"Are you going to the barangay now?" Mina tapped my back as I stood by the curb, watching for a taxi.
"Yes, time is of the essence," I replied, adjusting the strap of my bag. "I still have my previous hearing regarding the property dispute — the one from earlier this week. The result should be out this Friday or Saturday."
"I'll drive you to Barangay Silay," Mina said, already walking toward the parking lot. "Hurry, come with me. I also have counseling to do."
I didn't hesitate. Taxis in this part of the city were unpredictable at best, and riding with Mina meant we could discuss the case further. I quickened my pace and followed her to her car, the late afternoon sun pressing on my back.
Her sedan was spotless, the faint scent of lavender diffusing from a small vent clip. As I settled into the passenger seat, I flipped open the top folder in my bag — Julian Landez's profile staring back at me in black and white.
We pulled out of the parking lot, the city slowly giving way to rougher roads, narrower streets, and houses that leaned on each other like tired neighbors. Barangay Silay wasn't far, but it felt like crossing into another world.
"Once we get there," Mina began, eyes on the road, "be prepared for his wife's questions. She's not the type to sit quietly and let the lawyer do all the talking."
"I'll manage," I said, closing the folder. "But if she already suspects foul play, this is going to be more than just a fact-finding trip."
Mina smirked faintly. "Welcome to Silay."
Barangay Silay was just five miles outside the capital city of San Agero, but the difference in atmosphere was night and day. Mina's sedan hummed along the winding road, the skyline of the capital shrinking in the rearview mirror.
Silay wasn't poor — far from it. Ranked the sixty-seventh richest barangay in the city, it might not have been among the elites, but it could sustain itself without relying on handouts. The locals lived off agriculture and craftworks, and they were good at it — good enough to earn an average of ₱550.72 a day. That was more than double the standard farm wage of ₱270.62.
It wasn't just the quality of their work. Silay played a crucial role in trade, acting as a link between the capital and other rural areas. Goods from the countryside passed through here before reaching San Agero, and money flowed just as steadily.
"Not bad for a place the critics like to call 'sleepy,' huh?" Mina said, her eyes still on the road.
I nodded, glancing out the window at the fields and small workshops blurring past. "It's easy to underestimate places like this — until you see what they really contribute."
We pulled up to the barangay hall just as the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the pavement. Standing near the entrance was a man I immediately recognized from the case file — Mr. Fernandez, the only candidate left running for barangay captain after Julian Landez's death.
He had the easy stance of someone used to holding authority, but his age showed — early fifties, silver streaking his hair, his posture slightly bowed from years of responsibility. Two men in plain clothes stood on either side of him, their eyes scanning every passerby.
The case notes had mentioned he was the previous barangay captain. Meeting him first was Mina's idea — she said it would smooth our introduction to Mrs. Landez, and I wasn't about to argue. In small communities like this, the right handshake could open every door.
As I stepped out of the car, I couldn't help but notice how watchful the air felt here. Conversations on the street seemed quieter, eyes lingered longer. I supposed it was natural. An explosion in the heart of a campaign would make anyone cautious.
And judging by the presence of those guards, Mr. Fernandez wasn't taking any chances.
Mina and I stepped out of the car, the gravel crunching beneath our shoes as we crossed toward the barangay hall. She led the way with her usual calm confidence, and I matched her stride.
"Mr. Fernandez," Mina greeted warmly, extending a hand. "I'm Mina Bright, senior attorney from Bright Espiritu Law Firm, San Agero."
I followed with a polite nod. "Althea Rivas, counsel under Attorney Bright. I'll be handling the case concerning the late Julian Landez on behalf of his family."
The man studied us for a moment before shaking our hands. Up close, I could see the faint weathering of his skin — the kind that spoke of years spent under the sun and stress alike. His expression was cordial enough, though there was something guarded in his eyes.
"Thank you for taking your time to visit this humble barangay," Mr. Fernandez said, gesturing for us to follow him inside the barangay hall and into his office.
The space was modest but well-kept — wooden furniture, neatly stacked documents, and the faint scent of brewed coffee lingering in the air.
"As you've heard from the news, after Mr. Landez's death, it caused quite a stir in our community," he continued, settling into his chair. "I had to increase the barangay's security. We've even restricted traders and visitors from coming in, just in case another incident might happen."
"We understand," Mina replied smoothly. "Regarding the case of Mr. Landez — it was Mrs. Landez who requested our firm's help. We were hoping to get in touch with her today, preferably now, if possible."
"Oh, yes," Mr. Fernandez said, glancing at the clock on the wall. "It's about 4:40 p.m., so she should have picked up her two children from kindergarten by now. She did confirm she'd be heading here afterward."
I exchanged a quick look with Mina, already mentally preparing for the first conversation with Mrs. Landez.
"Mr. Fernandez, what was Mr. Landez like as a campaign rival?" I asked, filling the silence as we waited for Mrs. Landez to arrive.
He leaned back slightly, thinking. "Hmm… I would say he was competent and responsible. I respected him as much as the community here did. It was unfortunate, what happened to him — we all mourned his death."
His words were steady, almost too steady. Something in his tone felt off, though I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Maybe I was just tired.
I glanced at Mina. She met my eyes, and I could tell she had the same vague unease I did. But without anything concrete, there was nothing we could say — and even less we could prove.
"Did the police investigation turn up any leads? A prime suspect? Even a person of interest?" I pressed.
Mr. Fernandez shook his head. "From what I've heard from the head officer, they have no leads. Not even a clear motive. Whoever was behind it — whether a single person or a group — must have been highly skilled to pull off something like that without leaving a trace."
Before I could ask anything else, the door to Mr. Fernandez's office opened.
Mrs. Landez stepped in, holding the hand of a little boy while a young girl clung shyly to her skirt. She looked exhausted, the kind of exhaustion that sits deeper than sleepless nights — the kind carved by grief.
"Good afternoon," she said softly, her voice polite but fragile.
Mina rose first, introducing herself and me as representatives from Bright Espiritu Law Firm. Mrs. Landez's grip on her children tightened slightly at the mention of the case, but she nodded in acknowledgment.
Mr. Fernandez stood, his expression appropriately solemn. "Thank you for coming, Rosa. I know this isn't easy, but they're here to help."
"I understand," she murmured, settling into the chair opposite us. Her children stayed close, silent.
I opened my file, glancing briefly at Mina before beginning. "Mrs. Landez, we're here because you personally requested legal assistance regarding the investigation into your husband's death. Our goal is to ensure his case is handled thoroughly and without bias."
Her eyes met mine — steady, but glistening. "Then I hope you're ready," she said, "because no one else seems to be taking this seriously."
The room went still. Even Mr. Fernandez's polite smile faded slightly.
"What do you mean, Rosa? I understand your frustration with the police not getting a lead, but let's take our tone carefully," Mr. Fernandez said, his voice measured but his eyes sharp. He gestured toward the chair across from his desk.
Both Mina and I could feel the static in the air. This wasn't just grief clashing with formality — there was something between them. A history, maybe, that neither of them wanted to name in front of us.
Rosa sat, smoothing her skirt, but her jaw stayed tight.
"Mrs. Landez," Mina began, her tone calm but firm, "Ms. Althea Rivas will be responsible for your case, and we hope you'll comply fully with her as we work to uncover the truth about your husband's death."
Rosa's eyes flicked toward me, studying me the way a drowning person might size up a lifeguard — calculating whether I was capable of pulling her out, or whether I'd let her sink.
"I'll comply," she said finally, her voice softer now. "But I need to be clear — this wasn't just an accident. Julian… he had enemies. Not the kind people talk about openly."
My pen hesitated above my notebook. Mina caught my eye, but neither of us spoke. Instead, I leaned forward slightly. "Enemies from his campaign?"
Rosa's lips pressed into a thin line. "From before that."
"But there were no records or any indication that he had enemies during his campaign," I said, flipping through the folder in front of me. "Unless you mean to say the critics were somehow involved as enemies?"
"No, not really," Rosa replied, shaking her head. "But before that—long before he decided to run—Julian had arguments with the treasurer's office regarding the barangay funds."
I glanced up. "Funds?"
Her gaze hardened, as if the memory itself was still a bruise. "Money that was supposed to be allocated for infrastructure improvements. He found out there were irregularities… shortages in the reported amounts. He brought it up during a council session, and it didn't sit well with certain people."
Mr. Fernandez cleared his throat. "Those matters were resolved years ago, Mrs. Landez. It's hardly relevant now."
Rosa turned to him sharply. "Resolved? Julian never believed that. He always thought someone pocketed part of the budget and covered it up. And when he started considering a run for captain, those same people started acting… different toward him."
I scribbled notes, my mind fitting the pieces together, though the picture was still foggy. "Do you remember who was involved in those disputes?" I asked.
Her eyes darted briefly toward Mr. Fernandez before returning to me. "I'll give you names, but not here. Too many ears in this hall."
The tension was practically humming now. Mina's expression told me she'd felt it too — that unspoken weight in Rosa's glance. This wasn't just about a planted bomb. This was about something older, buried, and still breathing under the surface.
By the time Mina and I stepped out of the barangay hall, the late afternoon sun was dipping low, staining the sky with streaks of orange and red. I had Rosa's number saved in my phone, her name sitting there like a locked door I'd eventually have to open.
Mina adjusted her bag as we made our way toward her car. "Well, that was… enlightening."
"That's one way to put it," I replied, my voice low. "She practically said Julian's death might be tied to an old funding dispute, and Mr. Fernandez looked ready to jump out of his chair when she brought it up."
Mina unlocked the car. "Either he really thinks it's irrelevant… or he's nervous about where it could lead."
I slid into the passenger seat, still feeling the subtle charge in the air from earlier. "Rosa's willing to give me names, but only in private. That says a lot about how safe she feels here."
Mina started the engine, the low hum filling the silence between us. "Then we'll make sure she feels safe enough to talk. If this thing is tied to something buried, we might be digging up more than just a suspect."
I stared out the window as the barangay hall receded behind us, the weight of Rosa's gaze still fresh in my mind. This case was no longer just about finding who planted that bomb—it was about uncovering what Julian might have been standing in the way of.
"Is there any way we could guarantee her safety? She has two children and is currently pregnant with a third," Mina asked, her tone more concerned than cautious.
"we would need to contact the Women and Children Safety and Empowerment Center for that though?" I replied, thinking it through. "But only if Rosa gives us consent. She could also play a role if ever there is a trial."
Mina nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. "Exactly. If she ends up as a key witness, we'll need her alive and well, not… intimidated into silence."
I exhaled, leaning back against the seat. The problem wasn't just the potential suspect—it was the quiet, suffocating fear that seemed to hang over everyone connected to Julian Landez.