“The walls are twenty-four-carat gold leaf, the fabrics are all Pierre Frey, the crystal chandeliers are Swarovski, und the furnishings are hand-krafted by the same people that did the set designs for Wes Anderson’s Graaand Hotel Budapeshhhhhhhht,” Kaspar continued.

“Good God, what an insult to Wes. This looks more like a Ukrainian bordello,” Oliver whispered to Rachel. “Thank God it’s about to be set on fire.”

Rachel laughed. “I know you don’t care for it, but don’t you think that’s a bit extreme?”

“Rachel—Oliver’s not joking,” Nick cut in. “This is a paper tomb offering. People burn these at funerals as gifts for the deceased to ‘enjoy’ in the afterlife. It’s an ancient ritual.”

“It’s more of a…working-class custom,” Oliver continued. “The families buy paper objects and accessories that represent aspirational things the deceased couldn’t afford in this life. Paper mansions, Ferraris, iPads, Gucci bags.*3 But the paper mansions are usually quite small—like dollhouses. Eddie, of course, has to do everything to the extreme,” Oliver noted as Eddie walked around the three-story house excitedly showing off all the objects he had commissioned.

“Check out her closet—I had some little dresses made in her favorite lotus silk. And I even had them make exact replicas of Hermès Birkin bags, so Ah Ma will have a good selection of handbags to use in heaven!”

The family members stared at the structure in stunned silence. Finally, Eddie’s mother said, “Mummy would never use an Hermès handbag. She never carried a handbag—her lady’s maids held everything for her.”

Eddie glared at his mother angrily. “Ugh! You just don’t get it, do you? I know she wouldn’t normally carry an Hermès. I’m trying to give Ah Ma the best of everything, that’s all.”

“It’s very impressive, Eddie. Mummy would have been touched,” Catherine said, trying to be diplomatic.

Victoria suddenly piped up. “No, no, this is all wrong. It’s incredibly tasteless, and what’s more, it’s extremely un-Christian.”

“Auntie Victoria, this is a Chinese tradition—it has nothing to do with religion,” Eddie argued.

Victoria shook her head in fury. “I don’t want to hear any more of this nonsense! We Christians do not require worldly things in the kingdom of heaven! Remove this monstrosity at once!”

“Do you know how much I spent on this mansion? This cost me over a quarter of a million dollars! We are burning it, and we are burning it now!” Eddie shouted back as he gave Kaspar the signal.

“Wolfgang! Juergen! Helmut! Schatzi! Entzündet das Feuer!” Kaspar commanded.

The Aryan minions dashed around the structure, dousing it with kerosene, and Eddie theatrically flicked a long matchstick and held it high for all to see.

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare burn it on this property! It’s satanic, I tell you!” Victoria screamed, as she ran up to Eddie and began trying to wrestle the burning matchstick out of his hand. Eddie lobbed the match onto the structure and it ignited instantly, the force of the flames billowing outward suddenly and almost singeing both their heads.

As the enormous replica of Tyersall Park began to be consumed by the fire, all the guests streamed out of the house and surrounded it like a bonfire, taking out their phones and snapping photos. Eddie stared in triumphant silence at the burning house, while Victoria sobbed on the shoulder of the president of China. Cassian, Jake, Augustine, and Kalliste ran around the structure gleefully.

“It’s actually rather beautiful, isn’t it?” Rachel said as Nick came up behind her, wrapping her in his arms as they stared at the fire together.

“It is. I have to agree with Eddie this time—I think Ah Ma would have enjoyed this. And why shouldn’t she have a Birkin bag in heaven?”

Carlton glanced at Scheherazade, marveling at how her hair seemed to glow the most spectacular shades of gold against the rising flames. He took a deep breath, straightened his jacket, and strolled over to where she was standing. “Je m’appelle Carlton. Je suis le frère de Rachel. Ça va?”

“Ça va bien,” Scheherazade replied, impressed by his perfect French accent.

Breaking into English, Carlton said, “They don’t have anything quite like this in Paris, do they?”

“No, they sure don’t,” she answered with a smile.

As the paper house and all the paper luxury accoutrements smoldered into black ashes, the crowd began to make their way back into the house. Walking through the rose garden, Mrs. Lee Yong Chien shook her head and leaned over to Lillian May Tan’s ear. “What did I tell you? Su Yi’s body isn’t even cold yet, and the family is already up in smoke!”

“This is nothing. Things are going to get far worse when they find out who will get the house,” Lillian May said, her eyes flashing in anticipation.

“I think they are in for the shock of their lives,” Mrs. Lee whispered back.

—

A humongous, full-page color notice appeared in the obituary section of The Straits Times for five consecutive days:

* * *

*1 Hokkien slang for “busybody.”

*2 If you’re looking to make some extra cash, many families in Singapore will hire you to cry at the funerals of their loved ones. Because the more mourners there are at a funeral, the more impressive it looks. Professional mourners usually come in groups, and they offer a variety of packages (i.e., normal crying, moaning hysterically, foaming at the mouth, and collapsing in front of the coffin).

*3 In 2016, Gucci sent out warning letters about trademark infringement to several mom-and-pop shops in Hong Kong that were selling paper Gucci tomb offerings. After a backlash from Chinese shoppers and an avalanche of bad publicity, Gucci issued an apology.

CHAPTER THREE

THE CLAYMORE, SINGAPORE

Oliver T’sien was in the middle of his morning shave in his condo when Kitty rang, so he put her on speaker.

“I’m going to see you today! I’m going to Alistair Cheng’s grandmother’s funeral this afternoon,” Kitty chirped.

“You received an invitation?” Oliver tried to mask the astonishment in his voice.

“I thought since Alistair is my ex-boyfriend, and I did meet his grandmother once, it would only be appropriate to convey my condolences in person. It will be so nice to see his family again.”

“Where did you even hear about the funeral?” Oliver asked, as he arched his neck toward the mirror and focused his razor on the stray hairs under his chin.

“Everyone was talking about it at Wandi Meggaharto Widjawa’s party last night. Apparently, Wandi knows a few of the people from Jakarta flying in for the funeral. She said it was going to be the society funeral of the century.”

“I bet she did. But I’m afraid the funeral is really by invitation only.”

“Well, you’ll be able to get me an invitation, won’t you?” Implicit in Kitty’s coquettish tone was, since you’re on my payroll.

Oliver rinsed off his shaving cream. “Kitty, I’m afraid that this is one time where I really don’t have the power to help you.”