Chapter 12 - Across The Mahogany Table
The conference room on the fourteenth floor of Marcus’s firm was designed to intimidate. The walls were covered in dark, sound-dampening acoustic panels, the windows were tinted against the morning glare, and the air smelled faintly of dry paper and expensive floor wax. At the center sat a massive mahogany table that stretched nearly twelve feet long.
A court stenographer sat at the far end, her fingers hovering silently over the keys of a stenotype machine like a bird ready to strike. Across the table, Richard’s defense attorney, a silver-haired man named Harrison whose tailored charcoal suit looked significantly more expensive than Richard’s current wardrobe, flipped briskly through a heavy binder of exhibits.
Richard entered five minutes late, looking noticeably smaller than he had at the jewelry store. The sharp blue suit he had worn that day now hung loosely on his frame, his shoulders slumped beneath the weight of three simultaneous injunctions and a freezing order on his personal accounts. He avoided looking directly at me, sliding into a leather chair opposite Marcus and me without a word.
"Let the record show that the deposition of Richard Vance is being conducted under oath in the matter of Vance Holdings versus Emma Vance," Harrison announced, his voice smooth and practiced. "Counsel, are we ready?"
Marcus didn't look up from his own immaculate stack of color-coded folders. "Whenever you are, Harrison. Let’s not waste the room's time."
Harrison spent the first hour attempting to establish a baseline of marital harmony, walking Richard through routine questions about our household expenses, joint tax filings, and my alleged lack of involvement in corporate governance. Richard played his part poorly, his answers clipped and nervous, his eyes darting toward the digital clock on the wall every few minutes.
"Mr. Vance," Marcus intervened smoothly, sliding a fresh exhibit across the polished mahogany toward the defense attorney. "Let's direct your attention to Exhibit D-14. Can you identify this wire transfer authorization dated twelve days prior to our separation?"
Harrison glanced down at the paper, his practiced calm slipping slightly as his eyes scanned the routing numbers. "Objection. Irrelevant to the marital estate. This pertains to corporate liquidity reserves."
"It pertains directly to the dissipation of marital assets used to fund unauthorized private buyouts," Marcus countered, his tone level and immovable. "The witness is under oath. Let him answer."
Harrison leaned over, whispering something sharp and urgent into Richard's ear. Richard swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing sharply against his collar.
"I signed it," Richard muttered, his voice cracking slightly in the quiet room. "It was standard procedure."
"Standard procedure to route two million dollars of corporate liquidity into an offshore holding registered in the Cayman Islands under the name of a third-party consultant?" Marcus asked, his gaze locking onto Richard's face. "Under whose corporate authority was that transfer executed, Mr. Vance? The board's? Or yours alone?"
"The company needed agility," Richard stammered, his fingers gripping the edge of the mahogany table so tightly his knuckles turned chalk-white. "Opportunities move fast. We couldn't wait for a full board vote."
"And did this agile opportunity involve Celeste Miller?" I asked.
The silence that fell over the room was absolute. The court stenographer's fingers stopped moving entirely. Richard jerked his head up, his eyes finally locking onto mine with a mixture of terror and fury. Harrison threw his hands up in an immediate motion to intervene.
"Objection! Form. Argumentative. Counsel, instruct your client to refrain from—"
"The question stands," I said, my voice entirely steady, pitched at an even, conversational volume that cut right through Harrison's protests. "Did the transfer fund Miss Miller's private retail venture, or didn't it, Richard?"
Marcus didn't object to my speaking. He simply slid another document across the mahogany table—a bank statement bearing Celeste’s signature alongside Richard’s corporate seal, dated the exact afternoon he had cornered me in the jewelry store.
Harrison pulled the paper closer, his eyes scanning the numbers and names. The color drained visibly from the defense attorney's face. He didn't look up for a long moment, his thumb slowly tracing the edge of the binding. When he finally closed the binder, the sound echoed loudly in the sterile room.
"We will take a fifteen-minute recess," Harrison said quietly, not looking at his client.
May you like
Richard slumped back into his leather chair, staring blankly at the dark wood of the table as the reality of the paper trail finally settled over him.
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