When she leaned toward the engine, he struck her from behind.
He carried her into a hidden vehicle and transported her through forgotten logging roads to the forest cabin he had spent months preparing.
Then he returned to Joan’s rig.
He arranged the interior.
Left her wallet.
Left her money.
Left her phone.
And opened the door so rain and morning traffic would destroy what little evidence remained outside.
For nine years, Greg told himself he was not hurting her.
He insisted he had “taken care of” Joan.
Given her food.
Given her clothes.
Given her shelter.
Investigators stared at him in disbelief.
Then one detective asked the question that finally exposed the nightmare behind his fantasy.
“If this was a home,” he said, “why couldn’t Joan leave?”
Greg stopped answering.
But Joan was preparing to answer that question herself.
And when prosecutors told her she did not have to face him in court, she made a decision nobody expected.
Joan looked at them and said, “I lost nine years because he controlled where I could stand—he does not get to control whether I speak.”
Part 3
