Chapter 12: Preparing for the Deposition
The conference room on the tenth floor of the downtown legal offices smelled of expensive wool carpet and fresh paper. Sunlight poured through floor-to-ceiling glass windows that offered a sweeping panoramic view of the skyline. Maya sat beside her father at the polished mahogany table, flanked by lead attorney Sarah Jenkins, a sharp, formidable litigator with silver-streaked hair and an uncompromising demeanor. Across the table sat Eleanor’s legal team—three high-priced attorneys dressed in immaculate dark suits, flanked by Eleanor herself.
Eleanor wore a pristine cream-colored pantsuit that projected an aura of absolute untouchable authority. She did not look at Maya when they entered the room; instead, she fixed her gaze on a leather-bound briefcase resting on the table before her, radiating cold, calculated hostility.
"This deposition is being recorded for the record," Sarah Jenkins announced, her voice calm and authoritative as she adjusted the microphone in front of her. "We are here to examine the provenance of the Vance family foundation assets and the historical execution of Clara Vance’s final will."
For the next two hours, the room became a battleground of dates, signatures, and financial ledgers. Eleanor’s attorneys attempted to pick apart every document submitted in the manila folder, arguing technicalities regarding probate timelines and notary seals. Eleanor herself sat silently, occasionally whispering instructions to her lead counsel with practiced coldness.
When it was Maya’s turn to speak, the opposing counsel attempted to undermine her credibility, painting her as a disgruntled teenager motivated by personal animosity toward her stepmother.
"Miss Vance," opposing counsel asked smoothly, leaning forward with a patronizing smile. "Isn't it true that your relationship with Mrs. Eleanor Vance has been strained for years due to typical adolescent defiance, leading you to fabricate these narratives of stolen inheritance?"
Maya did not flinch. She remembered the gymnasium, the glaring lights, the cruel words screamed into the crowd, and the journal sitting safely in her art studio at home. She looked directly across the table into Eleanor’s unblinking eyes.
"No," Maya said clearly, her voice steady and resonant in the quiet room. "The only thing I fabricated was the belief that I had to endure abuse to be part of a family. The documents speak for themselves."
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Attorney Jenkins offered a subtle, approving nod, sliding a final piece of evidence across the table—a sworn forensic affidavit proving that Eleanor had personally authorized the transfer of foundation funds to an offshore account registered under a fictitious shell corporation two days after Clara Vance’s death.
Eleanor’s lead counsel glanced at the paper, his expression shifting from confident assurance to sudden uncertainty. Eleanor finally broke her silence, her voice trembling slightly as she leaned toward her attorney. "That document is irrelevant—" she began, before catching herself and cutting off mid-sentence, realizing too late that her outburst had confirmed its authenticity.
