Chapter 6 - The Deposition
The formal deposition took place three weeks later in a large, glass-walled conference room on the twelfth floor of the Dane County Courthouse.
Outside, a light snow was falling over Madison, dusting the trees and rooftops in white. Inside, the room was stiflingly hot, charged with intense legal friction.
I sat at the long wooden table beside Rachel Sterling and David. Across from us sat Ryan, his lawyer Arthur Vance, and Elaine, who sat in a wheelchair wearing a heavy wool coat over her clothes. An electronic monitoring bracelet was visibly strapped around her left ankle.
Ryan avoided looking at me. He looked gaunt, dressed in a suit that was now too loose for his shoulders, staring intently at his leather notebook. Elaine, however, sat erect, her chin held high, her pale eyes glaring at me with unyielding hatred.
Arthur Vance opened his binder with a loud clack.
“Let the record show,” Vance began, his voice booming with practiced theatricality, “that we are convened for the court-ordered deposition regarding the contested divorce, protective order modification, and emergency custody proceedings between Ryan Donovan and Claire Donovan.”
Vance leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, eyeing me like a predator. “Mrs. Donovan, isn't it true that prior to the incident on November 14th, you had been diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder?”
“Objection,” Rachel Sterling interjected smoothly. “Relevance.”
“It goes directly to the petitioner’s state of mind and her habitual pattern of overreacting to minor domestic events,” Vance countered smoothly.
“I was diagnosed with mild situational anxiety five years ago after my father passed away,” I answered calmly, keeping my voice steady, exactly as Rachel had trained me. “It was treated, resolved, and has no bearing on the fact that my mother-in-law fed my son deadly nightshade.”
“A substance my client believed was a harmless, traditional fever reducer!” Vance fired back, slamming a hand onto his file. “A minor miscalculation in dosing by a loving grandmother who was left alone with an infant while you abandoned him to pick up your daughter!”
“Abandoned him?!” David shouted, half-rising from his chair. “She went to pick up her seven-year-old child from elementary school for twenty minutes!”
“Gentlemen, control yourselves,” the court reporter warned.
Rachel leaned forward, pulling a thick stack of certified documents from her briefcase. She slid them across the table directly toward Ryan.
“Mr. Donovan,” Rachel said, her tone dripping with ice. “Let us discuss your understanding of this 'harmless traditional fever reducer.' I hand you Exhibit D—certified bank statements from your joint account with my client.”
Ryan blinked, looking down at the papers reluctantly.
“On September 14th, you authorized a wire transfer of five thousand dollars to 'Verdant Herbal Healing LLC'—a shell corporation registered to your mother, Elaine Donovan,” Rachel read aloud. “On October 22nd, you transferred another seven thousand dollars. Can you explain to the court why you were moving twelve thousand dollars of marital funds to an unregistered entity that manufactures toxic botanicals?”
Ryan swallowed hard, his collar suddenly looking tight. “I... my mother was experiencing financial hardship after her hip surgery. I was helping her pay her medical bills.”
“Is that so?” Rachel pulled out another sheet. “Then why does the memo line on the October 22nd check, written in your handwriting, explicitly say: 'For specialized pediatric tonic development'?!”
Ryan’s face drained of all color. He looked frantically at Arthur Vance, then at his mother.
Elaine reached out and grabbed Ryan’s sleeve, her fingers curling like talons. “Ryan, don't listen to these lies! Tell them!”
“Shut up, Mom!” Ryan suddenly snapped, pulling his arm away from her touch.
The room went completely dead silent.
Ryan buried his face in his trembling hands, his shoulders slumping forward. “Just stop it,” he choked out, his voice muffled by his palms. “Just stop.”
“Ryan, control yourself!” Vance whispered urgently, leaning over to grab his client’s arm.
“No, Vance!” Ryan shouted, sitting up, his eyes bloodshot and filled with tears as he looked across the table at me for the first time in weeks. “Claire... I didn't know it was poison. I swear to God, I didn't know what was in those bottles! Mom told me she was making natural supplements! She told me you were soft, that you were letting modern medicine make the baby weak! I wanted to believe her! I wanted her to be right because... because she always made me feel like I wasn't good enough unless I listened to her!”
“Ryan!” Elaine screeched, her voice ringing through the conference room like shattered glass. “You ungrateful, pathetic boy! After everything I sacrificed for you!”
“You poisoned my son, Mom!” Ryan wept openly now, his hands shaking uncontrollably. “You put deadly nightshade into Milo’s mouth! And I stood in that emergency room and called my wife crazy while my baby was dying!”
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I sat across from him, watching his breakdown. Five weeks ago, his tears might have moved me. But now, after seeing the diary, after holding my burning baby, after watching my seven-year-old daughter courageously stand up to a doctor to save her brother, Ryan’s tears felt cheap, pathetic, and far too late.
Rachel closed her folder with a quiet, decisive snap. “We are done here. We will see you in court for the final custody and criminal hearing.”
