“She’s playing a silly trick with rented scenery to make us waste our gas.”

The asphalt drive stretched half a mile up the pine ridge, lined with manicured lawns, stone walls, and black copper solar lights every ten yards.

The laughter inside the five vehicles died away as the convoy passed a carved marble sign set into the rock face, marking the boundary of the Varela estate.

Alejandro didn’t speak.

His right thumb pressed against his knee as he watched the steady line of oak trees while the private road crested the hill.

The lead driver slowed to five miles an hour as the asphalt opened into a sweeping circular driveway paved with blue gravel.