Chapter 7 - The Federal Deposition
In early June, seven weeks after Easter, Clara attended the formal federal deposition at the United States Attorney’s Office.
It was the first time she had seen David since the night he was led away in handcuffs.
He looked unrecognizable. The sleek, handsome man who used to strut around in tailored suits was gone. In his place sat a hollow, pale man wearing a gray orange jumpsuit, his hands restrained by a belly chain. His posture was slumped, his hair messy, and his eyes filled with a desperate, pathetic panic.
Eleanor sat beside her public defender at the far end of the conference table, looking aged by twenty years. Her immaculate hair was gone, replaced by graying roots, and her jewel-free hands trembled incessantly.
When Clara entered the room, wearing a tailored navy maternity suit that proudly showcased her late-stage pregnancy, David let out a choked sob.
"Clara... please," David whispered, leaning forward against his chains. "Look at me... please tell them this was all a mistake. We can fix this. For the baby..."
Clara took her seat across from them, her face an unreadable marble mask. She placed her hands calmly over her stomach.
The federal prosecutor opened the binder. "Mrs. Vance, we are here to record your formal statement regarding the assets traced to Vance Global Holdings and the offshore accounts."
For three hours, Clara spoke. Her voice was steady, methodical, and devastatingly clear. She cited dates, transaction ID numbers, bank routing codes, and specific tax codes. She presented physical evidence of David forging her signature on wire authorizations, showing how he had deliberately lied to her about his corporate earnings.
David’s defense attorney tried once to interrupt, asking if Clara had ever verbally authorized the transfers.
Clara looked directly at the attorney. "I am a Senior Forensic Auditor. Every financial agreement I make is documented in writing, signed, and notarized. If my husband claimed I gave him verbal authorization to wire $60,000 to the Cayman Islands, he is welcome to produce a signed written record. He cannot, because it does not exist."
The defense attorney closed his notebook and slumped back in his chair. He knew it was over.
As the deposition concluded, David broke down completely, weeping openly against the cold table. "Clara! Please! I’ll go to prison for years! I won't get to see my daughter born!"
Clara stood up slowly, adjusting her jacket. She looked down at him with neither hatred nor pity—only the total detachment of a creditor closing an insolvent account.
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"You should have thought about your daughter before you turned her home into a crime scene," Clara said softly.
She turned and walked out of the room, leaving the echoes of his sobs behind her.
