Chapter 7 - The Deposition
Z
The conference room of Vance & Associates smelled of polished mahogany and old leather. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city skyline was draped in gray winter smog. Sitting across the long conference table was Carl, accompanied by his court-appointed attorney, a young, overwhelmed-looking man named Henderson who looked like he was fresh out of law school.
Carl looked terrible. The confident, smug demeanor he had maintained for months was cracking at the edges. His hair was messy, his suit looked slightly unpressed, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Without me there to pay his bills, manage his calendar, or maintain his home, his life was visibly unraveling.
"We are here today for the preliminary deposition regarding temporary custody and asset freezing," David Vance announced, setting a thick manila folder on the table.
Carl’s lawyer cleared his throat. "My client is prepared to offer a settlement, Mr. Vance. Mr. Carl is willing to drop his petition for full physical custody in exchange for joint custody, $2,000 a month in spousal support, and exclusive possession of the marital home."
I almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of the demand.
David Vance didn't even flinch. He slowly opened the folder and slid three stapled documents across the table toward Henderson.
"Let’s address your request for spousal support and property possession first," Vance said in a calm, lethal tone. "Document A is a subpoenaed bank statement showing that over the last five months, your client, while unemployed, dissipated over $18,000 of marital funds. $15,000 was transferred illegally to an undisclosed personal account, and $3,000 was spent on hotel rooms, high-end dinners, and subscription services for a secondary cellular device."
Carl’s attorney looked at the document, his eyes widening. He turned to Carl and whispered frantically, "You didn't tell me about this."
"It’s my money too!" Carl snapped loudly, glaring at me across the table. "I contributed to that house for years before I got laid off!"
"Document B," Vance continued relentlessly, sliding another paper forward, "is a sworn affidavit from Mr. Steven Miller—your client’s brother. It details the admission of an extramarital affair between your client and Steven’s wife, Alice Miller. It also details your client’s explicit attempts to manipulate Mrs. Nina’s emotional state to manufacture a false narrative of postpartum psychosis."
Carl’s face turned from pale to an ugly, mottled red. "Steve is lying! He’s bitter because his wife left him!"
"Document C," Vance said, dropping a thick stack of printed text logs onto the center of the table with a loud thud, "are the complete forensic message logs recovered from the secondary device. Shall I read excerpt number forty-two into the court record, Mr. Henderson? The one where Mr. Carl describes his children as 'anchors keeping him from living his best life'?"
Henderson looked like he wanted to vanish into the floorboards. He turned to Carl, his voice sharp and urgent. "Carl, shut up right now."
"You ruined my life!" Carl screamed suddenly, slamming his palms onto the mahogany table as he stood up, pointing a trembling finger at me. "You set me up, Nina! You played the tired, dutiful wife while plotting against me behind my back!"
I sat entirely still, looking at him with absolute calm. The terror he used to instill in me was completely gone, replaced by a profound sense of pity for how pathetic he truly was.
"I didn't set you up, Carl," I said, my voice steady and clear. "You destroyed your own life the moment you decided that my hard work and sacrifice were things to be exploited. I loved you. I supported you. And you repaid me by trying to take my children and my sanity."
"This deposition is adjourned," Henderson said hurriedly, grabbing his papers and pulling a furious, red-faced Carl toward the door. "We need to speak privately with our client."
As Carl walked past me toward the exit, he leaned in, his voice a desperate, toxic whisper. "You think you’ve won, Nina? You'll be alone forever with two kids. Nobody wants a broken, used-up woman."
I didn't blink. "I’m not alone, Carl. I have my children, my dignity, and my freedom. You have nothing."
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When the heavy wooden doors clicked shut behind them, David Vance turned to me with a rare, approving smile. "That went remarkably well. The judge will review these documents tomorrow morning. He won't just deny his custody petition—he’s going to grant you full temporary physical custody, child support, and exclusive use of the marital home."
I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. For the first time in three years, I felt like I could finally take a full, deep breath of air.
