Chapter 141 - The Devils Bargain (1/2)

As she makes a turn into a small corridor, Claire hides behind a column, checking if the reporter has truly left the building. To her relief, there's no sight of him; he must have finally left.

She takes out her phone and redials Catherine Buenavista's number. ”Please answer, goddammit,” she mutters, as she watches the phone screen vibrate with Catherine's office number. And yet, it only rings and rings. Where are people when you need them the most, Claire wonders, feeling dejected. She takes a peek again, and seeing that the reporter seems nowhere in sight, she walks back to where she'd come from, taking a roundabout way, toward the area of the ICU. She needs to speak with Gabriel. Apart from ensuring Miguel's welfare, they need to have a solid plan about how they'd go about this in the coming days.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Gomez has just arrived in the TXCI offices. She tosses her bag on the empty reception desk, where she usually sits. She gazes at the clock; it's half an hour past eight. It's business as usual, she discovers as she enters the main office floor. People are in their respective cubicles, some are by the water cooler in the other end of the hallway. There's the usual traffic of interns going to and from their various concerns—fetching coffee, having documents photocopied, attending meetings. Mrs. Gomez walks on the hallway quietly, surveying the people. A young intern, some boy who looks like he's bȧrėly out of his teens, passes by bearing metal trays, presumably used for coffee and snacks for some of the executives.

”Wait,” Mrs. Gomez says to the intern. She takes the metal trays from his hand. She begins clanging the metal trays together quite loudly, which instantly produces the dėsɨrėd effect—the attention of the entire floor turns to her.

”Hello, folks! Listen,” she says, addressing the crowd. ”At this moment, right as you try to spend a normal day working the phone, inputting figures in your excel sheets, sending heartbreaking electronic missives to whoever it is you're trying to con for the sake of the company, you must know that Miguel Tan, your boss's brother, is in the hospital. He's in a critical condition. Due to an unfortunate and utterly regrettable accident, he's seriously injured. And he needs to undergo an urgent blood transfusion as soon as possible. So if any—”

”Doesn't the hospital have stored blood?” A lady sitting in a nearby cubicle says. ”What about the city's blood banks?”

”Listen, genius,” Mrs. Gomez snaps. ”I won't be standing here wasting my goddamn time if we haven't explored all possible avenues first. Me standing here means we're desperate. Forget about me, my dear colleagues. This is for Gabriel Tan. And if somehow working here has changed your life for the better, if you feel even just the tiniest amount of appreciation, gratitude even, maybe you'd be interested to give back just a tiny bit to the captain of industry you call your boss.” Mrs. Gomez pauses for effect, surveying the faces before her. At the other end of the hallway, Michelle Alcantara peeps out of her own office, curiosity in her face. ”What I'm asking you is Miguel Tan needs donations—not the money kind, but blood. Anyone who can go to the hospital today—no, right at this very moment, consider today a paid leave. You can go to the hospital, have yourself tested for compatibility, and afterwards you can take the rest of the day off.”

”We can do whatever we want afterwards?” Again, the same girl in the nearby cubicle.

”Did I stutter? Yes, of course, as I've said, today's a nice day to, how do we say this in this day and age, 'shoot your shit'?” Mrs. Gomez turns to the girl. ”But ONLY if you'd go to the hospital right now and attempt to donate blood—”

Mrs. Gomez hasn't even finished speaking, but the whole floor, every single one of them, empties out into the elevator lobby, apparently to proceed to the hospital. There is excited chatter, as though these are kids unleashed upon the first day of summer vacation. She hasn't even told them what blood type is needed—she doesn't know, either, anyway; she forgot to ask Gabriel earlier in all the panic and confusion.

”Oh, my God,” Michelle exclaims, appearing right beside her. ”Is it true?”

Mrs. Gomez restrains herself. ”If you're asking about Miguel Tan, yes, it is true, quite unfortunately.”

”But you don't…I mean, what's his blood type?”

Mrs. Gomez reddens in the face, realizing how stupid she is, and being so right before Michelle Alcantara. ”Sorry, but I forgot to ask.”

”Mrs. Gomez, you should have asked. For efficiency. Those people are coming in huge droves to the hospital. They'd think there's a pandemic going on.” Michelle sighs. ”But no matter. I also don't know what my blood type is. Never had a chance to know. Are you going back?”

”Going back to where?” Mrs. Gomez says, still distracted.

Michelle raises her arms in exasperation. ”Going back to the hospital, for Pete's sakes! Come on, let's go.”

”You're coming, too?” Mrs. Gomez smells trouble.