Chapter 9 - The Deposition
Z
Six weeks later.
The conference room on the 14th floor of Henderson & Vance in downtown Newark was sterile, bright, and suffocatingly quiet.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the gray skyline of New Jersey stretched out beneath a drizzle of late autumn rain. Inside, the long glass table was lined with legal pads, water carafes, and thick black binders containing the forensic financial audit of the marriage of Carter v. Carter.
Ryan sat on the left side of the table.
In six weeks, he had aged ten years. His navy suit hung loosely off his shoulders, his hair was thinning at the crown, and deep, dark hollows carved into his face. After his high-profile termination from Vance, Sterling & Croft, word of his compliance breach had spread through the tight-knit financial district like wildfire. No major firm would hire him. He was currently working as an independent mortgage broker out of a cramped, rented desk space in Jersey City, earning a fraction of his former salary.
Beside him sat his court-appointed legal aid attorney, a young, overworked man named Marcus Vance (no relation to Arthur), who looked thoroughly unimpressed by his client.
Across the table sat Abigail.
She wore a crisp, cream-colored wool blazer over a black turtleneck, her dark hair pulled back into a flawless, professional chignon. She looked radiant, rested, and utterly in control. Beside her sat Eleanor Henderson, the legendary senior partner of the firm—a woman whose ferocious courtroom reputation made corporate defense lawyers tremble.
Sharon Carter sat in the corner of the room on a wooden chair, serving as a non-party witness. She wore a drab grey cardigan, her face sullen and bitter, her ankle fitted with an electronic monitoring bracelet—a condition of her bail following her indictment for attempted assault and obstruction of justice.
The court reporter clicked her machine into place. "We are on the record in the matter of Carter v. Carter, Deposition of Ryan Edward Carter."
Eleanor Henderson leaned forward, her silver pen resting between her fingers. She looked at Ryan with the calm, predatory focus of a hawk staring at a field mouse.
"Mr. Carter," Eleanor began, her voice smooth and lethal. "Let us review your current asset profile. You currently owe $112,000 in back taxes due to unregistered disbursements to your mother’s LLC, correct?"
Ryan swallowed hard, his throat dry. "Yes."
"And you have zero active liquid capital remaining in your personal accounts following the emergency asset freeze ordered by Judge Vance?"
"Yes," Ryan whispered.
"Speak up for the court reporter, Mr. Carter," Eleanor commanded sharply.
"YES," Ryan shouted, his voice cracking.
Eleanor turned a page in her binder with a crisp snap.
"Now, regarding the marital residence on Willow Lane. The forensic audit demonstrates that my client, Mrs. Abigail Carter, contributed $180,000 of her pre-marital savings toward the down payment and equity improvements of that home over the last four years. Furthermore, bank records show she paid forty percent of the monthly mortgage payments from her salary prior to her maternity leave."
Ryan gripped the edge of the glass table. "I paid the rest! I paid for the utility bills! I paid for the cars!"
"With money you were simultaneously funneling to your mother's private condo fund," Eleanor countered without missing a beat. "Which constitutes intentional dissipation of marital assets under New Jersey Family Law Section 2A:34-23."
Eleanor tapped a document on the table.
"We have structured a settlement offer, Mr. Carter. It is non-negotiable."
Ryan looked at his attorney, Marcus, who gave him a subtle, solemn nod, indicating that fighting this in court would result in total financial annihilation.
"What are the terms?" Ryan choked out.
Eleanor cleared her throat. "One: You will execute a quitclaim deed transferring full, unencumbered ownership of the property on Willow Lane to Mrs. Abigail Carter."
Sharon gasped loudly from the corner. "NO! You can't give her the house!"
"Silence in the deposition room, Mrs. Carter, or I will have the bailiff remove you," Eleanor snapped without looking back. She turned her focus back to Ryan.
"Two: You will surrender all claims to Mrs. Carter's pre-marital inheritance and personal savings. Three: You will pay child support calculated at thirty-two percent of your prospective earning capacity, evaluated by an independent vocational expert, not your current diminished income."
Ryan stared at her, horrified. "Thirty-two percent of my prospective income?! I don't even have a firm job right now!"
"Then I suggest you find one, Mr. Carter," Eleanor said coldly. "Four: My client will retain sole legal and physical custody of Noah Carter. You will be granted supervised visitation for two hours every second Sunday at a court-designated family center."
"Supervised visitation?!" Ryan yelled, standing up so fast his chair screeched against the tile floor. "He is MY SON! You can't limit me to two hours in a center like I'm a criminal!"
For the first time during the three-hour deposition, Abigail spoke.
She did not raise her voice. She did not lean forward. She sat back in her chair, holding a pen, her posture straight, her expression completely serene.
"You didn't want to hold him for five minutes when I asked you, Ryan," Abigail said softly.
The room froze.
Ryan looked down at her. The words hit him like an iron bar to the chest.
"You told me your arms were tired," Abigail continued, her voice crystal clear, completely devoid of malice, carrying only the terrifying weight of absolute truth. "You told me you had a presentation at eight in the morning when I was shivering with a 103-degree fever. You told me to take fifty dollars and drive myself to a pharmacy while I could barely stand."
She set her pen down on the glass table.
"You gave up your right to be a father the night you decided my pain was an inconvenience to your schedule," Abigail whispered. "Two hours every second Sunday is more mercy than you ever showed me."
Ryan stared at his wife.
He looked for a tear, a flicker of hurt, a shadow of the woman who used to cook his meals, organize his shirts, and smile at him when he walked through the door.
There was nothing.
The woman sitting across from him was a stranger who had completely excised him from her life, leaving no scar, no memory, no trace of affection behind.
Marcus Vance reached up and pulled Ryan back down into his chair.
"Sign the settlement, Ryan," Marcus whispered quietly into his ear. "If we go to trial before Judge Vance, she will strip you of your clothes and give her your future wages for the next twenty years. Sign the paper."
Ryan took the silver pen from his attorney's hand.
His fingers were shaking so violently he could barely hold the barrel. He slid his signature across the bottom of the settlement agreement, line after line, signing away his home, his wealth, his custody, and his future.
When he finished, he pushed the paper across the table.
Abigail picked up her pen. She signed her name cleanly, smoothly, with a flourish at the end of the line.
May you like
She stood up, buttoned her cream-colored blazer, and looked at Eleanor. "We're done here."
She didn't look at Ryan. She didn't look at Sharon, who was weeping silently in the corner of the room. She walked out of the conference room into the bright, open hallway, her high heels clicking rhythmically against the stone floor, leaving them behind forever.
