Chapter 17 - The Deposition Room
The conference room on the tenth floor of downtown’s most prestigious legal building smelled of expensive coffee, stale stress, and printer toner. Through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, the city skyline stretched out under a grey, overcast Monday sky, looking vast and indifferent to the human dramas playing out in its boardrooms.
I sat at the polished mahogany table wearing a tailored navy-blue blazer, a crisp white silk blouse, and silver pearl earrings that had belonged to Grandma Ruth. To my left sat Sarah Jenkins, her laptop open, her face an unreadable mask of absolute confidence. To my right sat Victoria Sterling, turning a sleek silver pen over in her fingers.
Across the table sat Richard.
He looked terrible. The confident, condescending corporate executive who had walked out of my house months ago had been replaced by a hollowed-out shell of a man. His hair was messy, dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes, and his expensive suit hung loosely on a frame that had clearly lost weight from pure, unadulterated panic. Beside him sat Marcus Vance, his high-priced attorney, sweating profusely despite the room’s aggressive air conditioning.
"Let the record show that the deposition is now in session," the court reporter droned, her fingers poised over her stenograph machine.
Marcus Vance cleared his throat, standing up to adjust his lapels with a theatrical flourish designed to intimidate. "Before we begin, my client wishes to offer an amended settlement. In the interest of expedience and avoiding unnecessary emotional distress for Mrs. Vance—"
"It's just *Claire*, Marcus," Sarah interrupted smoothly, not even looking up from her tablet. "And my client isn't interested in a discount settlement. Let’s skip the preamble and get straight to Exhibit A."
Marcus scowled, shooting a poisonous glance toward Sarah before turning his attention to me. "Mrs. Vance—Claire—surely you realize that dragging this out in court will only result in public exposure of private family matters that could prove... embarrassing to everyone involved."
"Are you threatening me, Marcus?" I asked, my voice completely level, carrying a quiet, piercing clarity that instantly silenced the room. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the mahogany table, looking directly into Richard’s terrified, bloodshot eyes. "Because for twenty-seven years, my entire life was held hostage by the fear of family embarrassment. I am entirely cured of that phobia."
Richard flinched, looking away from my gaze as if my eyes physically burned him.
Sarah tapped her screen, and a digital projector mounted to the wall instantly lit up, casting a massive, high-resolution financial spreadsheet across the white screen behind Marcus Vance.
"Let’s talk about the offshore LLC registered in the Cayman Islands under the name *Ruth Holdings LLC*," Sarah announced, her voice ringing clear and sharp in the silent room. "Registered on March 14, 2018. Funded entirely by corporate bonuses embezzled from Richard’s firm, and managed through a power of attorney granted to... Eleanor Sterling. Your mother-in-law, Richard."
Marcus Vance turned around, his face turning an alarming shade of pale grey as he stared at the glowing spreadsheet. He whipped his head around to stare at Richard. "Richard... what is this?"
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Richard’s hands began to shake violently. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He looked at me, his eyes wide with a desperate, pathetic plea for mercy—the exact same look my sister Allison had worn right before she dumped my macaroni and cheese into the garbage, expecting me to clean up her mess.
"You built an entire fortress of lies, Richard," I said softly, the silence of the room amplifying every word. "You treated me like a servant, you let my family humiliate me, and you thought you could stash your stolen money away while leaving me with nothing." I paused, giving him a cold, pitying smile. "You picked the wrong wife."
