Chapter 4 - His Version
Elena did not flinch.
“Your wife became disoriented trying to find the dining room.”
Gregory looked at me.
Then at Elena.
“That happens when she’s stressed.”
He slipped his arm around my shoulders.
“She has a history of anxiety.”
I almost laughed.
I had jumped out of helicopters.
I had slept through mortar fire.
I did not have a history of anxiety.
But Gregory was building a story.
One sentence at a time.
Back inside our suite, he locked the door.
“You spoke to security.”
“Yes.”
His expression darkened.
“You embarrassed me again.”
“You threatened me with a bat.”
“We’ve already discussed this.”
“No.”
“You discussed it.”
He poured himself another drink.
“You should understand something about powerful families.”
“I understand plenty.”
“My father knows governors.”
“Congratulations.”
“He knows judges.”
“Wonderful.”
“He sits on hospital boards.”
That made me pause.
Gregory saw it.
“You think being physically capable makes you powerful.”
He stepped closer.
“It doesn’t.”
“Gregory.”
“You could break my arm tonight and tomorrow morning every newspaper in America would say unstable combat veteran attacks billionaire husband on honeymoon.”
The words were too polished.
Too prepared.
He had thought about this.
Perhaps before the wedding.
Perhaps long before.
“You planned this.”
Gregory smiled.
“I planned our marriage.”
A cold sensation moved through my chest.
My phone vibrated inside the bathroom again.
This time I waited until Gregory showered.
Then I retrieved it.
Naomi had sent a voice message.
I put in one earbud.
“Ashlynn, I found Claire.”
I stopped breathing.
“She isn’t overseas.”
A pause.
“She lives under another name in Arizona.”
Another pause.
“And she says Gregory nearly destroyed her life.”
I closed my eyes.
Naomi continued.
“Claire says Gregory tried to force her into signing the same kind of financial documents you mentioned.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“She refused.”
Then Naomi said the sentence that changed my plan completely.
“Two days later, she woke up in a private psychiatric facility with Gregory listed as her emergency contact.”
I sat on the bathroom floor.
The medical authority clause.
The psychiatric story Gregory was already spreading.
It fit too well.
Another message arrived.
A photograph.
Claire.
Young.
Blonde.
Standing beside Gregory at a charity gala.
Across the photograph Naomi had typed:
SHE WANTS TO TALK TO YOU.
I sent one response.
Tomorrow. Nassau.
Then the bathroom door handle moved.
Once.
Twice.
Gregory’s voice came from the other side.
“Ashlynn?”
I slipped the phone beneath a folded towel.
“Yes?”
“Open the door.”
“Why?”
Silence.
Then his voice softened.
“Because I just received a message from my father.”
My skin went cold.
May you like
“He says Claire Donnelly is alive.”
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