mine.

"Ms. Enriquez," he said smoothly. "I was beginning to think you'd decline."

"I don't decline interviews," I replied, keeping my voice steady. "Only ambushes."

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Fair enough. Please, sit."

I didn't. "Why call me here? To scare me off?"

He chuckled low, dark. "If I wanted to scare you, Ms. Enriquez, you wouldn't be standing here. No, I wanted to... understand you. Most journalists know their boundaries. You—" he stepped closer, his presence filling the room "—don't seem to have any."

My heart hammered, but I forced my chin up. "Boundaries protect the powerful. The truth doesn't need them."

Something flickered in his eyes—admiration? Irritation? Both?

"You think you're chasing truth," he said, voice dipping lower. "But truth is never free. It has a cost. Are you ready to pay it?"

"I already am."

He studied me, gaze lingering in ways that made heat crawl under my skin. There was an unspoken challenge in the air, a dangerous magnetism I refused to acknowledge.

"You're bold," he murmured finally. "That can be admirable... or fatal."

When I left Montenegro HQ, my pulse still hadn't calmed. He hadn't threatened me outright, pero bawat salita niya was laced with warning. And yet, bakit parang... may parte ng utak ko na curious pa lalo?

I shook it off as paranoia. This wasn't about attraction. This was about war.

But when I reached my apartment that night, my blood ran cold.

The door was slightly ajar.

I froze, keys in hand. Slowly, I pushed it open. Everything looked normal—books stacked, notes scattered, coffee mug still on the table. Pero when I checked my desk, I knew.

My recorder had been moved. My notebooks shifted. Someone had been inside.

A silent warning.

Instead of fear, anger surged. They wanted me to stop? Fine. I'd dig deeper.

Hours later, as I was cross-referencing the documents from the source, my phone buzzed. Unknown number again.

A single text.

"You're in too deep. Meet me tomorrow night if you want the whole truth. Don't tell anyone. Come alone."

My breath caught. Was it the same man from the café? Or someone else entirely?

One thing was certain.

Every lead I followed was smoke. But where there's smoke... there's fire. And I was ready to burn.