Chapter 5 - The Deposition
Three weeks later, I sat in a high-rise conference room in downtown Columbus. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the Scioto River, sparkling under a crisp autumn sun.
Across the long mahogany table sat Derek, his new defense attorney—a sharp-suited man named Harrington who looked thoroughly miserable—and a court reporter whose fingers hovered over her stenography machine.
Derek looked vastly different than he had in the baby aisle. His navy quarter-zip was gone, replaced by a rumpled grey suit that hung loosely on his shoulders. The immaculate, hair-gelled look was missing; his dark hair was thinning at the temples, and heavy dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes. He had spent four days in federal custody before his brother posted a two-million-dollar bail bond.
"Let the record reflect," Marcus Vance said, tapping his pen against a thick stack of documents, "that we are resuming the deposition of Derek Whitmore in the matter of Whitmore v. Whitmore."
"We are prepared to make a full settlement offer," Harrington said immediately, holding up his hands. "My client wishes to avoid a protracted trial given the parallel federal proceedings."
"Your client doesn't have a choice," Marcus replied dryly. "The federal government has already frozen twenty-two million dollars in assets tied to Aegis Holdings. What we are discussing today is the remaining liquid capital, the marital residence, and sole legal and physical custody of the unborn child."
Derek leaned forward, his hands trembling slightly on the table. "Emilia," he said, his voice hoarse. "Please. We were married for eight years. You know I didn't mean those things in the store. I was stressed. Brielle was manipulating me—"
"Mr. Whitmore," Marcus interrupted sharply. "Direct your comments to counsel. My client is not required to engage in emotional appeal with you."
I held up a hand to stop Marcus. I looked across the table at the man I had once loved—the man I had built a home with, cooked meals for, and cried with over empty nurseries. I realized with startling clarity that I wasn't angry anymore. The terror that had gripped me for months had completely dissolved, replaced by a quiet, unbreakable resolve.
"You told the people in that store that I was trying to trap you, Derek," I said softly.
Derek swallowed hard.
"You told them I was lying about the baby," I continued. "You told your girlfriend that this child wasn't yours."
"I was mad!" Derek stammered, looking at his lawyer, who closed his eyes in quiet despair. "I was trying to keep her quiet! She was threatening to go to the press about our firm!"
"And yet," Marcus pulled a white document from his briefcase, "the court-ordered prenatal paternity test results came back yesterday. The probability of paternity is 99.99%."
Marcus slid the document across the polished wood. Derek didn't look at it. He already knew the truth. He had always known the truth; he had simply used the lie as a weapon to strip away my confidence and make me surrender in the divorce negotiations.
"Here are our terms," Marcus said, laying down a three-page document. "Full legal and physical custody to Mrs. Whitmore. No visitation rights until Mr. Whitmore completes a court-mandated psychiatric evaluation and eighteen months of supervised anger management, post-release from any federal incarceration. Transfer of the deed to the Bexley home, sold immediately with 100% of proceeds placed into an irrevocable trust for the child. And a lump-sum spousal support payout of 1.5 million dollars from the non-frozen domestic accounts."
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Harrington gasped. "That is almost every cent of his remaining domestic liquidity! He won't have enough to pay his criminal defense team!"
"Then I suggest he apply for a public defender," Marcus said without missing a beat. "You have ten minutes to sign, or we hand over the remaining twelve gigabytes of Aegis Holdings financial data directly to the Department of Justice."
