Chapter 4: The Deposition
Six Months Later.
The deposition room was freezing, sterile, and entirely devoid of the luxury Vivian was accustomed to.
She sat across from me, looking ten years older. The expensive blonde highlights had grown out into harsh, graying roots. She wore a cheap, off-the-rack blazer. The state-appointed attorney sitting next to her looked completely bored.
I leaned forward, sliding a glossy photograph across the table. It was a picture of my father, standing on his own two feet, smiling on the back patio of our estate.
Vivian refused to look at it.
"State your name for the record," the court reporter droned.
"Vivian... Vivian Vance," she muttered, using her maiden name.
"Ms. Vance," I started, keeping my tone perfectly conversational. "Let’s talk about the offshore account in the Cayman Islands. Specifically, the transfer of $4.2 million on the exact day my father was placed in a medically induced coma. Did you authorize that transfer?"
"I plead the fifth," she mumbled.
I smiled. I didn't need her confession anymore; the paper trail was bulletproof. I spent the next four hours dissecting her life. I laid out every forged check, every bribed doctor, every fake contract. I stripped away every lie she had ever told, leaving her naked under the harsh fluorescent lights.
By hour three, she was weeping silently. Not out of remorse, but out of pure, unadulterated self-pity. She realized the money was gone. The status was gone. Her freedom was next.
"Are we done here?" her lawyer asked, checking his watch.
"Yes," I said, snapping my briefcase shut. "We're done."
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As I stood up to leave, Vivian looked up at me, her eyes red and puffy. "You ruined my life."
I paused at the door, looking back at her. "No, Vivian. I just gave you the life you earned."
