A simple plan for a two-story guest house quickly unravels into a web of extortion, family betrayal, and a devastating discovery on the streets of Manila. Success was making her a target — not just to strangers, but to her own sibling's resentment.
Not long after we came back to Japan, I contacted the owner of the lot by the airport to prepare the necessary documents for the transfer. It was under the couple's name, but she had the husband's written authorization to act on his behalf. She went to Marinduque to have a Deed of Sale notarized after receiving the down payment she asked for — she said she had to give a commission to the salesperson she contacted, among other things.
There were two things we had to deal with at the lawyer's office. First, he would not let us declare the true amount in the Deed of Sale, claiming it could potentially compromise other surrounding lots in the area. It was made lower. Secondly, because the four lots' total area was more than twelve hectares, I was asked to give four names to transfer the property to. Instead of my children, who were still very young, I gave mine and my three younger siblings' names after getting their consent: Ramir, Junjun, and Venus.
Meanwhile, in Japan, Mitch and Mr. Chiba were making plans. They thought it would be better if we had a place of our own to stay when they visited again. Because of budget constraints, they decided on a simple two-story building with six rooms on each floor. The sketch they made looked like big and small rectangles placed next to each other. It was that simple. I didn't take the matter very seriously, thinking it would take time to materialize. But things happened fast. Just one month after I left, I was on my way back to the Philippines to secure the land transfer and a building permit.
Although the lots were properly titled and not under the Comprehensive Agrarian Reform Program, I chose to transfer them through the Department of Agriculture (DAR) to avoid the sales tax imposed by the Department of Environment and Natural Resources (DENR). The DAR constraint was that we could not sell the lot for ten years, whereas DENR restricted it to five. Having no intention to sell in the near future, and given my unpleasant past experience with DENR, DAR seemed the better choice. The staff were accommodating, even letting me sign unfilled documents, promising they would type the entries later.
With our experience building the chapel in Torrijos, we knew the town office would require a sketch plan for the building permit. I hadn't talked to anyone about it yet when I remembered a conversation with our parochial priest in Boac — he had told me the people at Saint Claire's Monastery had been waiting for me.Her reputation precedes her. Building a chapel and hosting a mass wedding has signaled to the local religious community that she is a benefactor capable of funding large projects.
The monastery church was empty when we arrived. I rang a bell by a small window, and soon after, a nun peeked out. After introducing myself, she brought out their Superior. We were divided by an iron wire grille, but we instantly talked like old friends. She wasn't the kind of image I had of a nun from the movies. I understood why the priest wanted me to see them — they were constructing a building to house the nuns, running entirely on donations.
Before I left, the Superior introduced me to a man named Sur (whom I came to call J). She said he was helping with the construction and fundraising in coordination with the Governor's office, and that he was staying there at the monastery. I didn't hide my surprise at a man living with the nuns. The Superior was quick to defend the arrangement, saying he was a gentleman and "very harmless." His family, I was told, lived in Manila near Venus's store.
He accompanied me out and showed me the building under construction. He was simple-looking and a bit short, but he sounded intelligent and friendly. No wonder he had won the nuns' trust. And he was beginning to win mine, too.
I told him about our plan in Torrijos, and he was eager to help. He said he would introduce me to the architect who made the monastery plan. When asked if he could manage a construction project far from the monastery, he confidently said he could find a way. Before I left for Japan, we agreed to meet the architect in Manila.
The meeting with the architect was held at a nice restaurant. He was from a well-known political family in Marinduque and came bearing a gift — a book called The Purpose Driven Life. I showed him Mitch's simple rectangular sketch. Although basic, his asking price was totally unexpected. Still, I agreed to his terms: fifty percent down to start work.
After my sister and her husband delivered the first payment, the architect kept emailing me, asking for more money. When J asked him for at least the signed electrical plan so we could process the building permit, he couldn't provide one. All he gave was a printed picture of the proposed building and unsigned plans. When I refused to send more money, the architect's tone changed, speaking poorly of J.
Because the project was proceeding with just an oral consent from the Singing Mayor of Torrijos, I returned to the Philippines. J and I met in Manila and went to a different architect — my sister Vilma's cousin-in-law. Although her professional fee was higher, we got properly signed plans and could finally secure the building permit.
Before heading to Marinduque, my ferry reached the port at night. I arrived to see Venus and a group of people standing by an ambulance. Rey, my brother-in-law, had been in a motorcycle accident — allegedly while drunk. He needed to be transferred to a bigger hospital outside the island. As the ambulance boarded the ferry, I handed Venus enough money to cover the expenses.
There were other concerns brewing. My siblings were not happy with how the Torrijos project was being funded. J's professional fee was the highest, even though he visited the site only three times a week. He managed all purchasing in Manila, shipped materials to Marinduque, and kept all the receipts. My family had suspicions, but no proof. Furthermore, I learned Junjun had signed all the blank checks for the joint account without my knowledge.
When I arrived at my place in Torrijos late one night, I was called to the chapel. Venus was there with two unfamiliar women. One of them claimed a "force" had stopped her from entering the chapel until she prayed. My siblings had invited her because she was known to have "power" — she could allegedly tell someone's illness by touch and speak on behalf of others far away.
Inside my small house, my family finally confronted me. They said I was no longer in my good senses and that I was going to lose everything because of J. They demanded to know if there was a romantic relationship between us. When I said there wasn't, but that it was "possible," Ramir declared he wanted to take the truck for himself, and Venus said she was taking the store.
They claimed I should have given Ramir a vehicle after buying the beach lot. The two had clearly made plans about my property. Junjun remained silent, but his body language showed he shared their grievances.
I cried, realizing how I had failed as their eldest sister. To think I had made them co-owners of the 12-hectare airport lot out of trust was now a massive concern. How would I tell Mitch about them? Physically and emotionally exhausted, I fell asleep on the cold balcony floor. No one offered me a pillow or a blanket despite the cold night. Yet, the "gifted" woman they brought in slept in my usual spot with proper bedding.
The following Wednesday, I boarded the ship back to Manila alone. A pilot friend had picked me up at the port. I asked him to drive because I needed to check the specific address printed on the single receipt J had provided for the construction materials.
I didn't want my family to know I was investigating him, nor did I want them to feel validated if their suspicions were correct. J enjoyed the trust of the nuns and the Governor's office, so I had to handle it carefully.
It wasn't easy to find the address on the receipt. When we finally did, we realized why no one could tell us where the store was.
It no longer existed.A defining moment of disillusionment. The man she trusted, who lived with nuns and rubbed shoulders with the Governor, had submitted fake receipts. Her family was right about him, though wrong in their methods.
If it ever existed at all. I had mixed emotions — shocked, but also relieved. How could a man trusted by the church do such a thing? Did he think I wouldn't bother checking? It gave me the reason I needed to terminate our arrangement, but I had to be diplomatic. I had no plans to tell him what I had found out.
I couldn't tell Mitch what I had discovered in Manila, nor what had happened with my family. We had worked so hard to earn the money. I eventually confessed to Mitch that we had "lost" the truck and the store to my siblings. Surprisingly, he wasn't angry. He said he knew something like this would happen. "It should be a lesson learned," he told me.
This chapter forms the emotional fulcrum of her early successes. The wealth she worked so hard to accumulate in Japan became a lightning rod for entitlement and deception in the Philippines. She experienced betrayal from two sides simultaneously: a trusted associate hiding behind religious piety to steal, and her own siblings using a "spiritually gifted" woman to manipulate her out of her assets. Sleeping on the cold floor of a house she built, denied even a blanket by the family she supported, forced her to realize a harsh truth: generosity without boundaries breeds resentment, and success makes you a target to the very people you try to uplift.