On Friday morning, the story about the flamingos finally broke in L.A. County. Miss Martha’s house was shown on television swarmed with reporters, wildlife control, police officers, and animal rights protestors. Trained handlers led the flamingoes to the Los Angeles Zoo. Press and protestors called Miss Martha terrible names like abuser, crazy flamingo lady, etc. The police tried to arrest her, but her friends at the Natural History Museum intervened, allowing her to go free. Louis and his mother didn’t talk or see me ever again; they left California after the story came out and hid from the public eye.

Meanwhile, I found myself hailed by Mackenzie Billings, who recognized me as her ace journalist. She raised my salary and gave me a new luxury condominium. The other employees, however, kept their distance as they remembered what happened to Louis. I didn’t care. Miss Billing’s praise seemed satisfying enough.

From then on, I solely focused on journalism and became the newspaper’s top employee. Love and romance were distractions that should never be tended to. The adulations by Miss Billings and others fulfilled me. I investigated other news, like the one about your family Tamara, and built a reputation for my hard-nosed journalism. Work ruled my life for several years until the Primera Opción investigation.

I interviewed a man named Carlos involved in corruption case and noticed something familiar about him. His build and facial characteristics reminded me of Louis. Their eye color matched too. I considered this to be a coincidence until afterwards. While leaving, I saw Carlos turn a corner into an alleyway. My journalistic instincts kicked in, and I hid behind a large garbage can. Thinking he was alone, Carlos argued on the phone.

“Look, Billings, you promised me you’d send a check after I flew to Madrid. What do you mean, it’s not ready yet? You can’t cheat me and don’t think I won’t stoop to your level to get that money. Galton is here. I’ll inform her about the assignment you gave me years ago. You remembered, right? I paid my ex-girlfriend to make out with me in front of Galton for you to get that flamingo information. So, do we have a deal? Okay, I’ll wait until Wednesday, no later. Gotcha, bye.”

With that, he walked down the street, leaving me at a loss for words. I ran back to the hotel suite for my own confrontation with Miss Billings.

Editor: Lucy Cafiero