Chapter 3 - The Digital Noose
His toxic words hung heavy in the air, and the laughter rattling in his chest was a sickening reminder of the systemic wealth and power he wielded. I looked down at myself and realized I did not have a single scratch on my skin, while Gregory was bleeding heavily on the floor with a broken nose and a ruined wrist. In the eyes of corrupt security guards, an injured billionaire and a physically unharmed wife with military combat training would look like an unprovoked attack.
“Keep laughing, Gregory, because you are making this very easy for me,” I said with absolute calm.
“Let me go right now or I will make sure you rot in prison for the rest of your life!” Gregory screamed while struggling uselessly beneath my knee.
“You are not in a position to make demands,” I replied as I reached into my luggage with my free hand to retrieve four industrial zip ties I always carried when traveling.
With brutal efficiency, I bound his wrists tight behind his back and tied his ankles together so he was completely immobilized on the floor. I grabbed a silk necktie from his open suitcase, rolled it up tightly, and stuffed it into his mouth to silence his screaming threats.
“Stay right there while I clear up a few things,” I said softly, stepping over his squirming body to pick up his expensive phone from his jacket pocket.
I grabbed Gregory by his hair, yanked his head back, and forced his eyes open using pressure points behind his jaw so the facial recognition would unlock the device. The phone chimed cheerfully, and I sat down in a leather armchair to search through his personal messages while taking a slow sip of water.
“Let us see what kind of secrets a wealthy gentleman keeps,” I muttered, opening his primary messaging applications.
I did not have to look far because Gregory’s massive ego had made him careless. I opened an encrypted group chat titled The Council, which consisted of Gregory, his father, and his older brothers sharing horrific advice on how to abuse and control their wives with photos and sick jokes.
Just three hours earlier while we were boarding the ship, Gregory had sent a text saying, “Got the bat packed for international waters. She thinks she is so smart, but I am going to break her spirit tonight using Dad’s old grip.”
“You monstrous fools put everything in writing,” I whispered, feeling a wave of deep disgust as I quickly took screenshots of every single message and photo in the chat log.
“Mmmph! Mmmph!” Gregory gagged loudly from the floor, his eyes wide with pure panic as he realized what I was looking at on his screen.
“Shut up, Gregory,” I said without looking at him while I uploaded the entire cache of evidence to a secure cloud server.
I immediately forwarded the file link to Donald Welch, my former military commander who now ran a high-level security firm in California. I attached a urgent tactical distress code to the message, and within fifteen seconds, my phone vibrated with his response.
“File received. FBI field office notified and federal maritime authorities are dispatching an intercept vessel right now. Hold your ground, Captain,” Donald texted back.
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Suddenly, three heavy knocks rattled the suite’s front door, shaking the frame.
“Security team! Open the door immediately, Mr. Hartman!” a harsh voice shouted from the hallway outside. “We received reports of a loud struggle inside this cabin!”
