Chapter 8 - The Deposition
Three weeks later, the civil deposition took place in a neutral conference room downtown.
Diego sat across from me, looking like a ghost of his former self. He had lost weight, his expensive designer suit hung loosely on his frame, and the cocky swagger that had once defined him was completely gone. His father, Richard, sat next to him, looking old and defeated, his empire crumbling around his ears.
My attorney, Sarah, adjusted her glasses and looked at Diego. "Mr. Williamson, let’s begin with the events of the evening of the family dinner. You claim that the plate slipping from your hand was an accident. Is that correct?"
"Yes," Diego mumbled, staring at the table.
"Then how do you explain this?" Sarah clicked a button on her laptop, turning the screen toward Diego and his attorney.
Playing on the screen was a crystal-clear video of the dining room.
The Williamsons had a state-of-the-art security system installed in their home, featuring hidden, high-definition nanny cams in almost every room—a security measure Victoria had insisted upon to "keep an eye on the staff." During my discovery process, Sarah’s team had subpoenaed the security server records.
On the video, the scene played out in agonizing detail.
I was sitting quietly at the table. Diego stood up, his face red with anger. He picked up the heavy ceramic plate, raised it above his shoulder, and threw it directly at my head with unmistakable, violent intent. The sound of the glass shattering was sickening.
Then, the camera captured the chilling aftermath: my bleeding forehead, the family’s complete indifference, and my calm phone call to 911.
Diego's attorney closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. He knew they were completely, utterly finished.
"We would like to request a five-minute recess," his attorney said, his voice barely a whisper.
"Take all the time you need," Sarah replied smoothly.
During the recess, Diego’s attorney led Diego and Richard into the hallway. When they returned ten minutes later, Richard looked directly at me. The arrogant, wealthy patriarch who had once demanded I pay his wife $2,400 a month looked completely broken.
"What are your terms, Valerie?" Richard asked, his voice hoarse. "We will agree to anything. Just don't let this video go to the press or the criminal prosecutor."
"It's too late for the prosecutor, Richard," I said, looking him dead in the eye. "The District Attorney already has a copy. But as for the civil settlement, here are my terms:
First, Diego signs over all rights and claims to any joint property immediately.
Second, Victoria transfers the title of her Mercedes and her Cherry Hills jewelry collection to a trust fund that will be liquidated to pay off the $450,000 stolen from our joint account, with an additional $200,000 in punitive damages.
Third, Marcus and Diego will fully cooperate with the building department's investigation into the Aria Tower construction fraud, taking full responsibility so that Natalie is completely cleared of any corporate liability."
"That will bankrupt us!" Richard gasped.
"Then I suggest you start packing your bags," I replied. "Because if you don't sign this agreement by 5:00 PM today, I will personally hold a press conference outside your estate and play this video for every news outlet in the country."
May you like
Diego looked at his father, tears welling in his eyes. He had no more cards to play. He had no more power.
"I'll sign," Diego whispered, his voice trembling. "I'll sign it."
