Rich People Problems-Kwan 2017 (WWT)

Standing at a distance, Alistair whispered to Peik Lin, “I guess we didn’t need to hire
any professional mourners.” *2
“Well, your brother can certainly do this professionally! The kids are doing a great job
too.”
“I’m sure they were forced to rehearse a million times,” Alistair said.
Eddie suddenly turned around and glared at his other son. “Constantine, my firstborn!
Come! Give your great-grandma a kiss!”
“No fucking way, Dad! I don’t care how much you say you’ll pay me, I’m not going to
kiss a dead body!”
Eddie’s nostrils flared in rage, but since everyone was staring at them he simply gave
his son a big you’re-gonna-get-your-ass-wupped-later smile and sprang up from the
ground. He smoothed out his Mandarin-collared linen suit and announced, “Everyone, I
have a surprise in honor of Ah Ma. Please follow me.”
He led the group of relatives out to the walled rose garden that bordered the east wing
of the house. “Kaspar, we’re ready!” he shouted. Suddenly, a bank of floodlights
illuminated the darkened garden, and everyone gasped. In front of them was a three-story
structure made out of wood and paper. It was an intricately constructed scale model of
Tyersall Park, with every pillar, eave, and awning painstakingly replicated down to the last
detail.
“Kaspar von Morgenlatte, my personal decorator, had a whole team of artisans working
on this for weeks,” Eddie proudly announced, bowing to the crowd that had by now
gathered in front of the house replica.
“I am not a decoratur! I am an interieur arkitect und art konsultant!” declared a tall,
exceedingly thin man with slicked-back white-blond hair, dressed in a white turtleneck
sweater and high-waisted white linen trousers. “Ladies und gentlemen, pleazzze pay
attention! The interieur of this maknificent schloss opens up…”
Four equally blond assistants scurried out from the shadows. They unfastened a few
hinges along the side columns, allowing the entire front façade of the house to open and
reveal interior rooms that had been decorated to excruciating detail, but unfortunately
did not replicate the real interiors of Tyersall Park.
“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