Chapter 7Amber, crimson, and gold peaks in Greenwich Connecticut. A sole passenger on this chauffered ride, I rest my head on the limousine seat, take in autumn's brilliant foliage, and ponder Kayla's last minute change of plans. The Wheaton estate comes into view as the company rental winds down the narrow road. Early morning clouds disperse, revealing cerulean blue skies glistening off the Long Island Sound like sapphires through the trees. The estate dubbed the Wheaton compound, and rightly so, sits on 10.8 acres. With three guest homes surrounding a massive Georgian-Colonial, sunken gardens, pool, and tennis courts—the estate appears like a dream by the sea. I read somewhere the Wheaton estate has graced the land since 1918.
Hosted every year by Bruce and Mallory Wheaton, the company
