As they stepped inside, Richard felt as though he had entered a different world. The interior of the mansion was a seamless blend of modern luxury and royal elegance. The marble floors glead under the soft glow of chandeliers, their golden light reflecting off the high ceilings and intricately carved walls. The furniture was modern, yet every piece held an air of heritage, as though carefully chosen to complent the grandeur of the house's long history.
Lining the walls were family portraits, frad in polished mahogany. So were old, their colors faded but their significance untouched by ti. Others were recent, showing newer generations, yet still carrying that sa air of dignity and importance.
At the very center of the grand staircase, leading up to the second floor, hung an enormous portrait. It was impossible to miss. The painting captured Estello in his younger years, his face strong and his eyes sharp, yet carrying the sa warmth he still held today.
Richard's gaze moved to the man standing beside him in the portrait—a tall, serious-looking man in a tuxedo. There was no doubt about it; he bore an unmistakable resemblance to Jack.
"That's your father, isn't it?" Richard asked, his eyes scanning the man's commanding presence in the painting.
Jack nodded. "Yeah. Back when he still had ti for portraits," he said with a small chuckle, though there was sothing distant in his voice.
Richard's attention then shifted to the woman on the other side of Estello. She had a bright, wide smile, and though she looked younger, there was sothing familiar in her features.
"That must be your aunt," Richard guessed.
Jack nodded again. "Tita Marissa. She's in Canada now. Been there since before I was born."
Behind Estello, another figure stood tall—even taller than Jack's father. Unlike the serious expression of his brother, this man had a warm, welcoming smile, the kind that suggested he was always the life of the room.
Jack pointed. "That's my Uncle Edmundo—my father's older brother. He moved to the U.S. a long ti ago."
Richard took a mont to absorb the history captured in that one painting. It was more than just a family portrait—it was a tiline, a frozen mont that showcased three generations of a legacy.
They followed Estello through the mansion, passing by more elegant hallways and rooms that seed untouched by ti. Finally, they entered the kitchen, and the contrast was striking.
Despite the rest of the mansion's modernistic touch, the kitchen had a retro, nostalgic feel to it. A long wooden table sat at the center, polished from years of use but carrying the warmth of a place where countless als had been shared. The cabinets were made of fine teakwood, their surfaces adorned with hand-carved floral patterns. The walls had aged tiles, adding to the rustic charm. Though the appliances were modern, the heart of the kitchen remained tiless.
The aroma of chicken adobo filled the air, rich with the scent of soy sauce, garlic, and bay leaves. On the side, stead rice was served in a large ceramic pot, and a pitcher of freshly squeezed calamansi juice sat on the table, glowing golden under the light.
As everyone settled in their seats, Estello leaned back, a wistful smile playing on his lips.
"You know, Annie," he began, his voice carrying a touch of nostalgia, "the last ti I saw you, you were just a little girl... and now, here you are, all grown up."
Anita smiled warmly. "You've hardly changed, Uncle. Just a little... whiter," she teased, pointing at his beard.
Estello laughed heartily, stroking his beard. "Ahh, well, old age catches up, but the heart stays young." He sighed contentedly. "Do you know who would have loved to see you now?"
Anita's smile softened. "My father."
Estello nodded, his eyes turning solemn. "Yes... your father and I were best friends. We grew up together, fished together, built our businesses side by side. I still rember the day he t your mother—oh, how he talked about her for weeks!"
Anita chuckled. "That sounds like him."
"He was a good man, Annie," Estello continued, his voice filled with genuine fondness. "One of the kindest and most honorable n I've ever known. When he passed, it was peaceful... exactly the way a man like him deserved."
Richard listened in silence, feeling an odd sense of reverence. He had never known his grandfather, but hearing the way Estello spoke about him, it was clear that he was a man worth rembering.
Jack, finishing a mouthful of adobo, leaned back with a grin. "Grandpa, I think this is the best adobo you've ever made."
Estello smirked. "Ah, finally, you recognize my cooking skills."
Richard, savoring the rich, flavorful dish, nodded. "I have to agree. This is incredible."
Estello bead with pride. "It's the love, boy. The secret ingredient is love."
Jack snorted. "Or just years of practice."
Estello chuckled. "That too."
As they ate, stories flowed, laughter filled the room, and for a brief mont, it felt like ti had slowed down.
Despite the grandeur of the mansion, this—the simple act of sharing a al—felt like the true heart of the ho.
As dinner wrapped up, Anita took it upon herself to help Maria with the dishes. The older woman protested at first, insisting that as a guest, Anita shouldn't trouble herself.
But before Maria could refuse again, Estello chuckled, shaking his head. "Ah, Maria, if you knew this woman, you'd understand. When it cos to housework, there's nothing stopping her." He patted Anita's shoulder. "Just let her help. It's her nature."
Maria, reluctantly grateful, smiled. "Thank you, ma'am Anita."
anwhile, Estello turned back to Jack and Richard as Maria continued tidying up. He settled into his chair, tapping his fingers on the table thoughtfully.
"So..." Estello began, his eyes glinting with curiosity. "Who's the lucky lad who won the lottery?"
Richard raised his hand. "That would be , sir."
Estello chuckled, his voice rich with amusent. "Lucky indeed. But don't call 'sir.' From now on, just call Grandpa."
Richard gave a small, appreciative nod. "Alright then, Grandpa."
With a satisfied nod, Estello leaned forward. "So, what's this little project of yours?" He turned to Jack, raising an eyebrow.
Jack, who had been expecting this question, leaned forward slightly. "It's a ga, Grandpa. Sothing the younger generation enjoys as entertainnt."
At that, Estello's expression fell into disappointnt. He sighed heavily, shaking his head.
"Ahhh... back in my day, our 'ga' was chopping wood. We raced to see who could fetch water from the spring the fastest. We had competitions on who could catch the most fish in a day. That was fun." He grumbled, "Back then, we walked three mountains just to get to school, and we trekked two more just to wash our clothes. Kids these days..." He sighed again, this ti deeper, as if mourning the past.
Jack, unfazed, smirked. "But, Grandpa, we could make millions."
At that, Estello's eyes widened. The disappointnt vanished instantly, replaced with sudden interest.
"I'm listening."
Richard scoffed.
Jack continued, explaining how modern gas today weren't just about entertainnt—they were a business. He described how microtransactions had allowed developers to make billions. He spoke of the current gaming industry, ntioning how gas like Conquer Online had beco a marketplace where players could earn real money, just by selling virtual items to other players.
Estello rubbed his temples, visibly stressed. "Ahhh... I can't believe people nowadays would pay so much money for an item that doesn't even exist." He shook his head in disbelief, then sighed. "But, Jackie, if this is your future, then I will support you."
Jack grinned, satisfied.
Estello turned to Richard. "And you, Richie."
Richard blinked. "Richie?"
Estello smirked. "That's your new nickna, boy. Get used to it."
Richard chuckled. "Alright, Grandpa."
Estello leaned back, his tone shifting to sothing more serious.
"Don't go squandering your money yet. Save it." He paused, then continued, "I want your mother to live here from now on."
Richard's expression stiffened slightly. "Here?"
Estello nodded. "I've had enough of soone close to feeling so far away. It's just and my workers in this big place. It doesn't feel right."
Richard swallowed, unsure what to say.
Estello sighed. "Of course, I understand your sentint. Your grandparents are buried in your lot. That place has aning to you." He exhaled deeply, as if weighing the weight of his words. "So, instead, I'll build a private cetery for them there."
Anita and Richard exchanged looks.
Estello continued, his voice softening. "I know it's selfish of ... but I'd like you to give this old man a sense of family again."
He sighed, his eyes drifting toward the portraits on the wall.
"My children... those bastards," he chuckled bitterly, "they followed my genes, but the mont they left this house, they forgot their father." His voice was laced with a mix of disappointnt and amusent. "Now, I'm alone."
He looked around the grand dining room, then back at them. "And this house... isn't any different from a nursing ho. A big, empty place with nothing but echoes."
Estello took a deep breath. "But with you lot, this finally feels like ho."
Jack, Anita, and Richard sat in silence, letting the weight of those words settle in.
Estello smiled, though there was a hint of sadness in it. "You see, it doesn't matter if your house is made of dirt or gold. What makes a ho a ho isn't the walls or the wealth... it's the mories, the people." He t Richard's gaze. "Not by blood, but by bond."
For the first ti since they arrived, Richard understood.
This place—this mansion, no matter how grand—was just a building to Estello. What he truly longed for wasn't wealth, but connection.
And in that mont, Richard knew—they weren't just guests here anymore.
They were family.
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