Chapter 7 - Deposition of Betrayal
Z
Two months later, the formal civil depositions were convened to finalize the liquidation of my parents' assets and execute the court-ordered restitution. The deposition took place in a neutral conference room at the Travis County Courthouse.
I sat at the head of the polished oak table beside Gregory. Across from us sat my mother, dressed in a plain gray prison jumpsuit, accompanied by a court-appointed public defender. She looked hollowed out. Her once-immaculate hair was streaked with gray, her skin pale, her eyes devoid of the sharp, condescending spark that had defined my entire childhood.
The court reporter sat at the corner, her fingers hovering over the stenography machine.
"State your name for the record," Gregory directed smoothly.
"Eleanor Miller," my mother replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Mrs. Miller," Gregory began, pulling up a sheaf of financial documents. "Do you admit that on August 14th, 2011, you knowingly forged medical documentation and unauthorized signature permissions to execute a three-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar withdrawal from your daughter Bella Miller’s trust account?"
My mother swallowed hard, her eyes darting toward me for a fraction of a second before dropping back to her handcuffed wrists resting on the table.
"Yes," she whispered.
"Speak clearly for the record, please," the court reporter requested.
"Yes," Eleanor said louder, her voice cracking. "I took the money."
"And did you transfer those funds directly into the bank account of your son, Jacob Miller?" Gregory asked.
"Yes."
"Why?" Gregory asked, leaning forward. "Why did you steal your daughter’s inheritance and hand it to your son?"
Eleanor sat in silence for a long moment. Tears began to stream down her wrinkled cheeks, dripping onto her jumpsuit.
"Jacob... Jacob was going to do great things," she wept softly. "He was building a business. He needed a push. Bella... Bella was always so strong. She was always so independent. We knew she would survive on her own. She didn't need the money like Jacob did."
I leaned forward, looking directly into my mother's eyes. The sheer insanity of her logic was staggering, yet completely illuminating.
"I didn't need my own money, Mom?" I asked, my voice calm, razor-sharp. "I worked three jobs. I lived on instant noodles in a moldy studio apartment while going to college. I nearly dropped out twice because I couldn't afford textbooks. And you sat at my graduation dinner and told me how proud you were that I 'earned everything without hand-outs.'"
Eleanor looked at me, her eyes filled with a pathetic, desperate plea for understanding. "Bella, you were strong! Jacob was fragile! A mother protects her weakest child!"
"No," I corrected her firmly. "A good mother protects all her children. You didn't protect the weak, Mom. You enabled a thief, and when he ran out of money, you turned me into his victim. You didn't steal from me because I was strong. You stole from me because you thought I was foolish enough to keep loving you no matter how much you bled me dry."
Eleanor sobbed, bowing her head toward the table, unable to speak another word.
Gregory tapped his pen on his notepad. "Mrs. Miller, do you also confirm that you stole Bella Miller’s official notary stamp from her work bag on October 12th of this past year, and provided it to your husband and son to forge the Power of Attorney document?"
"Yes," she whimpered. "Arthur... my husband told me it was the only way. He said if we didn't get the loan against the lake house, Jacob would go to federal prison. We thought... we thought we could pay the mortgage back before Bella ever found out."
"And when she found out?" Gregory pushed relentlessly. "When she walked into her home and found it demolished?"
"We thought she would forgive us," Eleanor sobbed. "We thought family came first."
"Family didn't come first when you filed a false fraud complaint with the Texas Real Estate Commission to ruin her broker’s license, did it?" Gregory countered, his voice dripping with righteous anger.
Eleanor had no answer. She merely shook her head, drowning in her own tears.
"No further questions," Gregory said coldly. "The deposition is complete."
As the guards stood up to escort Eleanor back to the holding cell, she paused near my chair.
"Bella..." she whispered, her hands shaking in their restraints. "Will you ever forgive me?"
I looked at her—this woman who had given me life, but had spent decades trying to consume mine to feed her favorite son.
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"I don't hate you anymore, Mom," I said truthfully. "Hate takes energy, and you aren't worth my energy. But I will never forgive you. And I will never see you again."
She let out a strangled cry as the guards led her away down the dim corridor, the heavy iron door locking behind her with a definitive, echoes-in-the-soul thud.
