Chapter 7 - The DepositionZ
The conference room on the fourteenth floor of the Lin & Associates law firm was sterile, bright, and suffocatingly quiet. Large glass windows looked out over the city skyline, but no one in the room was looking at the view.
All eyes were fixed on the woman sitting at the far end of the long mahogany table.
Diane Vance looked markedly different than she had a week ago. The polished, untouchable matriarch was crumbling around the edges. She wore a dark gray business suit, but her face was pale, her makeup heavily layered to cover dark circles, and her hands twitched rhythmically against her lap. Sitting beside her was Harold Vance, looking deeply uncomfortable.
Across the table sat me, Mark, and our attorney, Sarah Lin. A court reporter sat at the corner of the table, her fingers poised over the stenography machine.
"This deposition of Diane Vance is being taken in the matter of Vance v. Vance, Civil Case Number 2026-8841," Sarah Lin announced smoothly, turning on the digital audio recorder. "Mrs. Vance, please state your full name for the record."
"Diane Elizabeth Vance," she muttered, glaring at me with unadulterated hatred.
"Mrs. Vance, you have filed a civil lawsuit claiming that your son, Mark, and his wife, Claire, stole corporate assets and inflicted emotional distress upon you. Is that correct?"
"Yes," Diane said, straightening her back and adopting her familiar, practiced tone of righteous indignation. "They stripped me of my position at the company I helped build, slandered my name, and drove me out of my own family."
Sarah Lin smiled faintly—a shark catching the scent of blood in the water. She opened a thick binder resting on the table.
"Let's talk about the company you 'helped build,' Mrs. Vance. I'm handing you Exhibit A." Sarah slid a document across the polished wood. "This is a record of twenty-four wire transfers from Vance Mechanical’s primary operating account to Oakridge Holdings LLC between March 2022 and January 2026, totaling four hundred and eighty-two thousand dollars. Did you authorize these transfers?"
Harold Vance leaned over, whispered sharply in Diane’s ear, and shook his head.
Diane squared her shoulders. "I managed the bookkeeping. Those were legitimate consulting fees paid to an outside contractor."
"An outside contractor?" Sarah picked up a second document. "Exhibit B. This is the corporate registration of Oakridge Holdings LLC. You are listed as the sole managing member. Can you explain why Vance Mechanical was paying nearly half a million dollars in 'consulting fees' to a company that you personally own?"
"I... I performed management services!" Diane snapped, her voice rising in pitch. "Mark didn't know how to run a business! I worked sixty hours a week! I had every right to be compensated!"
"Without disclosing the payments to the company president, your son?" Sarah asked mildly. "Without reporting those transfers on the company’s state tax returns?"
"Objection," Harold Vance interjected weakly. "Counsel is baiting the witness."
"She’s answering under oath, Harold," Sarah replied coldly. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "Mrs. Vance, who is Richard Sterling?"
The room went dead quiet.
Diane’s breath hitched. Her eyes darted toward Mark, who sat beside me, his face impassive, his arms crossed over his chest. He didn't say a word, but his cold, steady gaze was locking her down.
"He... he is my ex-husband," Diane stammered. "He has nothing to do with this."
"Really?" Sarah pulled another paper from the binder. "Exhibit C. This is a joint bank account statement for Oakridge Holdings LLC at Chase Bank. The named account holders are Diane Vance... and Richard Sterling. And this document, Exhibit D, is a series of emails between you and Mr. Sterling discussing how to 'liquidate Vance Mechanical’s assets' before an IRS audit could be triggered."
Diane’s face went completely white. She pulled her hands off the table and buried them in her lap. "That's... those emails are private!"
"They were produced pursuant to a federal third-party subpoena served on Chase Bank three days ago," Sarah said smoothly. "Mrs. Vance, did you tell your son that his father had abandoned him twenty-five years ago?"
"Objection! Irrelevant!" Harold Vance shouted, standing up.
"It goes directly to state of mind, intent, and long-term fraudulent coercion, Your Honor—sorry, Counsel," Sarah corrected herself with a sharp grin. "Answer the question, Mrs. Vance. Did you tell Mark his father left him with nothing?"
"Yes!" Diane burst out, her composure completely shattering into ugly, panicked fury. "Yes, I told him that! Because Richard was a weak, pathetic coward who couldn't handle me! Just like Mark! Mark is weak! He always was! If I didn't take control of his money, he would have lost everything years ago!"
Mark didn't flinch. He didn't yell. He simply reached out, took my hand, and squeezed it gently.
Sarah Lin looked at the court reporter, then back at Diane. "So, to clarify for the court: you secretly partnered with the man you claimed abandoned your family, created a shell company, stole nearly five hundred thousand dollars from your son's business, lied about it on tax returns, and then tried to coerce Claire Vance into signing over her $200,000 inheritance to cover up your financial crimes. Is that an accurate summary?"
Diane looked at her lawyer. Harold Vance slowly closed his briefcase, put his head in his hands, and let out a deep, defeated sigh.
"We are taking a break," Harold said, his voice flat. "My client is invoking her Fifth Amendment rights regarding all further questions related to Oakridge Holdings LLC."
"You can take a break, Harold," Sarah Lin said calmly, closing her binder. "But I suggest you use that time to call the District Attorney’s office. Because as of nine o'clock this morning, the federal prosecutor has formally opened a criminal fraud indictment against your client."
Diane stared at Sarah, then at Mark, her mouth hanging open in horror. "Mark... Mark, please... you can't let them do this to me... I'm your mother..."
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Mark stood up slowly, leaning over the table, looking down at the woman who had spent his entire life controlling him through fear and manufactured guilt.
"You're not my mother, Diane," Mark said, his voice dropping to a icy, lethal whisper. "You're just a criminal who happened to give birth to me. See you in court."
