Chapter 7 - THE REAL HONEYMOON PLAN
The FBI joined the investigation before sunrise.
Not because of the bat.
Not because of Gregory.
Because Port Meridian touched federal freight contracts.
Special Agent Elena Ruiz came aboard when the ship returned unexpectedly toward Miami after receiving official instructions to reverse course.
She was forty-something.
Compact.
Calm.
The kind of person who wasted no words.
Her first question:
“Did you ever give Gregory your work password?”
“No.”
“Did he have physical access to your laptop?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“At home.”
“Unlocked?”
“Sometimes.”
She did not judge.
That somehow made me feel worse.
“Did he ask about your work?”
“Constantly.”
“What specifically?”
“Ports.”
“Freight schedules.”
“Customs delays.”
“Secure warehouses.”
Ruiz wrote everything.
Then:
“Did you ever log into Port Meridian from home?”
“Yes.”
“Multi-factor authentication?”
“Yes.”
“Phone-based?”
I stopped.
“Yes.”
“Has your phone ever gone missing?”
I thought.
Then remembered our engagement trip.
Boston.
Gregory accidentally took my phone when he left for coffee.
He returned twenty minutes later.
Laughing.
Same case.
Same model.
Easy mistake.
Except Gregory noticed everything.
“He took it once.”
“When?”
“Seven months ago.”
Ruiz nodded.
“Before Victor ordered your military background.”
A pattern.
Gregory gains access.
Victor investigates.
Wedding happens.
Cruise isolates me.
Threat appears.
Then what?
Ruiz had an answer.
“We believe someone attempted to clone your authentication profile.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
My blood went cold.
“From where?”
She turned her laptop.
An IP address.
Marine satellite network.
The Sovereign.
Gregory had my backup phone.
Victor had my credentials.
They were trying to access my work systems while I was trapped on a ship.
“Did they succeed?”
“No.”
Relief.
“Why?”
“Your employer's anomaly detection froze the account.”
I exhaled.
Ruiz continued.
“But someone attempted to authorize a shipment.”
“What shipment?”
Her eyes sharpened.
“A container scheduled to leave Port Everglades tomorrow.”
“Contents?”
“Officially medical imaging equipment.”
“And actually?”
“We're determining that.”
Marcus stood near the door.
Ruiz looked at me.
“Your husband may be abusive.”
“He is abusive.”
“Yes.”
She didn't soften it.
“But this honeymoon may also have been designed to compromise you professionally.”
I stared at the wall.
“So what happens now?”
“We build a case.”
“Victor is leaving.”
“We know.”
“You're going to let him?”
“Sometimes following money is easier when the money believes it's free.”
I hated the answer.
But I understood it.
Gregory called that afternoon.
Unknown satellite number.
Ruiz gestured for me to answer.
“Ashlynn.”
He sounded exhausted.
“Gregory.”
“You called the FBI.”
“You swung a bat at a former Marine and then tried to use her federal freight access.”
Silence.
“Dad said you wouldn't understand.”
I almost laughed.
“That line must work often in your family.”
“This wasn't supposed to happen.”
“What?”
“Any of it.”
“You brought the bat.”
“That was…”
He stopped.
“Was what?”
“Separate.”
Separate.
The casualness made my skin crawl.
“So let's clarify.”
I kept my voice calm.
“You planned to intimidate me into obedience.”
Silence.
“And separately, you planned to use my professional credentials.”
“I wasn't going to hurt you.”
“You swung aluminum at my ribs.”
“I was angry.”
“You told me it was how your father controlled your mother.”
“I shouldn't have said that.”
“You shouldn't have done it.”
He breathed hard.
“Ashlynn, I can fix this.”
“No.”
“You always say that.”
“Because you keep assuming this is negotiable.”
“My father is out of control.”
Interesting.
Now Victor was the villain.
“And you?”
“I made mistakes.”
“That word again.”
“Please.”
“Where are you?”
Silence.
“Gregory.”
“On the yacht.”
“With Victor?”
“Yes.”
“Eric?”
“Yes.”
Ruiz wrote on a pad.
KEEP HIM TALKING.
“What's in the container?”
Gregory froze.
“What container?”
“Bad answer.”
“Ashlynn—”
“What did Victor want moved?”
“I don't know.”
“You tried to access my system.”
“He did.”
“With your phone.”
“I didn't understand.”
“You stole my phone.”
“Dad told me it was to verify whether you were cheating.”
The lie was almost insulting.
“Gregory.”
“I swear.”
“What is in the container?”
He whispered:
“Documents.”
Ruiz looked at me.
“What documents?”
“I don't know exactly.”
“Try.”
“Records.”
“Whose?”
Another silence.
Then:
“Hartman records.”
“Why are they being shipped secretly?”
“Because Dad is moving everything.”
“From investigators?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Cayman warehouse.”
Ruiz scribbled.
“Physical documents?”
“And drives.”
“What kind of records?”
Gregory’s voice lowered.
“Payments.”
“To whom?”
“Politicians.”
“Security.”
“Judges.”
“Lawyers.”
My eyes met Ruiz’s.
Gregory continued.
“Everything.”
Victor wasn't moving cargo.
He was moving evidence.
“Why use my access?”
“Because Port Meridian cargo gets fewer secondary inspections.”
That was not exactly true.
But Gregory believed it.
Good.
“Gregory.”
“Yes?”
“Come back.”
Silence.
“You can still cooperate.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“You don't understand my father.”
“No.”
I looked toward Marcus.
“I understand him perfectly.”
“He'll destroy me.”
“Maybe.”
“You don't care?”
“I care that you attacked me.”
“I care that you committed crimes.”
“I care that women before me were terrorized into silence.”
“But whether you tell the truth now?”
I paused.
“That choice belongs to you.”
Gregory said nothing for several seconds.
Then whispered:
“The container number is HRTU-884190.”
Ruiz immediately sent it.
I closed my eyes.
Gregory had finally crossed one line his father never expected.
He gave us the evidence.
Then I heard another voice behind him.
Victor.
“Who are you talking to?”
Gregory sucked in a breath.
The call disconnected.
Ruiz looked at me.
“That may have saved us months.”
I stared at the dead phone.
“Or gotten him hurt.”
After everything Gregory had done, part of me hated that I still cared whether Victor hurt him.
Ruiz seemed to understand.
“You can want him held accountable and still not want him harmed.”
I looked at her.
She continued:
“Those aren't contradictions.”
That night, federal agents intercepted container HRTU-884190.
Inside were no medical machines.
They found fourteen locked cases.
Financial ledgers.
Hard drives.
Contracts.
Photographs.
Recorded meetings.
Thirty years of Hartman secrets.
And taped inside the lid of one case—
May you like
a photograph of me.
Taken six months before Gregory and I ever supposedly met.
