Chapter 7 - The Deposition
The air in the grand conference room of Vance & Associates was thick with tension. Francine sat at the end of the mahogany table, flanked by her attorney, Marcus Vance, and two junior partners. She was out on bail now, wearing a dark navy Chanel suit, her face taut and pale, her eyes refusing to meet mine.
Clara sat beside me, completely unfazed by the opulent surroundings. Arthur Vance sat on my other side, a heavy black leather briefcase resting on his lap like a weapon.
This was a mandatory deposition for the emergency custody and eviction hearing. Marcus Vance wanted to record my testimony, planning to badger me into admitting I couldn't afford to house my children.
"Let the record state," Marcus began, his voice dripping with condescension, "that we are here regarding the Morrison Trust’s lawful eviction of Melinda Morrison due to non-payment of market-rate rent, and the subsequent application for temporary family custody of Brody and Josie Morrison by their grandmother, Francine Morrison."
Marcus turned his gaze to me. "Mrs. Morrison, you work sixty hours a week. Your children are left with uncertified caregivers. You are facing imminent homelessness. Do you really believe that your meager income can provide the stable, nurturing environment that their grandmother’s estate can offer?"
I looked directly at Francine. She adjusted her pearls, a tiny, triumphant smirk appearing on her lips. She thought she had won.
"I’d like to answer that," I said, my voice steady, calm, and utterly devoid of fear. "But before I do, my council has some preliminary disclosures to enter into the record."
Clara stood up, sliding a thick, bound document across the table. "We are entering Exhibit A: A certified forensic audit of the Morrison Family Trust from 2008 to the present day, compiled by certified forensic accountant Arthur Vance."
Marcus Vance’s face went entirely slack. He looked at his brother, his eyes widening in sudden panic. "What is the meaning of this? This is a family matter, Arthur. This has nothing to do with—"
"It has everything to do with this case, Marcus," Arthur spoke up, his booming voice filling the room. "Because this audit proves that the Morrison Trust does not belong to Francine Morrison. It proves that for fifteen years, your client has embezzled over twelve million dollars from the estate of her late husband—money that was legally mandated to go to Dale Morrison."
Francine slammed her hand on the table. "This is outrageous! This is a lie! I am the head of this family!"
"You're a thief, Francine," I said loudly, leaning forward. "You forged my late husband's signature when he was twenty years old to steal his inheritance. You used that stolen money to buy the very apartment building I live in, and now you’re trying to use it to steal my children. But the paper trail ends today."
Clara took over, her voice ringing with legal authority. "Furthermore, we have submitted these findings, along with Dale Morrison’s personal journals documenting a lifetime of physical confinement and abuse by his mother, to the State Attorney General and the Internal Revenue Service. A federal freeze has already been placed on all assets tied to the Morrison Trust as of nine o'clock this morning."
Marcus Vance looked at the documents, his hands trembling. He looked at Francine, then back at the audit. As a corporate lawyer, he knew instantly that the game was up. If the assets were frozen, he wasn't getting paid. If he was implicated in the forgery, his license to practice law was gone.
"This deposition is over," Marcus whispered, his face turning an ashen gray. He stood up, refusing to look at his client. "Francine, we need to leave. Now."
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"Marcus! Sit down! Fix this!" Francine screamed, her aristocratic composure completely shattering. She looked around the room like a cornered animal, her silver hair finally falling out of its perfect coif.
I stood up, looking down at her with nothing but pity. "You spent your whole life using walls and locks to control people, Francine. First Dale, then my daughter. But you’ve run out of doors to lock. And very soon, someone else is going to turn the key on you."
