Chapter 7 - The Deposition
Z
The holding room in the basement of the federal courthouse was cold, dimly lit, and smelled strongly of industrial bleach. Ethan sat at a small steel table, wearing an orange correctional jumpsuit that looked ridiculously ill-fitting on his broad frame. His wrists were cuffed together, the chain clinking softly against the metal tabletop every time he moved.
When the guard unlocked the door and allowed me to enter, Ethan jumped up from his chair, his eyes lighting up with a mixture of shock and desperate expectation.
"Claire!" he exclaimed, taking a step forward before the guard placed a warning hand on his shoulder, forcing him to sit back down. "Claire, thank God! Did my father send you? Did Harrison settle the civil suit? I knew he wouldn't let them keep me in here!"
I sat down in the plastic chair across from him, resting my hands calmly on the table. I looked at the man I had spent six years of my life loving. The slick hair was now disheveled, deep dark circles hung beneath his eyes, and the arrogant swagger was replaced by the manic energy of a cornered animal.
"Harrison didn't send me, Ethan," I said softly.
Ethan’s smile faltered. "What do you mean? Of course he did. He’s my father. He’s setting up the bail transfer right now, isn't he? My legal team said—"
"Your legal team resigned an hour ago," I interrupted, cutting him off with surgical precision. "Vance Global Partners has issued a formal press release severing all ties with you. The board voted unanimously to remove you as CEO, and your personal assets have been frozen by the federal court."
Ethan stared at me, his eyes wide, his jaw dropping open. "No... no, that’s impossible. My father would never allow that! Vance Global is my birthright! I am a Vance!"
"You aren't a Vance, Ethan," I said gently.
He let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. "Are you out of your mind? What kind of crazy game are you playing now? Just because you found out about the foundation money doesn't mean you can come in here and say insane things—"
I reached into my handbag, pulled out the copy of the 1994 birth registry document Harrison had given me, and slid it across the cold steel table.
"Read it," I said.
Ethan glared at the paper suspiciously, then lowered his eyes to read. I watched his face as he scanned the old document. I saw the moment his eyes hit his mother’s name. I saw the moment he read the red stamp near the bottom: DONOR - PROJECT ALPHA.
"What... what is this?" Ethan whispered, his voice trembling violently. "This is a fake. You forged this!"
"Your father gave it to me thirty minutes ago in the hallway," I said, keeping my tone steady and completely devoid of malice. "Your father—Harrison—is infertile, Ethan. He always was. Your uncle Harold created you in a private laboratory using anonymous donor material and unapproved genetic engineering techniques."
"No... no, no, NO!" Ethan screamed, slamming his handcuffed hands onto the steel table with a deafening metallic clang. The guard at the door immediately reached for his taser, but I held up a hand, signaling that I was okay.
"Your uncle’s experiment caused the genetic abnormalities that left you sterile, Ethan," I continued, pushing the hard truth deep into his breaking mind. "You weren't infertile because of some bad luck. You were born that way because of what the Vance family did to your mother. And when you realized you couldn't have children, instead of accepting the truth, you let your uncle do the exact same thing to me."
"Shut up!" Ethan sobbed, tears spilling out of his eyes as he clutched his head in his cuffed hands. "Shut up! You're lying! My father loves me! He built that company for me! I am his son!"
"He didn't build it for you, Ethan," I said, feeling a strange mix of pity and profound closure. "He built it to hide his own shame. And the moment you became a liability to that lie, he threw you away. Just like he threw your mother away."
Ethan leaned forward over the table, his body shaking violently with deep, ragged sobs. The arrogant monster who had stood in the hospital hallway four days ago, mocking me, calling me a useless woman, telling the world that I was defective, was gone. In his place sat a broken, hollow boy who had built his entire identity on a mountain of corporate lies.
"I gave you everything, Ethan," I said quietly, standing up from the chair. "I loved you when we had nothing. I supported you when you were terrified of starting your firm. I would have stood by you through anything—even your inability to have children. All you had to do was tell me the truth."
"Claire..." Ethan choked out, raising his tear-stained face to look at me, his eyes filled with a desperate, pathetic longing. "Claire, please... help me. Please don't leave me in here. I'm sorry... I'm so sorry for what I did to you..."
I looked down at him, feeling no anger left inside me. The poison he had pumped into my life for six years had finally cleared from my system.
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"It’s too late for apologies, Ethan," I said softly. "You wanted dignity when you gave me those divorce papers. Now you have to figure out how to find it in a state penitentiary."
I turned my back on him and walked out of the holding room. As the heavy steel door slammed shut behind me, Ethan's heartbroken, desperate screams echoed through the cold concrete corridor, fading slowly into nothingness.
