Epilogue

Verity arrived at her grandparents’ house in Don’s multicab, with Charlotte in the cab beside her. They went inside and, after the briefest of introductions, Verity rushed upstairs where the phone signal was the strongest to make a call to her Editor: ‘Doug, we’ve did it. We’ve got him. It’s over.’ she breathed with joy and relief.

Verity had not known a happier moment.

She finished her article while waiting for her flight in the splendour of Cebu Mactan airport’s arched wooden roofed international terminal and sent a copy to both Doug and Gabriel.

She did not realise how big a hit it would be.

Her return to the newsroom at the Morning Edition was greeted with a spontaneous standing ovation. But Doug didn’t reinstate her – he gave her a substantial promotion. Both the Morning Edition and the Island Times had never had so many hits on their website. Copies flew off the shelf. So much that the Island Times was even able to open their own, dedicated office, rather than use a small one over a mall.

Her parents could not be more proud of her. They finally saw the good in what their daughter did. They boasted about her everywhere they went.

Interviews followed with other news organisations: TV, radio, vloggers. The story of how her and her little team had smashed Shiloh Stalker Valdez’s international trafficking ring was huge global news. All of them found themselves firmly in the media spotlight.

But the work in the shadows continued.

As she was still flying home, two detectives from Metropolitan Police knocked on the door of a well-to-do address in Mayfair.

The door was opened by a weary looking, upper middle-aged and podgy man.

‘Sir Henry Cavendish?’ one of the Detectives asked.

‘Yes?’ he replied in the typically pompous voice of an Oxbridge graduate with a strong taste for power.

‘We’re here to discuss our investigations into Shiloh Stalker Valdez.’ the other detective told him.

‘Can’t this wait until the briefing tomorrow?’ Sir Henry asked.

The first detective was firm and uncompromising. ‘No, Mister Home Secretary, sir, it cannot.’

‘You’d better come in, then.’ he told them grudgingly, before showing them to one or several drawing rooms in his huge, luxurious mansion.

They sat around a table on very comfortable chairs. One of the detectives explained why they were there. ‘Sir, as you are aware, there is currently a global operation to study the materials discovered on devices owned by Shiloh Stalker Valdez.’

‘Operation Magbasol. Yes, I am aware.’ Sir Henry told them, not really taking it too seriously.

The second detective coloured in between the lines. ‘There is material that connects you to Valdez through various visits to his illegal establishments, both here in London and overseas. We have also seen communications that would indicate he was blackmailing you over the existence of this material.’

‘But that’s... that’s preposterous!’ Sir Henry argued, thoroughly unconvincingly.

The first detective made their telling contribution. ‘Sir Henry, we have seen evidence that you prevented prosecution of this man several times before he was eventually caught. There is also evidence that you supported his hiring as an Embassy contractor and ensured criminal record checks for his entourage were passed, despite clear evidence that they had been involved in wrongdoing.’

‘So what does this mean?’ Sir Henry asked.

The second detective said their piece. ‘You are looking at a charge of Misconduct in Public Life, which carries a maximum sentence of life imprisonment. Unless, of course, you assist us with our inquiries and provide a statement against Valdez.’

Sir Henry exhaled deeply. ‘Okay. Thank you for letting me know. I’ll give it some thought.’ before he gently shooed them his house.

As soon as they were gone, he took an expensive bottle of Scotch whisky, drank a great slug of it with strong medication he'd taken for an old back injury, and there and then slipped out of life: a sad, lonely and unfulfilled man, whose guilt was overwhelming. He left behind three ex-wives and four children, whose lack of surprise at the allegations perhaps explained why their mourning of him was brief and half-hearted.

And he was not alone. Those who’d used Valdez’s immoral services were approached by the police and asked to provide evidence against Valdez. Most did so – reluctantly – but found it hard to avoid their failings being plastered all over the headline-hungry media during Valdez’s trial.

Others tried to refuse. They ‘lost control of the narrative’. Police forces across the world became very leaky places. The media was only too happy to lap up those leaks.

Divorce rates spiralled. Resignations and sackings multiplied.

And not a few additional lives were lost.

Even the Director of the CIA was escorted in handcuffs out of the Pentagon to stand trial for influence trafficking and participating in an organised criminal group, of which he was found guilty unanimously.

He too found himself facing life imprisonment in a high security prison, sporting an orange jumpsuit.

However, he only wore it for a matter of days. It was either a lax suicide check or petty revenge from someone he'd put inside.

Either way, he was buried by a thoroughly ashamed family in an unmarked grave, without honours.

The destroyer of their world, Shiloh Stalker Valdez, would never be released. He spent his days in Cebu Municipal Jail, teaching young prisoners choreography for dance moves on YouTube that delighted and amused the world.

He passed away in his fifties behind bars, to few people’s regret. And every remaining day of his life he lived in fear of being killed by Alexei Orlov, who didn’t dance.

Verity Amihan Defensor lived in peace and happiness. She even found love – and it was with a man. Her change in dress style and new-found confidence brought her to the attention of a very handsome Scottish man from her parents’ church. Someone they deeply approved of.

The rumours about her sexuality still stirred. Even when she had a boyfriend and a fiancé and a husband.

But not when she had a baby girl.

Until she called her Charlotte.

Verity and her family were constantly visitors to the Philippines. Her Lola and Lolo were never more delighted than the day Verity placed little Charlotte in their arms for the first time.

The British government were furious at the embarrassment caused to them, and numerous other governments across the globe, by someone who had been their citizen. They demanded that someone should pay for this monstrous evil. But since Shiloh’s citizenship had been taken from him, the only one of their own of whom they could make a scapegoat was Charlotte Chapman.

And so, although they did not agree with it at all, Rohelio and Roberta were obliged to arrest Charlotte for extradition to her home nation to stand trial, where her guilt would be incontrovertible, her case would hit the headlines and she would receive a long sentence.

Roberta herself escorted her on the flight from Cebu to Singapore to Manchester, and justice.

And so they stood, for Charlotte’s last moments of freedom, gazing out on the splendour of the Jewel Rain Vortex, as dancing lights played with the water and made it a stunning, almost otherworldly, sight.

‘Thank you.’ Charlotte told Roberta. ‘You didn’t have to do this.’

‘You need to listen carefully and don’t react to this, because there is CCTV everywhere here. Just keep looking at the waterfall.’ Roberta said to her.

Charlotte nodded, a little taken aback.

Roberta continued. ‘You need the toilet now, so we will go there. I will slip an envelope under your cubicle door. In that envelope, you will find your passport, some pesos and a ticket to Cebu with Cebu Pacific Airlines. The flight leaves in one hour from Terminal Four. You will then come out the washroom and you will escape.’

‘But where will I go when I get there?’ Charlotte asked her.

‘There is a ticket for the ferry to somewhere they will not look for you and will never find you.’ Roberta said.

‘You know, it’s pretty hard not to cry right now.’ Charlotte breathed.

‘Don’t. They’ll know. What they are doing to you is wrong. You don’t deserve this. You have a second chance at life, Charlotte Chapman. Use it for good.’

Sure enough, ten minutes later, Singaporean CCTV cameras picked up a blonde white woman in jeans and a t-shirt running out of a Jewel washroom into the transport interchange at Changi Airport Terminal One and jumping into a bus to Terminal Four, chased half-heartedly by a tired and unassisted Filipina policewoman. It followed her with its unblinking eye as she cleared immigration and security in a flash, boarded a plane and then fled back to Cebu.

Filipino immigration allowed her entry on the basis of a permanent residency that Rohelio had arranged with some of his contacts. She got the MyBus to SM City, a taxi to the port and then boarded a fast craft.

An hour and a half later, when she got off the ferry, Ma’am Gloria Amparo met her with warm and open arms.

Norma Jones was demoted and sent off to Jamaica. She enjoyed her role there. But part of her still yearned to be back in Cebu, to where she could never and would never return.

Maja Estrella Hernandez testified against Shiloh in court. Her testimony was instrumental in bringing him down.

Don had a few words with contacts within his NGO. Maja retrained with them, took up law and soon became one of the most determined anti-trafficking prosecutors the Philippines has ever seen.

Donald McLeish attended all the funerals he could. Two traffickers. Four security guards. Eight trafficking victims. He felt it was the right thing to do, all things considered.

But he went on that date with Heart Osorio, although he didn’t call it that. And then another. And then another. It was whispered often behind twitching curtains and discussed quietly behind their backs, but it was clear that Don and Heart were together.

Don never confirmed it out loud. But he did stop refuting the rumours.

Gloria Amparo’s shelter received more funding that at any time in its history. She was able to build it up, fit air conditioning, hire Manny full time and give him and his daughter the housing and the future they deserved.

Which was just as well.

Her and her ‘very good friend’ Rohelio were at the pier in Camotes with Charlotte when the ferry arrived from Cebu. They scanned the arriving passengers until they saw her: a strikingly blonde, tall, slender Ukrainian woman, wilting in the heat, bewildered by her arrival in a new and strange place.

They welcomed her with warm, open arms.

She didn’t know it yet, but Lyudmila Orlov had come home.

Gloria Amparo would rescue one more soul from the deep.

And she too would find salvation.