2 Who Inherits?

September 9, 2018

9:25 am

Felicia del Mundo

It is the first day of Christine's wake. It's surprising that it took less than a day to doll up a corpse as if she were alive. Even up to death, she still carries her vanity. Of course, I cannot expect less of a Romulo. They would always display their wealth as if it is the only thing that mattered in the world. The thing, however, that matters to me right now is what color scheme I should go for in this funeral.

It is our culture that white is the color of mourning. In the western world, however, that would have to be black. In a clique that judges you for the slightest faux pas, I cannot afford to make a mistake by choosing the wrong color scheme. I took out a black dress and don a white trench coat over it. I put on my black stilettos to match the dress. This should be enough. That will never get better than that.

She was always jealous of my natural locks and curls. She always curled her hair for the sake of her vanity. Vanity. That's what it always is. She had so many insecurities. She never understood that no man dared to court her due to her off-putting perfection in all aspects.

I look at myself in the mirror. All I can see are the imperfections that I cannot stand. I see fats all over the place. My nose is too flat. My eyes are too round. My arms are too flabby. I don't even know anymore. As I remember her looks, all I can see is her perfection. That included her perfect body.

All of a sudden, I feel a heavy stone pressing on my neck. I looked to see on the mirror that it was a black pendant with a silver chain of necklace. I see him hooking the clasps of the necklace on my neck. Once it was hooked, I feel the weight of the pendant from the back of my neck. I want to smile, but I feel like I don't deserve this. Still, I can't believe that he would give me this luxury and then giving me a kiss on the cheek.

"Worry not," he says gently as he takes my palms into his own. "You are beautiful just the way you are. You should not worry too much on your physical appearance."

I touched the pendant while looking at the mirror. It is a beautiful thing. Who can say what stone is this? It might have been from a black glass. It might also be a black diamond. Thinking about the gemstone, however, is not the thought running my mind. All I can think about is that girl again. Even though Carlos and I are promised to each other, I cannot erase the memory that he and Christine had a history together. All I get left with is her "worthless garbage."

"We are going to her wake," I say flatly while buttoning up his suit. "Are you sure you want to go?"

I look at him in the eye. His eyes speak no words at all. It's as if he hardly cares. "Yeah, sure," he says casually. "Most of the elite will be there. My parents are expecting me to attend that funeral. Why do you ask?"

Sometimes, I cannot understand his insensitivity to the matter. It's as if he had forgotten about their relationship altogether.

"Nothing, really," I say as I turned to his closet to grab a tie. He hardly cares what he puts on. I don't want him to look like some clerical worker down the city offices. I want him to like the heir he is.

"Is this about Christine?" he says without even looking at my direction. "We were never meant to be together, Felicia. My parents forced me to court her due to the vast fortunes she is due to inherit. Why do you feel the need to envy her for what she had?"

His words simply go over my head. I put the tie around his neck and began working my knots around it. "I am not jealous. I just feel that you still love her."

Suddenly, he touches my cheek as if to console my anger. "Felicia, who am in bed with every night? Who did I give the ring to? Isn't it you? Don't be jealous about Christine. The woman is dead. Why envy a dead person?"

I know he wouldn't understand my trepidations. No one can understand what I feel against the girl. All I could do is just finish the last knot of his tie.

"All I need to know is that you are here. I need not worry more."

And with that, I pulled the tie tightly around his neck.

We arrived at Christine's wake. It is as if I had gone back in time into our golden years, when things were fine. The church is as magnificent as it was years ago. The doors are opened wide for the people to visit her wake. From the outside, I can already see men in business attires talking amongst themselves. Some are even presenting graphs to each other. Some are even using their laptops to do work. Right. This is more like a corporate party than a wake. A funeral with hundreds of elites coming by is a perfect way to pitch a proposal.

As we went inside the church, I can already see the color stained glass windows being illuminated by the sun. The sun pierces through the windows and creates vibrant lighting all over the church. At the very donation box of the church, there you can see the name – Word Miracle Church. Statues of saints fill the place. At the center of it all, a massive crucifix with Jesus Christ is erected. You can truly tell that it is a Catholic Church – a church that flaunts their wealth so freely and openly.

The inside of the church is dead silent. The Romulos are in front crying their hearts out. Pure hypocrisy. Christine disowned her family years ago. I doubt Christine ever mattered to that family. I see more and more of her friends gathered at their seats. This must be members of the church congregation. She was this church's pianist. There can be no doubt that people will love her. They love her so much that they even put a piano near her coffin.

As Carlos and I sat at the back, I feel myself silently drifting away to prayer. I am not a religious person, but I can already feel myself being influenced by this damned girl's spirit. Suddenly, as if by chance, the wind turned cold. I turned to my side and I see Guevarra standing at my left. I looked straight ahead, pretending not to be engaged with him.

"What do you want?" I whispered. Though Guevarra and I have our share of differences, I cannot lash it out right now. It is not the right time and place.

"We need to fix the passing of the inheritance," he whispered back.

Carlos looked at me in the eye, wondering my correspondence with Guevarra. Guevarra just looks at Carlos and gives a silent nod. The world of the elite is a small place. Everybody knows everybody.

Guevarra taps me on the shoulder. "Let's have a talk outside."

I marveled once more at the beauty of this church. The landscapes are so intricately sculpted with each hedge portraying a station of the cross. Fountains are made of marble. Pathways are made of pure clay and limestone. Soon enough, even though I want to keep this silence, Guevarra breaks it without hesitation.

"We need to act now," he says. "Many are already coercing me to give the deeds to them."

"Oh?" I say, not caring. "Christine's only possible heir is her family. That's it. She is neither married nor with child. You don't have to follow that silly will you found at her car. For all we know, it could have been an old draft. It might have just been an anticipation for a child that she will have."

Guevarra just laughs at my "stupid" idea. I know he's a lawyer. I know what I'm saying does not even make a sense. I just find it offending that he needs to shove into my face that my suggestion is a terrible one. "Her family is already claiming it, but there are other claimants lining up for the deeds."

"Other claimants?" I ask, wonderingly.

"Yes, other claimants. There's Mateo Jonathan Macedo. Still remember him?"

"Yes," I answer flatly. How could I ever forget what Christine did to end her marriage with this man. Guevarra and Christine passed through many legal loopholes for their own benefits. "Who else?"

"There is also this Jonathan Vincent Lopez. Do you know him?"

"No."

"He claims to have married Christine in secret. He claims that there were witnesses."

I fell silent. I don't know where he's going with exhibiting the possible claimants to the inheritance. All of a sudden, he pulls out a bunch of papers from his leather briefcase. He hands it over to me. I don't understand with what he means. Even though he presents it right before me, I don't take it off his hands.

"Felicia, take the papers," he says impatiently. "I need you to inspect it."

Hesitantly, I take the papers off his hands. I then notice that the papers are grouped into three via binder clips. I look at first group. It contains Christine's marriage certificate with Mateo among other proofs establishing his claim for the inheritance. On another group, it contains another marriage certificate with Vincent in it and other papers that prove his claim. On the last group, there is no marriage certificate. It is just a photo of a child, probably a toddler.

"Who's this?" I ask.

"Someone claiming to be Christine's son," he says flatly.

I could almost laugh in disbelief. I can't believe someone is actually claiming that this boy is Christine's son. I mean, it is possible. I do see a resemblance, but this is just too impossible. I, however, became more interested in this group. I could see copies of Christine's "correspondence" with the boy. There is even a photo of Christine with the boy. However, the photo appears to be cut short. I find myself getting sucked deep into this problem that I hand back the papers to Guevarra.

"What is the problem then?" I ask. "You have the claimants. Do all the investigation you can to know who deserves the deeds."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because you hold the key to the answers of this problem. Christine gave you the answers."