CHAPTER 4 — The Other Women
CHAPTER 4 — The Other Women
The ring was cold in my palm.
I turned it over again.
The engraving was still there.
June 14, 1998.
My wedding date was September 18, 2026.
The ring wasn't mine.
At least, not originally.
I stared at the tiny inscription until the numbers blurred.
Then I called Claire.
She answered immediately.
"Ashlynn?"
"Do you know what happened on June 14, 1998?"
There was a pause.
"Why?"
"Because that's engraved inside my wedding ring."
Silence.
Not the ordinary kind.
The kind that comes when someone suddenly understands that two pieces of a puzzle have just touched.
"Claire?"
"I know that date."
My grip tightened around the ring.
"How?"
"My mother disappeared that day."
I stopped breathing.
"What?"
"Eleanor Bennett disappeared on June 14, 1998."
The room seemed to tilt.
"What do you mean disappeared?"
"They said she left."
"Did she?"
"No."
Claire's voice cracked.
"My mother would never have left me."
I looked at the ring again.
"Claire, who gave you this date?"
"I didn't get the date from anyone."
She took a breath.
"I found it in my mother's diary."
My heart began pounding.
"What did it say?"
"Only three words."
"What words?"
Claire whispered:
Trust no Hartman.
Twenty minutes later, Claire was sitting across from me.
She had brought a battered brown notebook.
The cover was faded.
The corners were bent.
She placed it on the table.
"This belonged to my mother."
I looked at it.
"Have you read it?"
"Most of it."
"What's inside?"
"Her life."
Claire opened the first pages.
There were ordinary things.
Grocery lists.
Appointments.
Notes about Claire as a child.
Bills.
Then the handwriting changed.
The entries became shorter.
More nervous.
Arthur asked me to sign again.
I refused.
He says I'm making this difficult.
Then another.
Gregory's father is becoming dangerous.
I looked at Claire.
"Gregory was a child then."
"Yes."
"So why would she mention him?"
"Because Arthur was teaching him."
"Teaching him what?"
Claire turned another page.
I read the sentence.
He tells Gregory that women are assets.
My stomach tightened.
Another page.
Arthur says a man's wife should never control money.
Another.
He says fear is more reliable than love.
I closed my eyes.
The words were decades old.
Yet they sounded exactly like Gregory.
The same philosophy.
The same language.
The same cruelty.
I looked at Claire.
"This wasn't Gregory's idea."
"No."
"Your mother knew."
"Yes."
"And she tried to stop Arthur."
"Yes."
"What happened?"
Claire looked down.
"She vanished."
We spent the next several hours going through Eleanor's diary.
It became clear that she had been working for Arthur during the early years of Hartman Holdings.
She had been an accountant.
Not an executive.
Not a partner.
An accountant.
But she had discovered something.
Money was moving through dozens of companies.
Funds were being transferred from wealthy women's accounts into corporations controlled by Arthur.
At first, the transactions looked legitimate.
Loans.
Investments.
Acquisitions.
But Eleanor discovered that some of the signatures were forged.
She documented everything.
Then she started asking questions.
That was when Arthur began threatening her.
The final pages were frantic.
I made copies.
If anything happens to me, look for the blue box.
Then:
Arthur knows.
Then:
He knows about the box.
And finally:
June 14. I have to meet someone.
That was the last entry.
Claire's eyes filled with tears.
"My mother never came home."
I reached across the table.
"I'm sorry."
She wiped her face.
"For twenty-eight years, everyone told me she abandoned us."
"Who told you?"
"Arthur."
I looked at her.
"Why would he know?"
"Because he was the last person seen with her."
The room went quiet.
I thought about my grandfather.
The trust.
The ring.
The date.
There was something connecting all of us.
I just hadn't found it.
The next morning, we met with Samuel.
He looked exhausted.
When he saw the ring, he went pale.
"Where did you get that?"
"Gregory gave it to me."
Samuel stared at it.
"Are you sure?"
"It's my wedding ring."
"No."
He shook his head.
"I mean, where did Gregory get it?"
"I don't know."
Samuel picked it up.
He turned it over.
Then looked at the engraving.
His expression changed.
"You need to hear something."
"What?"
"This ring belonged to Eleanor Bennett."
Claire froze.
"What?"
Samuel looked at her.
"Your mother."
Claire stood.
"How do you know?"
Samuel opened a drawer.
Pulled out a photograph.
It showed Eleanor.
She was younger.
Maybe twenty-eight.
She stood beside a man.
My grandfather.
And on her finger was the exact same ring.
Claire stared at the photograph.
"No."
Samuel nodded.
"Your mother worked for my firm before she disappeared."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I didn't know she had been wearing this ring."
I looked at him.
"Why was Eleanor wearing my grandfather's ring?"
Samuel hesitated.
"I don't know."
"You're lying."
He looked at me.
"I'm not."
"Then tell me what you do know."
Samuel sat down.
"Your grandfather and Eleanor were investigating Arthur."
Claire's face went white.
"Together?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because Eleanor discovered financial irregularities."
I leaned forward.
"What kind?"
"Arthur was moving assets from trusts into shell companies."
"Whose trusts?"
Samuel looked at me.
"Several families."
My stomach dropped.
"Mine?"
He nodded.
"Possibly."
That afternoon, Claire introduced me to the first woman.
Her name was Margaret Collins.
Seventy-two years old.
Former owner of a chain of luxury resorts.
She lived alone in a quiet coastal town.
When we arrived, she looked at me for a long time.
Then she said:
"You married Gregory."
It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
Margaret sighed.
"Then I'm sorry."
"Why?"
"Because Arthur has been waiting for someone like you."
I sat down.
"Tell me what happened."
She poured tea.
"My husband died in 2001."
"Did you know Arthur?"
"I knew his business."
"What happened after your husband's death?"
"Arthur offered to help me manage the estate."
"And you accepted."
"I was grieving."
She looked down.
"I trusted him."
"What did he do?"
"He convinced me to move my investments into a trust."
I waited.
"Then he told me I was becoming mentally unstable."
My jaw tightened.
"Why?"
"Because I questioned him."
Margaret gave a bitter laugh.
"He said grief had damaged my judgment."
"What happened?"
"He tried to have me declared incompetent."
"Did he succeed?"
"No."
"Why?"
She looked at me.
"Because my daughter found the paperwork."
"Forged?"
Margaret nodded.
"Someone had forged my signature."
My hands curled into fists.
"Did you report it?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"The case disappeared."
"How?"
"Arthur knew people."
I looked at Claire.
She nodded.
Same pattern.
Different woman.
Different year.
Same man.
The second woman was Helen Price.
She had been married to Gregory's uncle.
Her story was worse.
"My husband died suddenly," she told us.
"Afterward, Arthur told me the family would protect me."
"What happened?"
"He took control of the company."
"Did you agree?"
"I was told it was temporary."
"Then?"
"Six months later, I discovered I owned nothing."
I stared at her.
"How?"
"Documents."
"Forged?"
"Some."
She paused.
"Some were real."
That stopped me.
"What do you mean?"
Helen looked at me.
"That's Arthur's genius."
She leaned forward.
"He doesn't always forge documents."
"What does he do?"
"He gets you to sign them."
My stomach tightened.
"How?"
"Pressure."
"Threats?"
"Sometimes."
"Fear?"
"Always."
She looked at the other women.
"Arthur doesn't need to steal from people if he can convince them to give him what he wants."
By the time we met the third woman, I understood the pattern.
The Hartman method wasn't random.
It was systematic.
First, they identified a wealthy woman.
Then they studied her.
Her family.
Her assets.
Her vulnerabilities.
Then Gregory—or another Hartman man—entered her life.
He became charming.
Patient.
Romantic.
He created emotional dependence.
Once marriage or trust was established, the financial process began.
Documents.
Accounts.
Trusts.
Investments.
Then came control.
And if the woman resisted?
Her credibility was destroyed.
Mental instability.
Emotional problems.
Aggression.
Alcohol.
Anything that made other people question her.
I looked at Claire.
"They've been doing this for decades."
She nodded.
"Yes."
"But why hasn't anyone stopped them?"
"Because every victim thinks she's alone."
That sentence stayed with me.
The Hartman empire wasn't built solely on money.
It was built on silence.
That evening, I returned to my hotel.
I opened the old wedding photographs.
Gregory stood beside me.
Smiling.
Arthur stood behind him.
Smiling too.
I zoomed in.
Arthur's hand was resting on Gregory's shoulder.
I stared at his expression.
Then I noticed something.
Arthur wasn't looking at the camera.
He was looking at me.
My blood ran cold.
I opened another photograph.
Same thing.
Arthur was watching me.
Another.
Same.
He had been observing me all day.
Then I looked at my own photographs.
The wedding.
The rehearsal dinner.
The engagement party.
Arthur appeared in nearly every one.
Always watching.
Always calculating.
I whispered:
"You knew."
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
No one spoke.
"Who is this?"
Silence.
Then a man's voice.
"You've been talking to the wrong women."
I recognized it.
Gregory.
"Where are you?"
"Doesn't matter."
"What do you want?"
"You need to stop."
"Why?"
"Because you're digging into things you don't understand."
"I understand enough."
He laughed.
"No, Ashlynn."
His voice became colder.
"You don't."
I stood.
"Did you know about Eleanor?"
Silence.
That was enough.
"Gregory?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You knew."
"No."
"Then why are you quiet?"
He hung up.
I stared at the phone.
My hands were shaking.
Not from fear.
From realization.
Gregory knew.
Maybe not everything.
But enough.
At midnight, someone knocked on my hotel room.
I didn't answer.
Another knock.
Then a voice.
"Ms. Mercer?"
I froze.
Almost nobody called me that anymore.
Mercer was my maiden name.
I approached the door.
"Who are you?"
"I'm Daniel Reed."
I didn't recognize the name.
"How do you know me?"
"I'm a former Hartman employee."
I opened the door only a few inches.
A man stood outside.
Forties.
Nervous.
Holding a file.
"I need to show you something."
"What?"
He looked down the hallway.
"Not here."
I didn't move.
"Then where?"
He swallowed.
"Somewhere they can't hear us."
Twenty minutes later, we were sitting in an underground parking garage.
Daniel placed the file on the hood of his car.
"Arthur has a system."
"I know."
"No."
He looked at me.
"You know the public version."
"What don't I know?"
He opened the file.
Inside were names.
Dozens.
Women.
Dates.
Assets.
Relationships.
I looked at the first page.
Then the second.
Then the third.
My stomach turned.
"What's this?"
"Target list."
I looked up.
"Target list?"
"Women Arthur considered financially vulnerable."
I flipped through the pages.
Some names were crossed out.
Others had notes.
Married.
Inherited.
Divorced.
High net worth.
Then I saw a name that made my blood run cold.
Ashlynn Mercer.
Beside it was a date.
October 2025.
Three months before Gregory started courting me.
I stared at the page.
"He knew about me before I met him."
Daniel nodded.
"Yes."
"Who added my name?"
He didn't answer.
"Daniel."
He looked at me.
"Arthur."
I closed the file.
"Why me?"
Daniel's expression changed.
"Because of your grandfather."
"What about him?"
"Your grandfather didn't just create the trust."
I waited.
"He took something from Arthur."
My heart stopped.
"What?"
Daniel leaned closer.
"A piece of the Hartman empire."
I stared at him.
"That's impossible."
"No."
He shook his head.
"Your grandfather exposed Arthur once."
"When?"
"1998."
The date on the ring.
June 14.
Eleanor's disappearance.
The photograph.
Everything connected.
"What happened that day?"
Daniel looked toward the dark garage entrance.
"Eleanor was supposed to meet your grandfather."
"For what?"
"To hand him evidence."
"What evidence?"
Daniel's face went pale.
"Proof that Arthur had stolen millions."
I leaned forward.
"Where is it?"
"I don't know."
"Who does?"
He looked at me.
"Your mother."
My breath caught.
"My mother?"
Daniel nodded.
"Your mother was the one who took the evidence after Eleanor disappeared."
I couldn't speak.
My mother had never mentioned Eleanor.
Never mentioned Arthur.
Never mentioned the Hartmans.
Why?
Daniel stood.
"I shouldn't have told you."
"Wait."
He turned.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm leaving."
"Why?"
He looked at me with genuine fear.
"Because if Arthur finds out I talked to you..."
He stopped.
"What?"
"He won't threaten me."
Daniel swallowed.
"He'll erase me."
Then he walked away.
I remained beside the car.
The file was still open.
My name stared back at me.
TARGET: ASHLYNN MERCER
Under it was one final note.
Marriage recommended.
I closed my eyes.
Gregory hadn't fallen in love with me.
He had been assigned to me.
The flowers.
The dates.
The wedding.
The honeymoon.
The bat.
It wasn't a marriage.
It was an operation.
And suddenly, I understood why Gregory had waited until the ship was far from shore.
He wasn't trying to scare me.
He was testing me.
He wanted to know whether I would break.
I looked at the list of women.
Margaret.
Helen.
Claire.
Eleanor.
My mother.
Me.
The Hartman family had spent decades believing women were pieces on a board.
Assets to acquire.
Obstacles to remove.
Voices to silence.
But they had forgotten something.
Pieces could become witnesses.
Witnesses could become allies.
And allies could become dangerous.
I picked up the file.
Then I smiled.
Because for the first time, I knew exactly what I was fighting.
Not a husband.
Not even a family.
An entire system.
May you like
And I intended to dismantle it one woman at a time.
To be continued.
