“The restaurant is not for sale,” I said softly, yet with enough strength to cut through the anxious whispers in the room.
Enzo leaned forward, the smile wiped clean from his face. His tanned complexion flushed a deep red, as if blood was rushing to his head. It was a tell-tale sign I knew well: he was losing control.
“Fine. You want to play hardball? Suit yourself,” his voice was sharp, full of menace. He motioned to his lawyer, Atty. Javier.
Atty. Javier smirked, pulling out a new document from his brief, thinner, but somehow looking more dangerous than the rest. “Your Honor, if the respondent insists on rejecting this humane settlement proposal, we are left with no choice but to apply a stronger legal leverage. My client moves for the Court to allow a temporary restraining order (T.R.O.) and the sealing of the Kainang Puso establishment.”
I nearly stopped breathing. Sealing. If the place was sealed, it would stop operating. Manang Letty’s salary, the rent, everything would collapse immediately. This wasn’t just a legal maneuver; it was a personal punishment.
“What is the basis for the sealing request, counsel?” Judge Cruz asked, her weary eyes scrutinizing Atty. Javier.
“Due to a suspected grave dissipation of conjugal assets and mismanagement that could lead to the destruction of asset value before partition,” Atty. Javier droned on, with excessive theatricality. “We have evidence showing that the respondent has withdrawn a significant amount of cash from the business account in the past three months, coinciding with the separation. We fear the respondent is attempting to transfer funds or conceal income to diminish the value of the enterprise, causing irreparable harm to our client.”
My throat tightened. I had withdrawn cash, it was true. I had to pay Atty. Lena. I needed contingency money in case he made good on his threats.
“Your Honor, my client can fully prove those transactions are legal and transparent!” Atty. Lena shot up, but her voice held a slight tremor.
Judge Cruz remained silent, considering the motion. Enzo turned to look at me; this time, the mocking smile had returned, but it was colder and more ruthless than ever. He leaned in and whispered just loud enough for only me to hear:
“I told you, Magsingal. You can’t win against me. Your little eatery is a toy. I can make it disappear with a snap of my fingers.”
I looked straight into his smug eyes, feeling the noose in my stomach twist tighter. But instead of panic, an icy, familiar coldness, reminiscent of those nights spent on the cement floor at Tahanan ng Araw, washed over me.
I took a deep breath and counted to four. I didn’t look at Enzo or his lawyer, but only at Judge Cruz.
“Your Honor,” I said, my voice resonating and calm, a stark contrast to my earlier weakness. “I have an urgent request. I agree that the conjugal assets need to be preserved. But I beg to prove to this Court that my husband, Lorenzo Alcantara, has no right to seal my restaurant, as he has never been a partner or shareholder in it. He does not even have the right to claim partition over Kainang Puso.”
This time, Atty. Javier didn’t just frown. He gasped, his mouth hanging open. Enzo flinched, his complexion shifting from red to pale.
Judge Cruz raised an eyebrow slightly, seemingly amused by this sudden turn. “Respondent, what evidence do you have for these serious claims?”
“Your Honor,” I said, reaching for my thin file. “The truth is, Kainang Puso was never a conjugal asset. Seven years ago, when we acquired the space and established the lease agreement, I used two hundred thousand Pesos that I inherited from my late uncle in Cebu—a completely separate and pre-marital fund.”
I presented an old, certified true copy of a document, carefully stamped and signed.
“This is the Last Will and Testament and the Certificate of Fund Transfer from Uncle Benito’s trust fund. This amount, under Philippine law, is my exclusive personal property, not belonging to the conjugal partnership. This fund was used as the seed capital to establish Kainang Puso. This business, from its inception, was formed from my non-divisible personal asset.”
Silence enveloped the courtroom. Atty. Javier hurriedly leaned down to whisper into Enzo’s ear, but Enzo merely shook his head violently, unable to utter a word.
I had delivered a fatal blow. My restaurant was not a toy bought by Enzo. It was my separate property, built with my sweat and my inheritance, completely out of his reach.
I looked at Enzo one last time, completely devoid of fear. I had endured for seventeen years. Now, it was his turn to pay.
“My counsel will file a counter-suit requesting the Court to officially recognize Kainang Puso as my exclusive personal property, and further demanding that his client reimburse all legal expenses incurred due to this baseless lawsuit.”
Judge Cruz hit the gavel, a final expression appearing on her face—it was surprise. “The Court will recess the hearing. The petitioner and his counsel need to review this new evidence. Both parties shall return next Monday.”
I stood up, calmly collecting my documents. The war wasn’t over, but I had just won the first battle. And I knew the secret about the mother in Baguio was much bigger and about to be revealed…
I left the courthouse, my breathing much lighter, but the tension had yet to dissipate. Lawyer Lena patted my shoulder. “We gave him a big surprise, Magsingal. But we have to stay focused. He’ll counter-attack.”
“I know,” I said, squeezing her hand. “But at least, I bought some time. Now, I have to go.”
I didn’t wait. I took the night bus to Baguio, the Summer Capital.
During the long journey through the winding Kennon Road, the words of the woman who had called me kept ringing in my head: “Your mother is dying. She wants to see you. There’s a secret she has to tell before it’s too late.”
I had believed I was an orphan, abandoned. Now, there was a woman, waiting to die in a small house on a pine hill, claiming to be my Nanay (Mother).
The next morning, thick fog blanketed Baguio; the scent of pine and the cold, damp air filled my lungs. I found an old wooden house near the University of Baguio. Inside, an old nurse was waiting.
“She’s here,” the nurse whispered.
The woman lying in the bed looked frail and emaciated, but when she turned her head, her eyes – dark, radiating a familiar resilience – made me stop breathing. They were the eyes I had seen a thousand times in the mirror.
“Magsingal,” she croaked, trying to reach out with her thin arm.
“Why?” I asked, my voice breaking. “Why now? Why did you abandon me? Did you know I grew up at Tahanan ng Araw?”
Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I didn’t abandon you, anak (my child). I was forced to protect you.” She coughed, then caught her breath. “Your father. Your biological father. He… he is a dangerous man.”
“My father?”
“His name is Carlos Alcantara,” she said, the name striking like thunder.
I stepped back, feeling as though I was about to collapse.
Carlos Alcantara. That was my father-in-law’s name. The founder of the Alcantara empire, Enzo’s father.
My mother grabbed my hand, her eyes pleading. “Magsingal, you are not an outsider. You are Carlos Alcantara’s biological daughter. You are Lorenzo’s half-sister.”
The room spun. I was the sister of the man trying to steal everything I had.
“I left you because he threatened me. He already had a wife and children, and I was just a poor girl from the province. He didn’t want a scandal. But then… he regretted it. When you were six, he made a new will.”
My mother pointed to a small wooden box hidden under her pillow. “This is what he wanted you to have.”
I tremblingly opened the box. Inside was a sealed, yellowed stack of documents.
“He wanted to make amends, my child. That will states that, upon his death, fifty-one percent (51%) of the entire Alcantara Holding Group must be transferred to Mariana Magsingal Alcantara—your birth name—as part of the inheritance.”
I stared at the document. Alcantara Group was not just a chain of dental clinics. It was real estate companies, high-end restaurant chains, and investment funds in Manila. Its total value was estimated in the billions of Pesos.
“He gave it to me to keep, because he didn’t trust Enzo or your stepmother. After he died seven years ago… Enzo and his lawyers did everything to declare this will fake. They silenced all the witnesses. They thought they had succeeded.” My mother coughed violently. “But they didn’t know I kept the Second Original here.”
My tears were no longer the pain of an orphan, but the rage and horror of a person who had been deceived. Enzo didn’t just want my Kainang Puso eatery. He had been living off my legal assets for the past seven years.
“Now you must return to Makati,” my mother whispered, her breath weak. “You must use it. You must take back everything that belongs to you. Not for the money… but for justice. Enzo doesn’t deserve it.”
I clutched the old Will, feeling the weight of an entire empire.
That morning, I walked into the courtroom as just Magsingal, the poor woman fighting for a small eatery. But when I return to Manila, I will be Mariana Magsingal Alcantara—the rightful heir, and the True Owner of the man trying to destroy my life.