Chapter 4 - The Deposition of Lies5
The grand conference room on the forty-second floor of Sloan & Montgomery offered a panoramic view of the city skyline, but the atmosphere inside was claustrophobic, smelling of stale coffee, leather binders, and impending ruin.
My father sat across the long glass table from me, flanked by two corporate defense attorneys in tailored navy suits. He had aged ten years in three weeks. The crisp, arrogant posture he usually maintained was slumped; his shoulders were pitched forward, and his thin hair was unstyled. Beside him, my mother, Eleanor, clutched a designer handbag like a shield, refusing to meet my eyes.
Miles sat two chairs down from me. He had come at Rebecca's request to provide testimony regarding the school portal password. He looked exhausted, ringed with dark circles, but his suit was sharp and his jaw was set. He hadn't asked to come back to the house, but every evening he had sent a short, gentle text asking if Lily and I were safe.
"We are on the record," Rebecca announced, leaning forward toward the court reporter whose fingers hovered over her stenography machine. "This is the deposition of Richard Vance in the matter of Claire Vance-Miller v. Richard Vance, Eleanor Vance, et al."
My father’s lead attorney, a gray-haired man named Arthur Sterling, cleared his throat. "Before we begin, I would like to state for the record that my clients are prepared to offer a full formal apology and a cash settlement of fifty thousand dollars to settle all claims regarding the unauthorized use of the minor’s photograph, contingent on a full non-disclosure agreement and the immediate withdrawal of all financial discovery requests."
Rebecca didn't even blink. "Denied. We proceed with the deposition."
Sterling scowled. "Mrs. Sloan, this is a family dispute that belongs in therapy, not a court of law."
"Your client committed bank fraud, Mr. Sterling," Rebecca said coolly. "We are here to establish the chain of custody for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars missing from my client’s irrevocable trust."
She turned to my father. "Mr. Vance, under oath, please state your full name for the record."
"Richard Edward Vance," my father said, his voice raspy.
"Mr. Vance, on July 14th of this year, at 9:14 PM, did you upload a photograph of your granddaughter, Lily Miller, to your public Facebook profile?"
"Yes," he muttered.
"And did you write the caption: 'Some mistakes grow up and create more mistakes'?"
"It was a figure of speech," my father snapped, a flash of his old temper flaring eyes. "It was an observation about generational cycles! Claire has been rebellious and ungrateful since she was a teenager. I was making a point about how bad parenting repeats itself!"
"So you were referring to your daughter, Claire, and your six-year-old granddaughter, Lily, as 'mistakes'?" Rebecca pressed, her voice smooth and razor-sharp.
"I was frustrated!" he shouted, banging his fist on the glass table. Sterling placed a warning hand on his arm, but my father swatted it away. "Do you have any idea what it’s like to raise a child who turns her back on everything you built? I spent thousands of dollars on her! I paid for her life!"
"Did you?" Rebecca asked quietly. She reached into a thick manila folder and pulled out a stack of bank statements marked with bright neon tabs. She slid them across the table.
"Mr. Vance, I direct your attention to Exhibit C. This is a cashier's check drawn from the Arthur Vance Irrevocable Family Trust on August 12, 2017, in the amount of $42,000, payable to The Grand Regency Hotel—the venue for Claire’s wedding."
My father glared at the paper. "I signed that check."
"You signed it as the trustee," Rebecca corrected. "Who owned the funds in that trust, Mr. Vance?"
He remained silent.
"Mr. Vance, answer the question," Rebecca demanded. "Who was the sole named beneficiary of the Arthur Vance Trust upon your father’s death in 2015?"
"Claire," he whispered through gritted teeth.
"So when you told your entire extended family, your friends, and your community that you paid for Claire’s wedding out of your own generosity, you were actually spending Claire’s own inherited money?"
"I managed the money!" he yelled. "She was young! She was unstable! She didn't know how to handle money!"
"Is that why you transferred two hundred and fifty thousand dollars from that same trust into Apex Ventures LLC on November 3, 2018?" Rebecca asked, her voice dropping into a lethal, quiet register.
My mother gasped softly, clutching her handbag tighter. My father’s face drained of all color until he looked like a corpse.
"That... that was an investment," my father stammered. "An investment on her behalf."
"An investment in a failed real estate venture that was owned entirely by you, where the entire capital was wiped out to satisfy your personal loan default?" Rebecca asked. "And did you sign your late father's name as a co-guarantor on the bank extension papers in 2018—three years after he was buried in Oakridge Cemetery?"
"I had power of attorney!" my father yelled defensively.
"Power of attorney expires upon death, Mr. Vance," Rebecca said coldly. "What you did is called felony forgery and grand larceny."
Sterling immediately slammed his folder shut. "This deposition is suspended. We are taking a fifteen-minute recess."
"Take all the time you need, Arthur," Rebecca said, leaning back in her leather chair. "Because the Assistant United States Attorney for the Eastern District is currently reviewing these exact same exhibits. If your client doesn't sign a full confession and restitution order by 5:00 PM today, the federal indictment will be handed down by Monday morning."
My father stared across the table at me. For the first time in my thirty years of life, I saw fear in his eyes—real, pathetic, naked fear.
"Claire," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Please. I’m your father. You can't put me in prison. Think of what people will say. Think of the family."
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I looked at him— this tyrant who had dominated my life, who had made me feel small and broken for decades, who had called my innocent daughter a mistake to hurt me.
"I am thinking of my family," I said softly, looking him straight in the eyes. "My family consists of my daughter. And I will burn your world to ashes to keep her safe from you."
