Chapter 3 - Mercer Island Secrets
The gates of the Holloway estate on Mercer Island looked less like a home entrance and more like the perimeter of a high-security prison. High iron bars, facial recognition cameras, and armed guards in dark tactical suits greeted my beat-up Civic at 7:45 AM.
After a thorough security sweep that involved a mirror under my vehicle and a dog checking my trunk, I was cleared to drive up the winding, tree-lined driveway. The mansion rose out of the Pacific Northwest fog like a modern fortress of concrete, glass, and steel, overlooking the grey waters of Lake Washington.
A butler in a crisp black suit opened the massive oak front doors before I even reached the steps.
"Miss Bennett. Mr. Holloway is in the east wing study. Follow me."
The inside of the house was stunningly minimalist—and entirely devoid of sound. Soft plush carpets absorbed every footstep. The walls were lined with expensive abstract art, but there were no family photos. No baby pictures of Mia. No traces of a mother. It was a palace made of ice.
When the butler opened the study doors, Graham Holloway was standing behind a massive walnut desk, reviewing documents on a tablet. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him, casting long shadows across the Persian rug.
"You're five minutes early," Graham noted without looking up. "Acceptable."
"Punctuality is professional," I replied, holding my canvas tote bag tightly against my side. "Where is Mia?"
"In her quarters. She has private tutoring until nine." Graham set the tablet down and leaned against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms. In the daylight, he was even more intimidating. He wore a dark blue suit without a tie, the top button of his white shirt undone, revealing a glimpse of a faint scar running up his collarbone. "Before you begin your duties, Miss Bennett, we need to establish the ground rules."
"I'm listening."
"First: you are here to facilitate communication for Mia's education, social interactions, and daily life. You are not her therapist. You are not her guardian." His eyes locked onto mine with terrifying intensity. "Second: whatever you hear in this house stays in this house. You will sign a non-disclosure agreement that carries severe legal—and non-legal—consequences for breach."
"I am bound by professional interpreter ethics," I said firmly. "Confidentiality is already my absolute standard."
"Good. Third..." He paused, taking a slow step toward me. "My daughter has a vivid imagination. She has lived a sheltered, high-risk life due to my position. She may tell you things about me—about this family—that are dramatic or inaccurate. You would do well to ignore them."
My mind immediately flashed back to Mia's warning at the gala. Don’t trust him. He keeps secrets in the basement.
"I focus on language, Mr. Holloway, not family gossip," I lied smoothly.
Graham searched my face for a long moment before nodding once. "We'll see. Come with me."
He led me down a long glass hallway toward a private wing. As we walked, I noticed subtle details: heavy electronic keypads on every door, discreet security guards stationed at every intersection, and the distinct absence of any staff speaking above a whisper.
When Graham opened the doors to a sunlit art studio, Mia was sitting at an easel, painting a stormy seascape in dark acrylics. The moment she turned and saw me, her gloomy posture melted away. She dropped her paintbrush, completely ignoring her father, and ran over to envelope me in a fierce hug.
I was taken aback by the sudden display of affection, but I wrapped my arms around her briefly before stepping back to give her space to sign.
You actually came! Mia signed rapidly, her face beaming. I thought he would scare you off. Everyone leaves after a week.
I promised I’d be here, I signed back, keeping my movements clear and graceful. I keep my promises.
Behind us, Graham cleared his throat. I turned and translated Mia's enthusiasm verbally, though I omitted the part about him scaring people off.
"Mia says she is glad to begin," I said.
Graham looked between us, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his cold eyes—was it jealousy? Regret? Or suspicion?
"I have business in the city," Graham announced coldly. "You have full access to the main floor and the gardens. The lower levels are strictly off-limits. Do I make myself clear, Miss Bennett?"
"Crystal clear, Mr. Holloway."
He gave his daughter a short nod, turned on his heel, and swept out of the room. The moment the heavy double doors clicked shut behind him, Mia turned to me, her eyes dead serious.
May you like
She grabbed a notepad from her desk, scribbled something down, and shoved it into my hands.
He’s lying to you. My mother didn't die in a car accident. He's keeping her locked downstairs.
