Chapter 10 - The Deposition Table
Daniel’s deposition was scheduled for December fifteenth.
For two weeks, his lawyers fought about scope, documents, dates, and whether the hidden brokerage account was relevant.
Tanya fought back with the patience of someone who enjoyed using page numbers as weapons.
By the time Daniel sat across from us in a conference room, the table between us held six binders.
He looked at them with contempt.
I knew him well enough to see the fear underneath.
I did not attend the entire deposition because Tanya did not want my reactions becoming part of the theater.
I watched from a separate room through a secure video feed for portions Rebecca considered important.
Daniel took the oath at 9:07.
His voice was steady.
The first hour was almost boring.
Name.
Address.
Employment.
Company structure.
Marriage date.
Property.
Then Tanya asked about my ownership.
“What percentage of Mercer Advisory Group does Claire Mercer own?”
Daniel leaned back.
“Approximately thirty percent.”
Tanya waited.
“Is that your testimony?”
“Yes.”
She handed him the signed agreement.
“Please read the percentage listed beside Claire Mercer’s name.”
He looked down.
“Thirty-eight percent.”
“Does that refresh your recollection?”
“There were later discussions.”
“About reducing her ownership?”
“Yes.”
“Were they documented?”
“I would have to check.”
“Did Claire sign any agreement reducing her ownership?”
“I do not recall.”
I almost spoke to the monitor.
Tanya did not react.
She moved on.
“Did you tell Natalie Shaw that Claire was an employee rather than an owner?”
Mitchell objected to form.
Daniel answered anyway.
“I may have simplified the situation.”
Simplified.
A marriage could disappear inside that word.
Tanya introduced Natalie’s consulting invoices.
One hundred and twelve thousand dollars before Thanksgiving.
Fifty thousand more just before the divorce request.
Daniel described them as legitimate marketing expenses.
Tanya introduced my original strategy memo alongside Natalie’s later presentation.
Daniel said consultants often build on internal work.
Tanya asked whether the consulting contract disclosed that Natalie was in a romantic relationship with him.
Mitchell objected.
Daniel said no.
Tanya asked whether the board knew.
No.
Graham knew Natalie was a consultant but not that they were involved.
I watched Daniel’s fingers tighten around his water bottle.
Then came Alder Creek.
“Who owns Alder Creek Services?” Tanya asked.
“I do not know.”
“Have you ever communicated with anyone at Alder Creek?”
“I do not recall.”
“Did you approve payments to Alder Creek?”
“I approved many payments.”
“That was not my question.”
Mitchell objected.
Tanya repeated it.
Daniel looked down at the table.
“I may have.”
“Did you know Alder Creek used your mother’s home as its mailing address?”
“No.”
“Did your mother ever discuss Alder Creek with you?”
“No.”
Tanya handed him a bank signature card.
I leaned closer to the screen.
I had not seen this document.
The authorized representative for Alder Creek Services was not Eleanor.
It was not Daniel.
It was not Natalie.
The name made no sense to me.
Thomas Vane.
I whispered it aloud.
Rebecca, sitting beside me, wrote it down.
“Who is Thomas Vane?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“We are finding out.”
On screen, Tanya asked the same question.
Daniel’s answer came too quickly.
“I do not know.”
Tanya looked at him.
“Never heard the name?”
“No.”
She placed another exhibit in front of him.
A photograph from a company charity golf event three years earlier.
Daniel stood beside a man wearing a green polo shirt.
The caption named him.
Thomas Vane.
Daniel’s former college roommate.
I sat back.
“Tommy,” I whispered.
I had heard the nickname for years.
I had never known his last name.
Rebecca looked at me.
“You know him?”
“I met him once at our wedding anniversary party.”
On screen, Tanya asked again.
“Do you know Thomas Vane?”
Daniel’s face had changed.
“We were acquainted years ago.”
“Was he your college roommate?”
“Yes.”
“Did he open Alder Creek Services for you?”
“No.”
“Did he open it for your mother?”
“No.”
“For Natalie?”
“No.”
“Then for whom?”
“I do not know.”
Tanya let the silence sit.
Then she changed subjects.
The home equity application.
My signature.
The source file.
Daniel denied copying it himself.
“Who did?”
“I do not know that anyone copied anything.”
“Your wife says she did not sign it.”
“She forgets things.”
I felt my jaw lock.
There it was again.
Not disagreement.
Erosion.
Claire forgets.
Claire overreacts.
Claire misunderstands.
Claire is unstable.
Small stories repeated until a woman begins asking other people whether her own memory belongs to her.
Tanya played the audio from our phone call.
Daniel’s recorded voice filled the conference room.
It was the only way to get it done before you changed your mind.
On screen, Daniel stared at the table.
“What did you mean?” Tanya asked.
“I was frustrated.”
“That does not answer the question.”
“I meant the financing needed to be completed.”
“Using Claire’s signature?”
“I believed we had authorization.”
“From whom?”
“From Claire.”
“Where is that authorization?”
“I do not know.”
Tanya paused.
“What was the four-hundred-thousand-dollar line intended to fund?”
“Business liquidity.”
“Then why did your Transition Budget allocate funds to a townhome, furniture, vehicle payoff, and Claire’s divorce settlement?”
Daniel looked up sharply.
Mitchell requested a break.
Tanya agreed.
The video feed went silent.
Rebecca turned toward me.
“That question landed.”
“He did not know we had the spreadsheet.”
“No.”
“How did we get it?”
“From the realtor production.”
I nodded.
Then my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I ignored it.
A text appeared.
This is Natalie.
My pulse jumped.
A second message followed.
I need to talk to you without Daniel.
I showed Rebecca.
She immediately called Tanya during the break.
Tanya’s answer came through speaker.
“Do not meet her alone.”
“I was not planning to.”
“Do not promise anything.”
“I was not planning to.”
“Do not tell her what evidence we have.”
“I understand.”
Another message appeared.
He lied to me too.
Then another.
There is an account none of you have found.
I stared at the words.
Rebecca read them over my shoulder.
“Send a screenshot to Tanya.”
I did.
Then Natalie sent one final message.
If Daniel knows I told you, he will move it before morning.
Tanya did not let me answer Natalie immediately.
Instead, she asked Rebecca to preserve the text thread and draft a response that revealed nothing.
I felt ridiculous needing legal review to send six words to my husband’s girlfriend.
Then I remembered that six words could become an exhibit.
We settled on a simple reply.
I can meet with counsel present.
Natalie responded within thirty seconds.
Fine.
Then another message.
Just not at his office.
That last phrase stayed with me.
His office.
Not our company.
Not Mercer Advisory Group.
Daniel had apparently succeeded in convincing everyone around him that the building belonged to him personally.
The deposition resumed after the break.
Tanya moved into the hidden brokerage account.
Daniel admitted the account existed.
He called it an investment reserve.
He said I knew he maintained separate investments.
I did know he invested.
I did not know three hundred thousand dollars sat in an account whose statements were mailed to a private box.
Tanya asked whether company money entered the account.
Daniel said he did not know.
She showed him the Alder Creek transfers.
His face hardened.
“Those were reimbursements.”
“For what?”
“Business expenses I covered personally.”
“Which expenses?”
“I would need records.”
“Do you have records?”
“I assume so.”
“Where?”
“I do not know.”
The phrase appeared so often that I began writing a tally on a hotel notepad beside me.
I do not know.
I do not recall.
I would have to check.
Approximately.
Possibly.
By the end of the day, the man who once corrected me for not remembering a restaurant reservation could not remember where hundreds of thousands of dollars came from.
Tanya asked about Megan and the house.
Daniel said the proposed sale was exploratory.
She showed him the realtor’s message saying he wanted to close before the divorce filing became searchable.
He said he was concerned about market disruption.
She asked what market.
He said local real estate buyers might react to public litigation.
Tanya asked why the property was never exposed to those buyers in the first place.
Daniel’s attorney objected.
Daniel stopped answering.
Then Tanya introduced the Transition Budget.
For the first time all day, Daniel asked to speak privately with counsel before answering a question.
The feed muted.
I stared at the line on the screen.
Claire settlement: $275,000 max.
The word max no longer hurt.
It clarified.
There was a strange freedom in seeing the price someone had privately assigned to your surrender.
It gave you permission to stop negotiating with their opinion of your worth.
When the feed resumed, Tanya asked Daniel who prepared the budget.
“I did.”
“What did ‘Claire settlement’ refer to?”
“A potential divorce settlement.”
“Had Claire agreed to divorce when you created this?”
“No.”
“Had you told her you wanted one?”
“No.”
“Had she agreed to accept two hundred seventy-five thousand dollars?”
“No.”
“Why is the word max used?”
“It was an internal planning assumption.”
“For what?”
“Liquidity.”
“Did you calculate the value of her company ownership first?”
“No.”
“Did you calculate her share of home equity?”
“No.”
“Did you calculate her inheritance contributions?”
“No.”
“Then what was the two-hundred-seventy-five-thousand-dollar number based on?”
Daniel looked toward his attorney.
No objection came.
He answered quietly.
“What I thought she would take.”
I stopped writing.
Tanya did too.
The sentence was not illegal.
It was not technical.
It was worse because it was plain.
What I thought she would take.
Not what she owned.
Not what was fair.
Not what the documents showed.
What I thought she would take.
Tanya asked why he thought I would accept it.
Daniel’s face changed.
“She does not like conflict.”
“Anything else?”
“She values stability.”
“Anything else?”
He paused.
“She would not want Sophie dragged through a fight.”
My eyes filled.
There it was.
Sophie was not merely someone Daniel wanted to protect.
She was part of his settlement calculation.
Tanya did not look toward the camera.
She kept her voice flat.
“Did you intend to ask Sophie to persuade Claire to settle?”
Daniel’s attorney objected.
Daniel answered anyway.
“I expected our daughter to want peace.”
The deposition ended at 5:26.
Tanya came into the observation room and closed the door.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she said, “You did well.”
“I sat in a room and listened.”
“For you, that was work.”
I almost laughed.
She was right.
All my life, listening had meant preparing to solve someone else’s problem.
May you like
That day, I listened without rescuing him once.
