Chapter 3 - The Deposition
The air inside the glass-walled conference room on the thirty-second floor of the Manhattan legal tower was thick with suffocating tension.
On one side of the polished oak table sat Daniel Vance, dressed in a sharp black suit, alongside his lead defense attorney, Marcus Kane—a ruthless lawyer known for dismantling reputation in high-net-worth divorces. Sitting two seats down was Olivia Sterling, her face cold and stone-like, wearing oversized dark sunglasses to hide her swollen eyes.
On the other side of the table sat me, wearing a crisp white blazer, flanked by Arthur Vance and two forensic accounting specialists.
This was the court-ordered pre-trial deposition.
Daniel glared across the table at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of burning hatred and desperate frustration. "You think you're clever, don't you, Claire?" he spat, leaning over the table before his lawyer held up a hand to stop him. "You showed up at my wedding, ruined my father-in-law's trust, and now you think you're going to extort me for millions?"
"Mr. Vance, keep your mouth shut until I ask you a question," Arthur Vance barked with the weight of forty years of courtroom dominance.
Arthur opened a heavy leather binder, sliding a stack of financial documents into the center of the table.
"Mr. Vance," Arthur began, leaning back in his leather chair. "In your emergency custody filing, you swore under oath that Mrs. Claire Miller was financially incapable of providing a suitable environment for your three sons. Is that correct?"
"Yes," Daniel snapped. "She’s a glorified seamstress running a small shop. I am an executive at a major investment firm. I can give them private schools, estates, and opportunities she couldn't afford in three lifetimes."
"Fascinating," Arthur said dryly. He pulled out a blue folder and slid it toward Daniel’s lawyer. "Then perhaps you can explain why, according to the state tax filings from six years ago, you declared an annual income of less than twenty thousand dollars while Mrs. Miller was paying off your personal credit card debts?"
Daniel’s lawyer, Marcus Kane, quickly scanned the paper, his eyebrows twitching slightly. "That was years ago, prior to my client's commercial success."
"Ah, yes. Commercial success," Arthur smiled—a predatory, terrifying smile. "Let’s talk about that success. In 2018, Mr. Vance secured a $500,000 angel investment to launch his initial trading firm, Vance Capital. Mr. Vance, where did that initial half-million dollars come from?"
Daniel shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his collar suddenly looking a little too tight. "Private investors. It's confidential under NDA agreements."
"Is it?" Arthur asked smoothly. He pulled a second document from his binder. "Because according to the bank routing records we subpoenaed from the bank in Delaware yesterday, that $500,000 was transferred directly from an account belonging to a deceased client of the late-night cleaning company where Claire worked in 2017."
The room descended into a freezing, absolute quiet.
Olivia turned her head sharply toward Daniel, taking off her sunglasses. "What... what is he talking about, Daniel?"
Daniel’s face went completely ghost-white. "That's... that's a misinterpretation! It was a loan!"
"It wasn't a loan, Daniel," I spoke up, my voice calm, clear, and unyielding as I stared straight into his trembling eyes. "You stole the access codes from my cleaning supervisor's desk while you were waiting for me to finish my late-night shifts. You forged the authorization forms while I was home sick with hyperemesis during my first trimester with the triplets."
"You can't prove that!" Daniel yelled, standing up so fast his leather chair slid back against the glass wall. "You have zero proof!"
"We don't need to prove it in civil court, Mr. Vance," Arthur said, sliding a final red folder across the table. "The Federal Bureau of Investigation's Financial Crimes Unit has already opened an inquiry based on these forensic audits. And as of 9:00 AM this morning, Mr. Richard Sterling has officially revoked your executive voting rights at Sterling Holdings."
Daniel stumbled backward, collapsing into his chair as if all the air had been violently sucked out of his lungs.
He looked at Olivia, his hands trembling as he reached out to her. "Olivia... baby, please... listen to me..."
Olivia looked at him with pure, unadulterated disgust. She stood up, took off her two-carat diamond engagement ring, and dropped it into Daniel’s lukewarm water glass with a quiet clink.
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"My father was right about you, Daniel," Olivia said, her voice dripping with ice. "You're not a self-made man. You're just a common thief who got lucky."
She turned and walked out of the conference room, the heavy double doors clicking shut behind her.
