Chapter 5 - The Deposition
Three weeks later, the formal deposition took place on the fortieth floor of the Michigan Avenue Legal Center.
The air inside the glass-walled conference room was thick with tension.
Lenora Ashford sat at the far end of the long mahogany table, dressed in a muted grey suit, her face pale, her eyes dark with exhaustion. She was flanked by four high-priced defense attorneys. She looked significantly smaller than she had three weeks ago inside Bellamy House.
Across from her sat Marin Vale, accompanied by Sarah Vance, a top-tier civil rights attorney hired by Callum’s personal trust.
Callum sat at the back of the room as an interested party, silent, watchful, motionless.
Lenora’s lead defense lawyer, a sharp-faced man named Richard Vance, tapped his pen against a yellow notepad.
"Miss Vale," Vance began, his voice dripping with smooth, practiced skepticism. "We are willing to acknowledge that a heated exchange took place on November 14th. However, my client maintains that she felt threatened by your body language prior to the spilled drink."
"Threatened?" Sarah Vance interjected sharply. "My client was holding a serving tray and explaining a billing query."
"Miss Vale was standing within six inches of my client’s personal space," Richard Vance continued, staring directly at Marin. "Isn't it true, Miss Vale, that you were stressed about your family's severe financial difficulties that morning? Isn't it true you were working double shifts and were medically exhausted?"
He was trying to paint her as unstable. As aggressive. As a desperate girl looking for a payday.
Marin looked directly at Richard Vance. She didn't flinch. She didn't adjust her collar, which partially hid the faint red mark still healing on her neck.
"I was tired, yes," Marin said, her voice clear and remarkably steady. "I was working fifty-seven hours a week to take care of my sick mother."
"And isn't it true—"
"It is also true," Marin cut him off, her voice ringing across the glass room, "that your client sat at Table Twelve, looked at my name tag, and asked me why someone like me was allowed to breathe the same air as her guests."
Lenora’s jaw dropped slightly.
"She called me a piece of street trash," Marin continued, looking straight at Lenora. "And when I told her I would get the restaurant manager to assist her, she filled her cup with boiling coffee, stood up, looked me in the eyes, and threw it at my neck."
Marin reached into her purse, pulled out a small flash drive, and set it on the polished wood table.
"That is the unedited 4K security footage," Marin said smoothly. "Along with audio pulled from the service station microphone. Would you like us to play it for the court reporter right now, Mr. Vance?"
Richard Vance looked at the flash drive, then at Lenora.
Lenora’s face went completely red. "You little parasite..." she hissed under her breath.
"That’s enough, Lenora!" Richard Vance snapped, turning to his client in sheer frustration.
Callum stood up from his chair in the back of the room. He walked slowly down the edge of the table, stopping right behind Marin’s chair.
He set a heavy blue binder on the table in front of Lenora’s legal team.
"That is a formal notice of divorce proceedings," Callum announced quietly. "Along with a complete forensic audit of the Women’s Heritage Foundation. It appears Lenora has embezzled two point four million dollars from her own charity over the last three years to cover her personal gambling debts in Atlantic City."
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Lenora let out a strangled gasp, turning to Callum in absolute horror. "Callum... no... you can't do this!"
"It’s already done," Callum said coldly. "The state prosecutor has the files. You have two choices today, Lenora. You plead guilty to misdemeanor assault, accept six months of community service, enter a full rehabilitation program, and sign the divorce agreement... or we go to trial on Monday for felony assault and grand larceny."
