Chapter 4 - The Deposition
Six weeks later.
The conference room on the forty-second floor of the Federal Courthouse sat wrapped in glass, offering a panoramic view of the snow-covered city skyline.
At the center of the massive mahogany table sat David Vance.
In six weeks, my ex-husband had aged ten years. His bespoke charcoal suits were gone, replaced by a drab, ill-fitting orange jumpsuit provided by the federal detention center. His groomed hair was shaggy and unkempt, his eyes sunken, shadowed by deep purple bags. His hands were bound at the wrists by heavy steel handcuffs, connected by a chain around his waist.
Beside him sat his defense attorney, Richard Hayes—a top-tier criminal defense lawyer who looked miserable to be in the room.
Across the table sat my father, Thomas Sterling, wearing a dark suit, his arms crossed over his chest like an immovable marble monument. Beside him sat my lead civil attorney, Katherine Reynolds—a brilliant, fierce woman who had served as my father's senior law clerk five years prior.
I sat between them, wearing a tailored navy suit, my hands resting calmly on a leather notepad. Clara was at home with a trusted, top-tier nurse provided by my father, safe and sound.
"This deposition is being recorded for the matter of Sterling v. Vance, Civil Action No. 4409," Katherine Reynolds began, pressing the record button on the digital audio machine resting between us. "Present for the plaintiff: Anna Sterling, Chief Justice Thomas Sterling, and counsel. Present for the defendant: David Vance and counsel Richard Hayes."
David looked across the table at me. His lips parted, a desperate, pathetic attempt at a mournful look appearing on his face.
"Anna..." David rasped, his voice weak. "Please... you have to listen to me. I was terrified. My mother was controlling everything. I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I love you. I love our daughter..."
"Mr. Vance," Katherine Reynolds cut in sharply, her voice like a snapping whip. "Save the performance for the jury in your criminal trial—if you survive the indictment. This deposition is for the complete dissolution of your marriage, the total forfeiture of your marital assets, and the permanent termination of your parental rights."
David's attorney, Hayes, cleared his throat nervously. "Counsel, my client is prepared to execute a full, uncontested property settlement giving Mrs. Sterling one hundred percent of the marital home, all bank accounts, and full legal and physical custody of Clara. In exchange, we are requesting that Chief Justice Sterling submit a letter to the U.S. Attorney's office recommending leniency in the pending criminal proceedings."
My father slowly leaned forward, placing his heavy forearms on the glossy mahogany surface of the table.
The room grew so quiet you could hear the soft whir of the air filtration system.
"Mr. Hayes," my father said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. "You are an experienced attorney. So you should know that offering a civil concession in exchange for influencing a federal criminal prosecution borders dangerously on bribery and obstruction."
Hayes went pale. "Sir, I was merely proposing an global settlement framework—"
"There will be no global settlement," my father interrupted. "Your client stood over my daughter while she was bleeding on a tile floor. He smashed her phone to prevent her from calling for emergency medical help. He threatened to use corrupt local connections to commit her to an asylum. He did all of this to protect his worthless career."
My father turned his piercing gaze directly onto David.
"You wanted to play law, David," my father said, every word dripping with profound, icy contempt. "You thought law was about country club handshakes, suppressing those weaker than you, and parading around in expensive suits while leaving your pregnant wife to slave in a kitchen. You told my daughter that you knew the law. So let me explain to you how the law is going to work for the rest of your life."
My father tapped the stack of papers in front of Katherine.
"First," my father said, counting on his fingers. "Your criminal trial begins in three weeks. The federal prosecutor has added charges under the Deprivation of Civil Rights Under Color of Law, given your attempts to leverage local law enforcement to intimidate a victim. The cloud video footage from your mother's kitchen will be played in open court on a sixty-inch monitor for the jury. You are facing a mandatory minimum of twelve years in federal prison."
David flinched as if he had been struck. A low, pathetic whimpering sound escaped his throat.
"Second," my father continued smoothly. "The State Bar ethics committee met yesterday morning. Your law license has been permanently revoked. You will never set foot in a courtroom again as an officer of the law."
"Third," I spoke up, taking my father's cue, my voice calm, strong, and entirely unbothered by David's despair. "The civil lawsuit for intentional infliction of emotional distress, battery, and gross negligence has been filed. Every asset you owned—your retirement account, your stock portfolio, your vehicle, and your interest in the house—has been seized to satisfy the initial judgment. You are bankrupt, David. You will leave prison with nothing."
David looked at me, tears finally spilling down his cheeks, sliding into his rough stubble.
"Anna... please," he begged, shaking his handcuffed hands toward me. "I was an idiot. My mother forced me to be like that! She raised me to think... to think family was about appearances! Please, don't take my daughter away from me! Let me see Clara!"
"You will never see Clara," I said, looking him straight in his bloodshot eyes without a single trace of pity or doubt. "You told me I was an orphan, David. You told me I had no family. But my daughter will have a family. She will grow up surrounded by people who protect her, who respect her, and who know that strength isn't about hurting people who can't fight back."
I stood up, pulling my wool coat over my shoulders.
"Sign the surrender of parental rights papers, David," I said softly, looking down at him. "Or we go to trial, and my father will personally sit in the front row of the gallery every single day until the verdict is read."
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David looked at the thick stack of papers sitting before him. He looked at Richard Hayes, who quietly shook his head, signaling that there was no defense, no loophole, no escape.
With trembling, chained hands, David picked up the pen.
