Chapter 7 - The Deposition & Unraveling Lies
Z
The air inside Conference Room 4B at the San Diego Superior Court was thick with heavy tension. Rain slapped against the tall glass windows while fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Across the long mahogany table sat Logan Vance, dressed in a loose-fitting orange county jail jumpsuit, his wrists bound by heavy steel handcuffs that clicked rhythmically every time he shifted his weight. Beside him sat his court-appointed public defender, an exhausted-looking man named Henderson, and his mother, Bernice, who looked visibly aged, her arrogant demeanor replaced by an edge of frantic paranoia.
On the other side of the table sat Abigail, flanked by Sarah Lin and Ethan. Abigail wore a tailored cream blazer, looking utterly unfazed, holding a pristine black leather binder.
"This deposition is being recorded for the record," the court reporter announced, adjusting her machine. "State your names for the record."
After the formalities were completed, Sarah Lin stepped forward, resting both hands on the table.
"Mr. Vance," Sarah began, her tone dry and clinical. "We are here today to address the civil damages cross-complaint filed by your mother, requesting a stay on your criminal fraud trial in exchange for a full release of claims regarding Ms. Prescott's residential property."
"She ruined my son!" Bernice blurted out instantly, leaning over the table. "She set him up! She put fake files on his laptop!"
"Mrs. Gable, keep your client quiet or I will have the bailiff remove her from this deposition," the magistrate presiding over the room warned sternly.
Sarah Lin didn't even acknowledge the outburst. She pulled a thick stack of printed documents from her briefcase and slid them across the table toward Logan.
"Logan," Sarah said softly. "Let’s talk about Oakhaven Holdings LLC."
Logan’s eyes twitched. He looked down at the paper, then quickly looked away. "I don't know anything about the financial setup. My mother handled the business registration."
"Is that so?" Sarah smiled. "Then why does your digital signature appear on the bank authorization form dated March 12th of this year—the exact same day you accessed Abigail Prescott's private file folder titled Biological_Adoption_Records.pdf on her personal backup drive?"
Logan froze. The color drained from his face until he matched the stark white walls of the room.
"What file?" Logan stammered. "I don't... I was just looking for tax documents."
"You were looking for proof of her biological identity," Sarah corrected sharply, leaning in. "You realized that Abigail Prescott was born Sarah Gable—the sole surviving heir to the Arthur Gable Estate in Oakhaven, California. An estate worth four point two million dollars."
Bernice gasped, her hand instinctively flying to her mouth.
"You realized," Sarah continued, her voice echoing clearly off the glass walls, "that if you married Abigail before her thirty-fifth birthday on August 14th, you could claim a fifty-percent community property stake in that multi-million-dollar inheritance under state law. And if she refused to marry you, you planned to use the rogue keylogger installed on her home router to steal her personal records, delay her legal claim, and let the trust default to your mother, Bernice Gable."
"That’s... that’s insane!" Logan yelled, his voice cracking as he slammed his handcuffed wrists against the wooden table. "I loved her! I didn't care about any estate!"
"Then explain this," Abigail spoke up for the first time, her voice low, cool, and devastating.
She reached into her folder and pulled out an audio transcript accompanied by a thumb drive.
"This is an audio recording captured by my home security system at 8:15 AM last Saturday," Abigail said, looking directly into Logan’s terrified eyes. "The moment before you arrived at the penthouse, when your mother was standing in my hallway."
Abigail pressed play on a small speaker set on the table.
Bernice’s recorded voice vibrated clearly through the speaker:
“Don't worry, Logan! Once you get her name on that marriage certificate, we take the Oakhaven trust payout, sell this stupid penthouse, and throw her out! She’s thirty-five, she’s desperate, she won't do a damn thing!”
The transcript ended. The silence in the room was absolute.
The public defender, Henderson, closed his eyes, dropped his pen onto his legal pad, and let out a long, defeated sigh. He turned to Logan and whispered, "We are done here. Do not say another word."
Bernice began to tremble violently, her chest heaving as she pointed a shaking, gnarled finger at Abigail. "You... you trapped us! You witch! You stole my brother-in-law's money! That money belongs to my family! The Gables built Oakhaven!"
"Arthur Gable built Oakhaven," Abigail corrected, standing up slowly and looking down at the broken woman. "You were just the bitter sister-in-law who tried to rob his orphan daughter."
Abigail leaned over the table, placing her hands flat against the mahogany surface, staring straight into Bernice's bulging, desperate eyes.
"The District Attorney has just updated the charges," Abigail informed them smoothly. "Extortion, wire fraud, conspiracy to commit grand larceny, and corporate espionage. Logan is looking at seven to twelve years in state prison. And as for you, Bernice..."
Abigail smiled—a cold, beautiful, merciless smile.
"...an arrest warrant for criminal co-conspiracy was signed fifteen minutes ago. The officers are standing right outside that door."
The heavy double doors opened, and two uniformed officers walked into the deposition room, pulling pair of steel cuffs from their belts.
Bernice let out a blood-curdling shriek as she was hauled out of her chair, her stained sequence jacket twisted around her arms as she was forced down onto the cold floorboards. "Logan! Help me! Logan!"
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Logan could only stare straight ahead, tears streaming down his pale cheeks, bound by his own chains, as his mother was dragged away into the dark corridor of the courthouse.
Abigail picked up her leather binder, adjusted her blazer, and walked past them without looking back once.
