Chapter 9 - The Deposition Trap
The Seattle law offices of Sterling & Cross were designed to intimidate: black glass, polished granite tables, and floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over Puget Sound.
Troy sat across the conference table wearing an expensive navy suit that still had the tailor’s basting thread visible near the cuff. His hair was slicked back, but his eyes were bloodshot and erratic. Beside him sat his lead counsel, Randall Cross, a slick attorney known for sensationalizing high-profile domestic disputes on regional talk shows. Arthur sat in the corner, clutching a leather binder, avoiding my eyes.
"We are on the record," the court reporter announced, her fingers hovering over the stenotype machine.
Cross leaned forward, flashing a condescending smile. "Ms. Vance, before we begin formal inquiry into the Munich assets, my client wishes to extend an olive branch. We are prepared to settle all claims for an equitable distribution of two point two million dollars, accompanied by a joint press release stating that the entire tragedy was an unfortunate miscommunication exacerbated by media interference."
Eleanor didn't even look up from her laptop. "Denied. Proceed with your questions, Counsel."
Troy sneered, leaning over the microphones. "You really think you're untouchable out there in your beach house, Amelia? You think the public doesn't see through you? We have four hundred thousand views on our podcast. People know you let your own family rot while you play lady of the manor."
"Mr. Vance," Eleanor interjected sharply, "this is a deposition under oath, not an episode of your failed web show. Control yourself, or I will move for immediate sanctions."
Cross cleared his throat, tapping a manila folder. "Ms. Vance, isn't it true that your late husband, James Vance, relied extensively on Arthur Vance’s credit facilities to establish his practice, thereby creating a fiduciary partnership between the Vance family and his estate?"
"No," I answered clearly.
"No?" Cross chuckled. "We have bank records from 2018 showing transfers—"
"You have records showing Arthur Vance stealing sixty-five thousand dollars from my husband's operating account," I interrupted, looking directly at my father.
Arthur went bone-white. His hands twitched on top of his leather binder.
Cross blinked, his theatrical swagger momentarily thrown off rhythm. "That is an unsubstantiated accusation—"
"Exhibit D," Eleanor said smoothly, sliding a stack of stamped court documents across the polished granite. "Forensic audit of Vanguard Commercial Banking, certified by the State of Washington Department of Financial Institutions. Arthur Vance diverted escrow funds using unauthorized electronic signatures. James chose not to pursue criminal prosecution at the time out of deference to Amelia. However, the statute of limitations for grand larceny under Oregon and Washington revised codes has not expired. In fact, our team submitted these documents to the Multnomah County District Attorney’s white-collar crime division at eight o'clock this morning."
The air left the room in an audible gasp.
Troy turned on his father, his voice cracking. "Dad? What the hell is she talking about? You said that money was an early inheritance disbursement!"
Arthur couldn't speak. His mouth opened and closed like a fish stranded on hot sand.
"And as for testamentary capacity," Eleanor continued, standing up and plugging her laptop into the conference room’s wall display, "we tender Exhibit E. The video deposition of James Vance, recorded under oath before Vice Consul Miller at the American Consulate in Munich on October 14th."
The giant 4K monitor flickered to life.
There was James.
May you like
He was thin, his cheekbones sharp, but his eyes were blazing with unmistakable intellect and terrifying resolve. He sat in a high-backed leather chair, wearing the charcoal sweater I had knitted for him for our fifth anniversary.
The room fell into an absolute, suffocating silence.
