The heavy front door swung open, and the cold night air hit my face along with the smell of wet pine needles from the driveway.

Rain was falling hard across Bellevue Crest, turning the gravel drive to dark slush under my shoes.

The taller guard kept his hand on my left shoulder all the way down the winding drive, his long flashlight beam cutting a yellow circle through the downpour.

The iron front gates stood black and massive against the tree line at the edge of the estate.

The guard unlatched the smaller side gate, pushed it open, and shoved me past the iron post onto the dark asphalt of Crest Road.