Chapter 4 - The Woman in the Photograph
Security locked down three decks.
Passengers were told there had been a technical issue.
No announcement mentioned Gregory.
No announcement mentioned Walter.
Vale wanted to avoid panic.
I wanted Gregory found.
At 2:08 a.m., Dana called again.
“I found another name.”
I sat in the protected suite with Officer Ramirez.
“What name?”
“Leah Morrison.”
It meant nothing.
“Who is she?”
“Gregory’s former fiancée.”
I stared at the wall.
“Gregory told me he’d never been engaged.”
“He lied.”
Dana sent a photograph.
A smiling brunette stood beside Gregory at a charity event six years earlier.
His hand rested at her waist.
The expression on his face was identical to the one he had worn in our engagement photographs.
“What happened to her?”
“She disappeared from public life after a vacation in Cabo.”
My throat tightened.
“Disappeared?”
“Not literally. She survived.”
“Survived what?”
“A fall from a hotel balcony.”
I said nothing.
Dana continued.
“Gregory told police she had been drinking.”
“Was she?”
“Hospital toxicology showed a sedative.”
I closed my eyes.
Champagne.
Camera.
Behavioral incident.
Same architecture.
Different woman.
“Was Gregory charged?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Leah refused to cooperate after she woke up.”
I knew why before Dana said it.
“Walter.”
“Her family received nearly two million dollars through a private settlement six weeks later.”
My anger became almost unbearably calm.
“Where is Leah?”
“Arizona.”
“Can you contact her?”
“I already did.”
“And?”
“She asked whether Gregory had taken you somewhere you couldn’t easily leave.”
The room went silent.
“She knew.”
“Yes.”
Dana lowered her voice.
“She said she’ll speak to you.”
Leah appeared on video fifteen minutes later.
She was thirty-four now.
Her hair was shorter.
There was a thin scar near her temple.
She looked at me for several seconds.
Then she said,
“He used a golf club with me.”
No hello.
No introduction.
Just the truth.
“My suite was in Cabo.”
Her voice remained steady.
“He locked the door and told me marriage required obedience.”
I swallowed.
“He said his father taught him that?”
Leah’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
She looked away.
“When I laughed at him, he hit the table with the club.”
“What happened after that?”
“I tried to leave.”
Her hand moved unconsciously toward the scar.
“He grabbed me.”
She stopped.
I didn’t push.
Finally she continued.
“I woke up in a hospital.”
“Did he push you?”
“I don’t know.”
The answer sounded more painful than certainty.
“The last thing I remember was champagne.”
Officer Ramirez looked at me.
Leah saw it.
“He drugged yours too?”
“We think so.”
She closed her eyes.
“Oh God.”
“Leah, why didn’t you testify?”
Her face hardened.
“Because Walter Hartman walked into my hospital room before Gregory did.”
I felt cold.
“He showed me photographs of my younger brother.”
“What kind of photographs?”
“Outside school. At soccer practice. Walking home.”
I stopped breathing.
“He told me accidents happened to families who couldn’t let things go.”
Officer Ramirez began taking notes.
“So you accepted the settlement.”
“I accepted survival.”
There was no shame in her voice.
Only exhaustion.
“I changed my name. Moved states. Started over.”
“Why didn’t you warn me?”
Leah looked directly into the camera.
“I tried.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“Three months ago.”
She opened an email on her screen.
“I sent you this.”
The subject line read:
PLEASE READ BEFORE YOU MARRY GREGORY HARTMAN
My address was correct.
I had never seen it.
Gregory had access to my email.
“How many times?”
“Four.”
I pressed my palm against my mouth.
He hadn’t merely ignored warnings.
He had deleted them.
Curated reality.
Built a bubble around me.
Leah leaned closer.
“Ashlynn, Walter doesn’t improvise.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Her voice sharpened.
“If he’s on that ship, there’s a second plan.”
Officer Ramirez and I exchanged a glance.
“What second plan?”
Leah hesitated.
“Gregory told me once that his father believed every operation needed a clean ending.”
“What does that mean?”
“Evidence disappears.”
My skin prickled.
“Witnesses change their stories.”
She swallowed.
“And sometimes the victim becomes the person everyone blames.”
A radio crackled.
Officer Ramirez listened.
Then stood.
“What?”
She looked at me.
“They found Walter’s jacket.”
“Where?”
“Deck fifteen.”
“Walter?”
“No.”
“Gregory?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Ramirez hesitated.
“There was blood on the sleeve.”
I stared at her.
“Whose?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Then another call came through.
A cabin steward had been found unconscious in a service corridor.
He had been the steward assigned to Walter’s room.
May you like
And before losing consciousness, he had written one word in condensation on a stainless-steel door.
LIFEBOAT.
