The five SUVs came to a full stop in front of two massive black iron gates hung between eight-foot river stone pillars.

A gold crest of an oak leaf and two crossed chisels was forged right into the central scrollwork of the iron bars.

Doña Victoria pushed her door open and stepped onto the driveway, her high heels crunching loudly on the blue gravel.

Behind her, thirty-two family members poured out of the five vehicles, their voices rising in quick, uneasy chatter as they looked around at the sixty manicured acres.

“Is this a mountain country club?” a cousin named Gabriel asked, looking up at the stone wall that stretched off into the pines.