CHAPTER 188: CLOSED-DOOR MEETING SENATE

Senate of the Philippines – Committee Room 4

9:15 AM

The room was smaller than televised hearings made it seem. No press. No cameras. No audience gallery. Just a long mahogany table, a row of senators, a few staffers, and a pitcher of water sweating under the fluorescent lights.

Timothy stepped inside with Hana beside him. Carlos waited outside per protocol; this meeting was invite-only.

Senator Reyes, chair of the Committee on Public Services, sat at the center seat. Older, sharp eyes, deliberate movements. The kind of politician who survived decades by never being the loudest—but always the most dangerous.

"Mr. Guerrero," he said, motioning to the seat across from him. "Thank you for coming."

Timothy sat. Hana took the chair beside him, tablet ready.

Seven senators were present. All had seen the protests last night. All had issued statements carefully worded to avoid offending either side. Today, without cameras, their tone was different.

Senator Valdez spoke first.

"Let’s get straight to it. Your project has caused nationwide unrest in less than twenty-four hours."

Hana opened her mouth to respond but Timothy raised a hand slightly.

"You’re mistaken," he said calmly. "The leak caused unrest. Not the project."

Senator Valdez leaned back, unimpressed. "Regardless, the public sees you as the catalyst."

"Drivers see fear," Timothy said. "Fear someone engineered. Not us."

Senator Reyes folded his hands. "Then clarify for us. Is your electric bus program designed to replace jeepney drivers and bus drivers?"

"No," Timothy said. "The program requires drivers. We are offering training, certification, and guaranteed employment slots."

A senator beside Reyes—Senator Caldwell, known for populist theatrics—tapped his pen loudly.

"And yet," Caldwell said, "thousands of drivers marched on EDSA yesterday screaming that you’ll take food off their tables. Did they imagine that?"

"Someone told them that," Timothy replied.

Caldwell narrowed his eyes.

Reyes interjected quietly, "Do you have evidence of orchestrated agitation?"

Timothy held his gaze. "Not yet. But the pattern is obvious. Mass mobilization in under an hour. Coordinated messaging. Identical infographics across groups that don’t normally work together. Someone unified them."

The room was silent for several seconds.

Senator Valencia spoke next, younger, analytical. "Let’s discuss substance. You’re proposing EV buses integrated into city routes. Pilot fleets. Zero procurement cost initially. Drivers remain employed. Cities maintain control." She tapped her notes. "This sounds like modernization without displacement."

"It is," Timothy said.

"Then explain why transport groups insist you are privatizing public transport."

Timothy looked at each senator before answering.

"Because operators—the ones who collect daily boundary payments—lose power if cities adopt structured, accountable fleets. They lose control. They lose leverage. Drivers are not the ones at risk. Operators are."

Hana typed quietly beside him.

Senator Valdez frowned. "You’re accusing them of manipulating the sector."

"I’m stating the reality," Timothy replied. "Drivers work twelve to fourteen hours a day because the system bleeds them dry. Electric buses with fixed salaries threaten that system—not the drivers."

Caldwell smirked. "You’re very confident, Mr. Guerrero."

"I’m aware."

The chair adjusted his glasses. "Let’s move to the logistics side. Charging infrastructure. Road deployment. Maintenance costs. What guarantees do you offer the government if this pilot collapses?"

Timothy didn’t hesitate.

"If the pilot fails, TG Motors pulls out. No cost to the cities. No contractual penalties. No stranded assets."

A senator at the far end, who had remained silent until now, raised an eyebrow.

"So you take all the risk?"

"Yes," Timothy said.

"That’s unusual," the senator said.

"It’s necessary."

Reyes tapped the table lightly with a knuckle. "Your confidence is commendable. But the protests have created political pressure. Senators are being painted as anti-poor if we support you."

Timothy sat straighter. "You won’t take the hit. I will."

Caldwell snorted. "Do you think that helps us?"

"Yes," Timothy said plainly. "Because public anger doesn’t sustain itself. It needs a target. Right now, that target is TG Motors. That is fine. Anger exhausts itself when reality disproves fear."

Hana noticed the senator’s staffers pause typing. Tim’s phrasing always did that—simple, disarming, and irritatingly logical.

Senator Reyes leaned forward.

"What exactly is your timeline, Mr. Guerrero?"

"Driver training starts within two weeks. Charging stations installed in six. First EV bus deployed in sixty days."

"Two months?" Reyes said. "That is aggressive."

"Metro Manila’s problems are aggressive," Timothy said.

Valdez tapped her screen. "Let’s address a public concern: If the system scales, will you eventually automate the buses and remove drivers?"

Hana stiffened.

Timothy kept his tone steady.

"Autonomous buses are part of long-term possibilities. But not for the Philippines today. The infrastructure is not ready. The roads are unpredictable. The policy environment is incomplete. It is irresponsible to consider automation that removes human drivers in the near term."

"So you’re giving your word drivers stay?" Reyes asked.

"Yes."

Senator Caldwell interjected again. "You understand that if you break that promise—"

"I don’t break promises," Timothy said.

Caldwell studied him for a moment, then went quiet.

Reyes flipped to another page. "Explain the economic point. How does this benefit the government, not just your company?"

Timothy gestured to Hana, who slid a document forward.

"Electric buses reduce noise pollution, heat output, and fuel dependency," Timothy said. "Maintenance costs fall by fifty percent. Air quality improves. Productivity increases. When people spend less time in traffic, the economy gains billions a year."

Valdez nodded slowly. "Cleaner cities. Lower emissions. Predictable transport."

"Exactly," Timothy said. "This is not a luxury project. This is infrastructure reform."

Caldwell interjected again, leaning forward with a thin smile.

"And what about jeepney modernization? Are you positioning yourself to dominate the entire market?"

"No," Timothy said. "Jeepney modernization is a separate initiative. Our buses run on major corridors—high-volume, fixed routes. Jeepneys operate in feeder routes. Both systems can coexist."

Reyes looked at him carefully. "Then why pursue this at all? You’re already wealthy. You don’t need this headache."

Timothy didn’t look away.

"Because Metro Manila is dying," he said simply. "And no one with power is fixing it fast enough."

Silence dropped over the room like a curtain.

For the first time, the senators were not evaluating him as a businessman—

but as someone who genuinely intended to break the status quo.

Reyes exhaled slowly.

"Mr. Guerrero," he said, "off the record—are you aware that some groups are preparing to escalate the protests?"

Timothy nodded. "Yes."

"Are you aware that some operators plan to file cases against your company?"

"Yes."

"Are you aware that endorsing your project may cost us votes?"

"Yes."

"And you expect us to support you?"

Timothy answered without hesitation.

"I expect you to support the country," he said. "Not me."

Another silence.

A different one.

Hana watched the senators shift—some uncomfortable, some thoughtful, one or two almost impressed.

Reyes finally spoke.

"This committee will not oppose your pilot," he said quietly. "But we expect transparency, weekly reports, and coordination with city governments."

"You’ll have it," Timothy said.

"And if the situation escalates," Reyes added, "we will call you back."

Timothy nodded. "I’ll be here."

The chair dismissed the meeting.

One by one, the senators stood.

Some offered curt nods.

Others avoided eye contact.

But none opposed him directly.

Not anymore.

Outside the room, Carlos looked up from his phone as Timothy stepped out.

"How did it go?"

Timothy took a breath.

"They didn’t endorse us," he said. "But they didn’t stop us."

Hana closed her tablet.

"That’s enough," she said.

Timothy looked down the hallway—quiet, echoing, the kind of place where decisions were made far from public view.

"It’s a start," he said.

And they walked out of the Senate together.