Chapter 7 - THE DEPOSITION OF GRANTHAM THORNZ
The conference room on the twentieth floor of the Wake County Judicial Center was blindingly bright. The morning sun reflected off the glass skyscrapers outside, illuminating every sharp angle of the long glass table.
Grantham sat on the opposite side of the table, flanked by two frantic-looking court-appointed defense attorneys. He had lost at least ten pounds in two weeks. His expensive tailored suit hung loosely off his shoulders, and his fingers trembled as he gripped a styrofoam cup of water.
On my side sat Harrison Vance, Arthur Pendelton, and my father, Edward Callaway, who sat silently in the corner, his presence heavy and imposing like an old mountain.
The court reporter sat at the head of the table, her fingers poised over the stenography machine.
"This is the deposition of Grantham Thorn," Harrison Vance announced, clicking open a black recorder on the table. "In the matter of Callaway v. Thorn, Case Number 24-CV-08912. Fraud, breach of fiduciary duty, and dissolution of marriage."
Harrison looked across the table at Grantham. "Mr. Thorn, let's begin with the document dated October 14th, 2024. A loan application for four hundred thousand dollars submitted to First National Bank. Is that your signature on line twenty-four?"
Grantham looked down at the paper. His attorney leaned over and whispered in his ear, but Grantham simply stared at the signature.
"Yes," Grantham whispered.
"Speak up for the reporter, please," Harrison said smoothly.
"Yes," Grantham said louder, his voice trembling.
"And on line twenty-five, where the signature of Joselyn Callaway-Thorn appears... did my client sign that document?"
Grantham swallowed hard. He looked up at me, his eyes pleading, filled with a desperate attempt to find the woman who had spent eleven years forgiving him. But when he looked into my eyes, he found only ice.
"No," Grantham muttered.
"Who signed my client's name, Mr. Thorn?" Harrison asked, leaning forward, pressing his advantage.
"I... I did," Grantham confessed, his voice breaking.
"And did you have power of attorney to execute mortgage agreements of that nature?"
"I thought I did! I thought the POA from 2021 covered it!" Grantham blurted out, looking desperately at the court reporter as if trying to explain himself. "I was trying to save my family! Willamina was going under! Mom was going to lose her house! I was going to pay it back! I had a commercial design contract lined up that would have covered everything!"
"A contract with who, Mr. Thorn?" Harrison asked calmly.
"With... with the Vance Development Group," Grantham said.
Harrison smiled—a cold, terrifying smile. "That’s interesting, Mr. Thorn. Because I am the principal legal counsel for the Vance Development Group. And our board rejected your firm's proposal six weeks ago due to lack of financial liquidity and evidence of accounting irregularities."
Grantham froze. He turned his head slowly to look at his own attorney, who simply closed his eyes and shook his head.
"You lied to your wife, you lied to the bank, and you lied to your family," Harrison said, stacking his papers into a neat pile. "Over eleven years, you diverted over 1.4 million dollars of marital and private trust assets into personal accounts for your mother and sister."
Grantham put his hands over his face and began to sob openly. It was a pathetic, gasping sound—the sound of a man who had finally realized that his castle of cards was made of nothing but cheap lies.
"Joselyn..." Grantham cried, looking across the glass table at me through tears. "Please... talk to me. Don't do this to me. I love you. I’ve always loved you. I made mistakes, I got overwhelmed by my family... but I loved you!"
I looked at him for a long, silent minute.
"If you loved me, Grantham," I said, my voice echoing clearly through the quiet room, "you would have held my hand when your sister slapped me. You would have stood up at that table and told your family that I was your wife. But you sat there. You looked down at your plate. You watched them bleed me dry for eleven years, and you thought I would never wake up."
"I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I'm so sorry..."
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"Your apology is eleven years late," I said, standing up from the table. "Harrison, give his attorneys thirty minutes to sign the complete asset forfeiture agreement and full surrender of parental custody rights. If he signs, I won't press federal criminal fraud charges. If he doesn't... he can explain his love for me to a jury in district court."
I walked out of the conference room, leaving the sound of his sobs behind me forever.
