Chapter 12: Depositions and Dawn
The fluorescent lights of the county sheriff’s station hummed with a headache-inducing buzz that seemed to drill straight into my skull. We sat in a stark, windowless holding room partitioned by scratched Plexiglas and scarred laminate tables. Ellie lay asleep across two plastic chairs, her head pillowed on my spare cardigan, her small chest rising and falling in steady, exhausted rhythms.
A middle-aged detective with rumpled sleeves and a heavy gold wedding band dropped a thick manila folder onto the table in front of us. His badge read Detective Vance—a cruel irony given the man sitting beside me.
"Your digital drop caused quite a stir downtown," Detective Vance said, leaning his weight onto his palms and staring directly at Vince. "We had three separate judges wake up to encrypted financial portfolios detailing half a decade of hush-money payouts, tax fraud, and coerced witness statements linked directly to Marcus Sterling's charitable foundation."
"It's all real," Vince said steadily. His hands were clasped flat on the tabletop, knuckles pale and bruised from the earlier skirmish. "Every document, every audio log, every bank transfer. It’s what they forced Ellie's mother to sign away her life to keep hidden."
Vance glanced over at the sleeping child, his stern expression softening just a fraction. He pulled out a yellow legal pad and uncapped a plastic ballpoint pen. "I'm going to need your formal depositions on the record, both of you. Once you sign these statements, there's no walking back. Marcus Sterling's legal team is already filing emergency injunctions, claiming the data was illegally obtained and altered."
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"We have the physical ledger and the unedited microchip straight from the safe," I interjected, my voice surprisingly firm despite the bone-deep exhaustion settling into my limbs. "And I was a maid in that house for four years. I saw the way they managed her, the way they locked her in her suite whenever investors came over. I'll sign whatever you need."
Vance nodded slowly, sliding the papers across the table. As I took the pen, my fingers brushed against Vince’s hand. He didn't pull away; instead, his fingers tightened around mine for a brief, reassuring second. The legal battle was only beginning, but for the first time since the wake, the suffocating shadow of the Sterling estate felt like it was finally starting to crack.
