New York, Long Island, Watermill.
"This place is so big it could fit the entire Hope Mountain District inside," Colin stated, standing in front of his Ford pickup, hands on his hips, marveling at the mansion with its gates wide open.
In the passenger seat, Bessie, the Hawk family's fourteen-year-old daughter, hopped out of the car in her thick winter clothes. She raised the camera that seemed even more expensive than her dad's truck to her chest and aimed it at the iconic building of Watermill, a windmill built over a hundred years ago. She adjusted the angle and snapped a picture of the scene.
"I was also startled when I first arrived, it's about fifteen acres," said Tommy, wrapped up like a cotton ball, as he came to stand beside his dad, imitating his crossed-arms pose. "Everything you see now, the sea and that windmill, strictly speaking, belong to Mary Manor."
Living in California for too long made him quite unaccustomed to New York's winter.