Chapter 3 - THE HARTMAN HONEYMOONS
Her name was Rebecca Shaw.
Twenty-eight years old.
Financial analyst.
Born in Tampa.
Last confirmed photograph taken four years earlier.
She was boarding an Atlantic Crown cruise ship beside Gregory Hartman.
I stared at her photograph inside Marcus's security office.
She was smiling.
Gregory had one arm around her waist.
The same pose we had used for our boarding photograph that morning.
“What happened?”
Marcus folded his arms.
“Officially?”
“Yes.”
“They had an argument in Nassau.”
“And?”
“Gregory claimed she left the ship voluntarily.”
“Did she?”
“No footage.”
I looked at him.
“No footage of her leaving?”
“None we could locate.”
“What about customs?”
“No record.”
“Police?”
“Gregory said they broke up.”
“That isn't an answer.”
Marcus nodded.
“I know.”
Rebecca’s family filed a missing-person report.
Gregory cooperated for two days.
Then lawyers arrived.
His father produced emails allegedly written by Rebecca saying she planned to travel alone through the Caribbean.
The investigation lost momentum.
“Were the emails real?”
“We don't know.”
“You've had four years.”
“I'm ship security, Ashlynn.”
Marcus leaned against the table.
“Not the FBI.”
“Why are you investigating?”
“Because last year another woman reported something.”
“Who?”
“Claire Donovan.”
The name meant nothing to me.
“She dated Gregory for eight months.”
“What happened?”
“Same cruise line.”
“Same cabin?”
Marcus nodded.
My skin crawled.
“She reported that Gregory became aggressive the first night.”
“With a bat?”
“No.”
“A leather belt.”
I looked away.
“She escaped into the hallway.”
“What happened?”
“A security supervisor persuaded her not to file a report until the ship reached port.”
“And?”
“The report vanished.”
“Who was the supervisor?”
Marcus paused.
“Eric Dalton.”
“Where is he now?”
“Vice president of Hartman Corporate Security.”
That told me enough.
Gregory’s father didn’t simply protect his son after incidents.
He recruited the people who helped bury them.
“Claire?”
“Alive.”
“Where?”
“Chicago.”
“Will she testify?”
“She already tried once.”
“What happened?”
“She received a settlement.”
“Meaning she agreed to silence?”
“No.”
Marcus looked at me.
“Meaning somebody forged her signature.”
I sat back.
It was bigger than Gregory.
Much bigger.
A knock came at the door.
One of Marcus’s officers entered.
“Chief?”
“Yes?”
“We have a problem.”
“When don't we?”
“The incident recording is gone.”
Marcus straightened.
“What recording?”
“The cabin emergency file.”
My pulse jumped.
“You said you heard everything.”
“I did.”
“Then where is it?”
The officer shook his head.
“Server shows deletion from administrator level.”
“Who has administrator access?”
“Five people.”
“Names.”
The officer hesitated.
“The captain.”
“Keep going.”
“IT director.”
“Security chief.”
Marcus nodded.
“That's me.”
“Operations director.”
“And?”
The officer looked uncomfortable.
“Corporate security liaison.”
Marcus's face hardened.
“Who is liaison this sailing?”
The officer swallowed.
“Dalton.”
Eric Dalton.
The same man who buried Claire Donovan’s complaint.
Gregory had told me half the security staff worked for his father.
Maybe it hadn't been empty arrogance.
Marcus turned to me.
“Do you still have your phone?”
“Yes.”
“Did you record anything?”
“No.”
He swore under his breath.
Then I remembered.
“My watch.”
Marcus looked at me.
“What?”
I held up my wrist.
Fitness watch.
Gregory mocked me for wearing it with formal clothes.
I had forgotten it recorded environmental audio whenever I started my workout mode.
Before Gregory charged with the bat, I had pressed the side button instinctively.
An old habit from training.
Start the timer.
Track heart rate.
I looked at the screen.
Workout duration:
18 minutes, 42 seconds.
My pulse spiked.
“Does it record audio?”
“Voice notes during exercise.”
“Can it be deleted remotely?”
“Not unless someone has my account.”
Marcus leaned toward me.
“Do not connect it to ship Wi-Fi.”
I removed the watch.
He placed it in an evidence pouch.
For the first time all night, something resembling hope entered his face.
“Gregory doesn't know?”
“He thinks I use it to count calories.”
Marcus almost smiled.
“Good.”
The door opened again.
This time no knock.
Eric Dalton walked inside.
Fifty.
Tall.
Perfect suit.
Corporate smile.
“Chief Hale.”
Marcus's face became unreadable.
“Dalton.”
Eric's eyes moved to me.
“Mrs. Hartman.”
“Ms. Carter.”
A tiny pause.
“I understand there's been an unfortunate misunderstanding.”
I stood.
“My husband swung a baseball bat at me.”
“Allegedly.”
Marcus stepped forward.
“I heard it.”
Eric smiled.
“Yet strangely, there appears to be no recording.”
Marcus didn’t move.
Eric turned to me.
“Gregory is willing to forgive tonight's incident.”
For one second, I genuinely thought I had misunderstood.
“Forgive?”
“Yes.”
“He attacked me.”
“Gregory has suffered injuries.”
“He has a bruised ego.”
Eric's smile disappeared.
“He claims you assaulted him without provocation.”
Marcus spoke.
“We found the bat.”
“Which has Mrs. Hartman’s fingerprints.”
“Because she disarmed him.”
“According to?”
Eric looked around theatrically.
“A deleted audio file?”
I understood the game.
The evidence disappears.
The narrative changes.
The woman becomes unstable.
Gregory becomes injured.
His father becomes generous.
Then lawyers finish the rest.
“How many women?” I asked.
Eric blinked.
“What?”
“How many women have you done this to?”
Marcus watched carefully.
Eric gave me a puzzled smile.
“I have no idea what you're talking about.”
“Rebecca Shaw.”
Nothing.
Not even surprise.
“Claire Donovan.”
Still nothing.
“Does Victor pay you per woman?”
Marcus quietly said:
“Ashlynn.”
I understood.
Don't show everything.
Not yet.
Eric looked at Marcus.
“You're relieved from duty pending internal review.”
Marcus laughed.
“You don't have that authority.”
“I have corporate authorization.”
He handed over a document.
Marcus read it.
His expression did not change.
But I knew enough about controlled faces to recognize anger.
Eric looked at me.
“Mrs. Hartman, your husband would like to speak privately.”
“No.”
“He thinks that would be wise.”
“I don't care.”
“Victor Hartman also wishes to speak with you.”
“No.”
Eric smiled slightly.
“Mr. Hartman isn't accustomed to hearing that word.”
“Then somebody should introduce you both to it.”
Marcus coughed to hide a laugh.
Eric stared at me.
Something colder appeared behind his eyes.
Then his phone rang.
He checked the screen.
His posture changed.
He answered.
“Yes, sir.”
Victor.
Eric listened.
Then held the phone toward me.
“Mr. Hartman insists.”
I didn’t take it.
So Eric activated speaker.
A man's voice filled the room.
Deep.
Calm.
Older.
“Ashlynn.”
I had heard Victor Hartman speak dozens of times.
At dinners.
Our engagement party.
My wedding.
Never like this.
“Victor.”
“Gregory made a mistake.”
“A mistake is spilling wine.”
Silence.
“I agree.”
That surprised me.
Then:
“Which is why I am offering you a chance to handle this privately.”
“I don't want anything from you.”
“You misunderstand.”
His voice softened.
“I am not offering you money.”
“What are you offering?”
“Protection.”
“From Gregory?”
“No.”
A pause.
“From what happens if you refuse.”
Marcus immediately reached for his phone.
Eric smiled.
Victor continued.
“You have spent years pretending the woman you used to be doesn't exist.”
My chest tightened.
“Your military service.”
“Your disciplinary inquiry at Camp Lejeune.”
My blood went cold.
Gregory didn’t know about that.
Almost nobody did.
Victor continued.
“The trainee who ended up hospitalized.”
Marcus looked at me.
I said nothing.
The case had been cleared.
But the allegation alone could destroy reputations if edited correctly.
Victor knew it.
“You investigated me.”
“I protect my family.”
“By threatening women?”
“By understanding them.”
“You don't understand me.”
For the first time, Victor laughed.
“I understand you better than my son does.”
Then his voice changed.
“Get back into that cabin.”
“Apologize.”
“Finish your honeymoon.”
“And tomorrow morning, nobody outside this ship ever needs to know what happened.”
I stared at the phone.
“And if I don't?”
Victor answered without hesitation.
“Then by breakfast…”
“…the world will believe Gregory survived an attack by a mentally unstable former Marine.”
The call ended.
Eric took his phone back.
He expected me to be frightened.
Maybe part of me was.
But fear had never been the same thing as surrender.
I looked at Marcus.
“Can you preserve my watch recording?”
“Yes.”
“Off the ship?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
He smiled faintly.
“The Hartmans aren't the only people with friends.”
Eric’s expression changed.
Marcus turned to him.
“And since you've just participated in witness intimidation in front of two people…”
He pointed toward the ceiling.
“…you might want to check whether this room has the same recording system you just deleted.”
Eric slowly looked up.
Marcus smiled.
“This one doesn't store locally.”
May you like
For the first time that night—
Eric Dalton stopped looking confident.
