In a recent statement, Gates was said to be delighted to open his island up to those sharing and upholding non-negotiable global values. He went on to say that this island is “definitely not the same as any other Billionaire islands that have been prominent in recent years.” 

Diddy has since flown back to the US.

Gates invited me, a reporter with 30 years of experience, to the island to see the progress of his new world. I was surprised to be given such access, and when I asked Gates why he invited me he recalled the patience and kindness I had always afforded him in our previous interviews. I declined to reveal that I had never interviewed Gates before my arrival to Grand Bogue Caye.

In my first few days on the island I spoke to many people: Whoopi Goldberg told me about the mindfulness sessions she was running, Tommy Lee cooked me his famous fettuccine al buffalo (fettuccine alfredo with buffalo chicken), and Sean Penn showed me his collection of tsantsas, the shrunken severed human heads that are used by the Jivaro tribes in the Amazon.

But for all the self-care regimes and severed human heads that I was shown by these celebrities, two people stood out to me as incredibly interesting: Hunter Biden and Chet Hanks. 

Biden of course needs very little introduction –  born in 1970, an American attorney and businessman by trade. The second son of U.S. President Joe Biden, passionate about firearms, and scared of technology – most notably laptops. 

Hanks on the other hand is somewhat more obscure. Born Chester Marlon Hanks in 1990, he is an actor and musician, but mostly known as the son of Oscar-winning-actor Tom Hanks. Chet has drawn media attention for his outspoken personality, controversial statements and his absolutely bulletproof Jamaican Patois accent.

Despite Biden being 20 years older than Hanks, the pair seemed inseparable on the island, rarely straying more than a few feet from one another. Even during my private interview with Biden, I spotted Hanks hiding behind a curtain, his feet plainly visible beneath it. He disrupted the interview by throwing peanuts at Biden and I. When I asked him to stop, explaining I was severely allergic to peanuts, they both laughed and continued their antics before dashing out of the room and bombing into a nearby swimming pool.

Tom Hanks relocated his entire family to Grand Bogue Caye after Trump’s election, citing irreconcilable differences with the American public. Meanwhile, Biden was sent there by his father to escape scrutiny and potential persecution during Trump’s tenure. The pair quickly became infamous on the island—and not in a good way—prompting my coverage of the Grand Bogue Caye experiment to shift towards documenting the antics of this troublesome duo.

One week into my stay on the island, after spending a few days in private quarters assigned to me by Gates, I returned to the main site to find it eerily deserted. The luxuries we had enjoyed seemed to have vanished overnight. The once-overflowing buffet tables were now bare, the snorkeling equipment was locked away, and the pristine lawns—previously bustling with yoga sessions and sun loungers—lay empty and abandoned.

Just as I was preparing to head back to my own quarters I bumped into Mark Ruffalo, who was barely recognisable covered in various PPE equipment. 

“What’s going on?” I shouted to Ruffalo, who was keeping a wary distance.

“Some kind of virus outbreak,” he called back. “Apparently, it’s worse than COVID. Bill [Gates] has even called his pal Fauci to fly in and figure it out.”

“Worse than COVID?” I repeated, uneasily.

“Yeah, it’s a real clusterfuck,” Ruffalo yelled, adjusting his mask until it was nearly covering his entire face. “Kelce has lost about 100 pounds—Pelosi could run through him at this point. And Kim [Kardashian]? She’s practically blind. We don’t know what the hell is going on.”

Ruffalo quickly rushed off, leaving me with a growing sense of unease that this island retreat might be more of a trap. Having reported through the pandemic, often in challenging environments and circumstances, I had seen my fair share of panic, but Ruffalo’s shifty urgency was unlike anything I had witnessed, even at the height of COVID.

Just as I was returning to my car, I could hear one distant thumping of noise coming from down in the bay which stood out amongst the eerie silence that fell upon the rest of the island. Despite Ruffalo’s warnings to isolate myself, curiosity got the better of me and I headed towards a boathouse where the noise was coming from. 

When I reached the boathouse I noticed the door was cracked open and peaked in to see two men with their backs to me playing what appeared to be Minecraft. Based on the mounds of snack wrappers and beer cans, it didn’t take long for me to decipher it was Biden and Hanks cooped up in the boat house. 

At first, I assumed they’d missed the entire virus outbreak. Like me, they must have been isolated from the main group. I called out to them, keeping a cautious distance as I approached.

“Do you know a virus has broken out on the island?” I asked as I stepped into the room.

“Mayyyybbbeeeeeeeee,” Biden replied, drawing out the word with exaggerated nonchalance before breaking into a snigger alongside Hanks. 

Based on their smirks and sniggers, I didn’t have to be a detective to realize that the outbreak of the new virus probably had something to do with the pair who were renowned for their pranks on the island. Tom Hanks, Chet’s father had even banished the pair from hanging out together after lengthy discussions with Hunter’s parents Joe and Jill Biden who are unable to be on the island until they officially leave the Whitehouse. 

“What did you do?” I asked, though I already anticipated their predictable response.

“Nothing…” they replied in unison, accompanied by more smirks and scoffs.

I pressed further, informing them that people in the main group were genuinely sick and terrified—Kim Kardashian had even gone blind. Hanks, however, seemed unfazed, leaning back with a grin.

“Are you serious?” I shot back, struggling to contain my fury. Their disregard in the face of real suffering was both baffling and infuriating.

"Easy yuhself," Hanks said casually. "We jus drop sumn in di drinking wata last week fi mek everybody feel likkle sick, so we coulda get some time fi chill an nuh do all di chores dem always giv us."

“You poisoned everyone to get out of doing chores?” I yelled, unable to contain my outrage.

“Easy now,” Biden interrupted, trying to defuse the situation. “We just felt like they were asking too much of us when we were supposed to be relaxing on the island. The others were getting on our backs too much, okay? We just needed some space.”

“So you could play Minecraft!?” I replied, head in hands. “All you guys have to do is put out the recycling!” I added, recalling the cleaning rotas I had seen.

"Yeah, but it nasty," Hanks muttered. "An di oddah day, some old juice spill pan mi fresh kicks."

Knowing there was no reasoning with the pair, I sighed and asked, "What did you put in the water?"

"Jus' wi own potion," Hanks answered nonchalantly. "Likkle bit a dis, likkle bit a dat. Spice level high. Lucky fi wi, we only drink Bud Light an Monster, so we safe."

“I need to know,” I replied firmly, my patience wearing thin.

“We just turned up the fluoride content,” Biden explained, almost casually. “Something to give a bit of nausea, stomach pain. Touch of rat poison as a chaser, nothing dramatic.”

“Rat poison!? You crazy??”

“A likkle touch, no freak out,” Hanks said, which, as much as I’m ashamed to admit, pushed me over the edge. I lunged at him, fists raised. After a brief scuffle, Biden stepped in, forcibly pulling us apart.

“Yuh need fi check yuhself,” Hanks said, his tone unexpectedly serious. “Mi tink yuh have serious mental issue tryin to assault mi like dat. Yuh need psychological help ‘cause yuh nuh right.”

I stood there, seething with anger, barely able to process what had just happened.

“You’re not going to tell, are you?” Biden continued earnestly, almost pleading. “It wasn’t really my idea anyway. It was Chet’s rat poison. I don’t know why he even carries that stuff around with him.”

“Bombaclart,” Chet fired back, kissing his teeth in annoyance.

I quickly realized I wasn’t going to get much out of these two reprobates, so I rushed back to the main compound. On the way, I bumped into Dr. Fauci, who had just arrived on the island. Together, we worked to restore the water supply and nurse everyone back to health—except for Kim Kardashian, who actually went blind due to the use of her sister Kylie’s new eyeliner range, Forever Black—a cruel irony.

Oh, and Ellen DeGeneres passed away, yet people seemed indifferent, more focused on telling Kardashian that she was “still bussin’.” But I digress.

Just as things finally settled down, a military helicopter came and landed on the lawn carrying no other than former President Joe Biden who exited the chopper and headed straight for his son who waited anxiously. 

“I hear you boys have been up to no good,” Biden said, turning to Chet and Hunter, who squirmed anxiously, eyes glued to the floor. “Been hearing a lot about ‘boys being boys’ from Mr. Hanks here,” he added with a glint in his eye that seemed to dispel the tension in the room.

“Boys being boys?” Hanks exploded. “They killed someone with their idiotic actions. I don’t know what we’re going to do with them!”

“How about some of that apple pie?” Joe Biden interjected calmly.

“Excuse me!?” Hanks fired back, visibly taken aback.

“Boys, why don’t you grab some plates and forks for everyone,” Biden continued, ignoring the tension. “We’ll all have some of that apple pie—smells so good.”

“What pie? There is no pie—”

“Listen, Tom,” Biden said, his tone shifting. “I know I'm not supposed to like muscle cars, but I like muscle cars. You understand where I’m coming from?”

Tom Hanks stood there in disbelief. “Somebody died, Mr. President.”

“I will always love my son, and I’ll love your son too if he needs it,” Biden replied without skipping a beat.

"Respek di president, mi love yuh too, old man," Chet chimed in.

“Mek sure yuh hold it dung, yout,” said Biden. “Now where is that pie?”

The conversation continued in this strange back-and-forth, with Hanks storming off to his room in frustration. No pie was ever found.

After everyone had finally recovered, Gates thanked Dr. Fauci for his work and told him he was no longer needed on the island and could return home.

“This is home,” Fauci replied, revealing that his brief but busy time on the island had coincided with a whirlwind romance and engagement to island resident Stormy Daniels.

Fauci’s family had planned to join him on the island for a vacation, but their visas were subsequently denied. His wife, Christine Grady, was left to comment, “Anthony has spent his life chasing after viruses—guess he’s just found another one.”

"Jah know, dat cold from di docta baby mada, she fire shot dem," said Chet as he read the statement.

My last day on the island saw the beautiful wedding reception of Faucci and Daniels, officiated by Samuel L. Jackson. I made my final observations of the group during the reception as John Legend serenaded the crowd. An ice sculpture of Ellen stood front and centre to ensure she was never forgotten, though it disappeared quickly in the tropical heat.

The island finally looked the way Gates had envisioned it, and I could feel the relief sweeping through the entire group. People were singing, dancing—experiencing that rare peace and unity that’s so fleeting in this world. Amid the joyful faces, however, one remained notably glum: Tom Hanks.

“Hell of a party, Mr. Hanks,” I said as I stood beside him on the edge of the dancefloor.

“Some-body-diiiiieeeeddd,” he replied in his signature Hanks vernacular.

“But don’t they look happy?” I responded, gesturing with my glass toward Chet and Hunter, who were juggling a balloon and cheekily upskirting Barbra Streisand.

“I suppose you’re right,” Hanks said with a wry smile. “Shall we dance?”

“Right behind you, sir.”