Chapter 5 - The Deposition7
Two weeks later, the war moved from the cold doorsteps of Dunthorpe into the sterile, fluorescent-lit conference room of Reed & Associates on the twentieth floor of downtown Portland's premier legal building.The room smelled of stale coffee, expensive leather, and impending doom.
Across the long mahogany table sat Troy, my mother Eleanor, and their defense attorney, Marcus Vance—a slick, overpriced lawyer who looked like he hadn't slept in days. Troy wore a wrinkled suit, his tie loosened, looking like a man awaiting execution. My mother sat stiffly, wearing oversized sunglasses inside the room to hide her crying-swollen eyes, refusing to look at me.
I sat between Evelyn Reed and her senior associate. For the first time in my life, I wasn't shaking in my family's presence. I felt grounded, anchored by the truth.
"Let the record reflect," the court reporter monotone-recited, "that this is the videotaped deposition of Eleanor Vance and Troy Vance in the matter of Amelia Vance v. Troy Vance et al."
Evelyn leaned forward, resting her elbows on the polished table, her gaze locked onto Troy like a predator targeting its prey.
"Mr. Vance," Evelyn began, her voice dangerously calm. "Let's start with the night of January 14th. The night your sister returned to Portland after burying her husband in Singapore."
Marcus Vance tapped the table. "Objection. Counsel is attempting to characterize the emotional state of—"
"Overruled by common sense, Marcus," Evelyn snapped without looking at him. "Answer the question, Troy. Did you receive a text message from your sister at 5:12 PM asking for a ride from the airport?"
Troy swallowed hard, his throat making a loud clicking sound. "Yes."
"And what was your response?"
"I said... I said we were busy," Troy muttered to his shoes.
"Speak up for the microphone, Mr. Vance," Evelyn ordered.
"I said we were busy!" Troy snapped, his voice cracking. "I had a dinner meeting with potential investors for the Westside Development Project!"
"The same development project that was funded by the three million dollars you fraudulently transferred from James's accounts?" Evelyn asked smoothly.
Marcus Vance jumped out of his chair. "Objection! My client has not been formally indicted on criminal charges yet!"
"Yet," Evelyn corrected coolly. She slid a stack of bank documents across the table. "Troy, is this your signature on the wire authorization dated August 12th?"
Troy looked down at the paper. His hands were shaking so violently he couldn't even pick it up. "I... I had verbal permission from James."
"James was in Singapore on August 12th," Evelyn countered immediately. "We have his flight logs and passport stamps proving he was in international airspace at the exact hour this wire transfer was authorized in a Portland branch. Were you flying with him, Troy?"
Troy stayed silent.
"Answer her, Troy," I said quietly from across the table.
He looked up at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of hatred and terror. "You think you're so innocent, Amelia? James was going to cut you out anyway! Did he tell you that? Did he tell you his business was failing?"
"My husband's business was thriving," I replied firmly. "The only thing failing was your greed."
Evelyn tapped another paper on the table. "Let's move to Mrs. Eleanor Vance. Mrs. Vance, take off your sunglasses, please."
My mother slowly pulled off her dark glasses. Her eyes were hollow, her face pale and drawn.
"Mrs. Vance," Evelyn said. "When Amelia called you from her flooded house on January 15th, freezing, suffering from early-stage carbon monoxide exposure, you told her you could not help because your bridge club was meeting. Is that correct?"
"It... it was an important hosting duty," my mother whispered, her voice trembling. "I didn't know the house was flooded! She sounded fine!"
"She told you the house had no heat and the pipes had burst," Evelyn reminded her ruthlessly. "Here is the audio recording of the call retrieved from Amelia's phone provider."
Evelyn hit play on a recorder. My mother's cold, dismissive voice echoed through the high-end conference room:
’The bridge club is meeting here tomorrow, Amelia. Why don’t you just book a hotel? We can’t drop everything for your problems.’
The sentence hung in the air like a cloud of toxic gas.
My mother buried her face in her hands and began to weep audibly. "I didn't know... I didn't know she was going to faint... I didn't know the gas was leaking..."
"You didn't care," I said, interrupting her sobbing. The room went silent. I looked directly at my mother. "You didn't care if I was warm. You didn't care if I was fed. You didn't care that I had just spent five days alone in Asia placing my husband's ashes into an urn. All you cared about was maintaining the illusion that your family was perfect."
"Amelia, please..." my father spoke up from the corner of the room, his voice breaking. "We are your parents..."
"You stopped being my parents the moment you valued your social standing over my breath," I said softly.
Evelyn leaned back, closing her folder with a definitive thud. "We are offering one settlement option, Marcus. Troy surrenders his real estate license, liquidates the Westside development assets to fully repay James's estate, and both Troy and Eleanor sign a full public confession releasing Amelia from any liability or financial claim. Otherwise, the DA files federal wire fraud charges at 9:00 AM tomorrow."
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Marcus Vance looked at his clients. He didn't even try to argue. He leaned over and whispered into Troy's ear: "Take the deal or prepare for federal prison."
Troy stared at me, his face twisted in absolute defeat. The golden child was finally bankrupt.
