The Crazy Rich Asians Trilogy

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.”

“What if I get dressed up in a very conservative black Roland Mouret dress and wear a nice hat? I’ll even use the Bentley instead of the Rolls and bring a few bodyguards along. Surely they won’t turn me away?”

“Kitty, you need to trust me on this. This is one funeral you don’t want to crash. It would be a faux pas of epic proportions. This is a funeral for family and very close friends only. I assure you there will be no one you know, and it really won’t matter if you’re not there.”

“Can you assure me that Colette won’t be there?”

“Kitty, I can assure you she has probably never even heard of my family.”

“But that doesn’t necessarily mean she won’t be there. I heard she got back to Singapore two days ago. It was mentioned in Honey Chai’s gossip blog: ‘Countess of Palliser is staying at the Raffles Hotel.’ Did she leave her orangutans to come to the funeral?”

Oliver rolled his eyes in exasperation. “There is no way Colette or Lady Mary or whatever she calls herself these days will be anywhere near that funeral. I promise.”