Chapter 4 - The Hartman Method
I spent that night in a guest cabin near the security office.
I did not sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I remembered Gregory’s smile when he lifted the bat.
Not the swing.
The smile.
That was the part that bothered me most.
He had enjoyed believing I was trapped.
At 2:17 in the morning, Captain Warren knocked on the door.
He was carrying a sealed evidence bag.
Inside was a small black device.
“Do you recognize this?”
“No.”
“It was found behind the television in your original suite.”
I sat upright.
“What is it?”
“A recording device.”
My stomach dropped.
“Audio?”
“Audio and limited video.”
I stared at the device.
Gregory had recorded the cabin.
Captain Warren placed the bag on the table.
“We have not accessed its storage.”
“Why would he record himself threatening me?”
“That is one of the questions investigators will ask.”
I thought about the documents.
My forged signature.
Walter’s messages.
Then something occurred to me.
“What if he wasn’t recording the threat?”
Captain Warren waited.
“What if he expected to record me reacting?”
His expression changed.
I stood.
“He wanted evidence that I was violent.”
“Ashlynn.”
“Think about it.”
I started pacing.
“He brings out the bat.”
“He provokes me.”
“He expects me to panic.”
“Maybe he expected me to fight.”
“Maybe the plan was to edit the video so it looked like I attacked him.”
Captain Warren remained silent.
I continued.
“Then he produces the documents after I’m frightened and emotionally overwhelmed.”
“And if I sign, they get my company.”
“If I refuse, they get footage of the former Marine attacking her new husband.”
Captain Warren finally spoke.
“That is a theory.”
“It’s a good one.”
“It is still a theory.”
“I know.”
But I also knew Gregory.
Or at least I was beginning to understand him.
He never improvised when control mattered.
He planned restaurant reservations three weeks ahead.
He created spreadsheets for vacations.
He scheduled gym workouts in fifteen-minute blocks.
A honeymoon extortion scheme would not be spontaneous.
My phone rang again.
This time it was my attorney.
Not a divorce attorney.
Not yet.
Her name was Dana Cole.
She had represented Mercer Strategic Group since its second year.
“Ashlynn, your mother called me.”
“I’m sorry she woke you.”
“She should have.”
Dana’s voice sharpened.
“Did you sign anything?”
“No.”
“Anything electronically?”
“No.”
“Did Gregory ever have access to your company authentication app?”
“I don’t think so.”
“That is not an answer.”
I stopped pacing.
My blood chilled.
“He used my phone sometimes.”
“For what?”
“Music.”
“Navigation.”
“Pictures.”
Dana exhaled.
“Change every credential immediately.”
I sat at the small desk and opened my laptop.
The first login failed.
I tried again.
Failed.
A warning appeared.
PASSWORD UPDATED 3 HOURS AGO.
My hands froze over the keyboard.
“Dana.”
“What?”
“My company password has been changed.”
Captain Warren moved closer.
Dana’s voice changed.
“Do not keep trying.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever changed it may receive login alerts.”
I looked at the clock.
Three hours earlier.
Around the time Gregory had locked the cabin door.
“Can you contact our IT director?”
“I’m doing it now.”
I heard typing on her end.
Then she went quiet.
“What?”
“Ashlynn.”
“What?”
“There was an administrative access request yesterday.”
“From whom?”
Dana hesitated.
“Your account.”
I stared at the wall.
“That’s impossible.”
“It came through your authenticated profile.”
“I didn’t submit anything.”
“It authorized Gregory Hartman as an emergency business administrator.”
My chest tightened.
“Can he access funds?”
“Not directly.”
“Can he authorize contracts?”
“Possibly.”
I looked toward the evidence bag.
The recording device.
The forged signatures.
The messages.
The password change.
This had started before the ship left Florida.
“How long have they been preparing this?”
Dana answered quietly.
“I think we need to find out.”
The next morning, Nassau appeared beyond the windows.
Bright blue water.
White buildings.
A perfect Caribbean postcard.
Passengers crowded the decks to take pictures.
I watched from behind the glass of the security office.
Captain Warren stood beside me.
“Local authorities are waiting.”
“Who else?”
“Several attorneys representing your husband.”
“Already?”
“Yes.”
I gave a humorless smile.
“That sounds like Walter.”
Captain Warren looked at me.
“There is another person waiting.”
“Who?”
“Your husband’s mother.”
I turned.
“Margaret?”
“She arrived from Florida on an early private flight.”
That made no sense.
Gregory’s mother had barely spoken above a whisper throughout our wedding weekend.
She avoided conflict.
Avoided eye contact.
Avoided Walter.
“What does she want?”
Captain Warren handed me a note.
Three words had been written in shaky handwriting.
PLEASE DON’T TRUST WALTER.
I read the sentence twice.
Then a third time.
May you like
For the first time since the cabin door locked, I realized Gregory’s mother might not simply be a silent witness.
She might be the only person alive who knew exactly how the Hartman family taught its sons to control their wives.
