You arrive at the island

The ferry glides into a secluded, pristine harbor. The air is thick with the sweet scent of tropical flowers and salt. Waiting on the wooden pier is a small convoy of immaculate, classic black sedans. The drivers bow respectfully as your grandfather steps ashore, completely in his element. You and your mother follow, trying to process the fact that the palm-fringed paradise stretching out before you is, technically, your new home.

​The cars wind up a meticulously paved, private mountain road, cutting through dense, vibrant jungle. And then, the trees clear.

And then you see it.

​You can’t help but stare open-mouthed as the mansion comes into view. Calling it a "mansion" feels like an understatement; it is a sprawling, colonial-style palace built from gleaming white stone, contrasting sharply with the deep green of the mountainside behind it.