Chapter 6 - The Deposition of Richard Vance
The conference room at Sterling & Associates was a masterpiece of modern design—all glass, polished mahogany, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Charles River. It was a room designed to make dishonest people feel very, very small.
My father sat on the opposite side of the long table, flanked by a nervous-looking lawyer named Henderson. Richard was no longer wearing his expensive tailored suits; he looked deflated, his skin a sallow grey, his hands trembling slightly as he adjusted his gold watch.
Victoria Sterling sat next to me, a stack of folders arranged neatly before her like weapons on a rack.
"Let the record state," Victoria began, her voice cool and rhythmic as the court reporter’s fingers flew over the machine, "that this is the deposition of Richard Vance in the matter of Vance v. Vance, Civil Action No. 2026-CV-0842."
She turned her sharp, predator-like gaze onto my father.
"Mr. Vance, let’s start with the key. You testified in your written response that you had an 'unrestricted easement' to enter the property in Eastham. Can you produce any written document, signed by your daughter Lauren, granting you this easement?"
Henderson, my father’s lawyer, cleared his throat. "We maintain that a familial understanding existed—"
"I didn't ask for a 'familial understanding,' Mr. Henderson," Victoria interrupted, her voice sweet and deadly. "I asked for a signed document. Under the Statute of Frauds in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, any interest in real property must be in writing. Do you have a document?"
Silence filled the room. Richard stared at the table.
"No," Richard muttered.
"Speak up, please," Victoria said.
"No," Richard said louder, his face flushing with a familiar, ugly anger. "We didn't have a document. She's my daughter! I shouldn't need a damn piece of paper to visit my own family's property!"
"It's not your family's property, Mr. Vance. It is Lauren's property. Purchased solely by her," Victoria said. She pulled a document from her stack. "Let's move on to Exhibit C. This is a copy of a land transfer deed filed with the Barnstable County Registry of Deeds on November 12th. It purports to bear the signature of Lauren Vance, transferring sole ownership of the Eastham property to you."
Richard’s lawyer froze.
Victoria slid the document across the table. "Mr. Vance, we have had this document analyzed by a forensic handwriting expert certified by the federal court. Her conclusion is that the signature is a clumsy, manual forgery. Did you forge your daughter’s signature on this deed?"
"I decline to answer on the advice of counsel," Richard whispered, his voice cracking.
"You're taking the Fifth?" Victoria asked, her eyebrows arching. "In a civil deposition? I should remind you, Mr. Vance, that while the Fifth Amendment protects you from self-incrimination in a criminal trial, in a civil matter, the jury is allowed to draw an adverse inference from your silence. They will assume you forged it because you did."
Richard looked up, his eyes filled with a desperate, wild fury. He looked at me, his teeth clenched.
"You did this," he hissed. "You're destroying this family, Lauren! Your mother is on antidepressants! Megan is living in a rented basement in Framingham! All because you couldn't share a simple beach cottage!"
"You cut up Grandma's desk, Richard," I said, my voice quiet, cutting through his rage like a scalpel. "You threw my life into a dumpster to cover up your own failures. I didn't destroy this family. You did."
Richard stood up, knocking his chair back against the glass wall. "We're done here! Henderson, we're leaving!"
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"Sit down, Mr. Vance," Victoria said, not even looking up from her papers. "Because if you walk out of this room, I will call the Barnstable County District Attorney’s office and inform them that we are releasing the forensic handwriting report to the press. You will be in handcuffs before you reach the Massachusetts Turnpike."
Richard stood frozen, his hand on the back of his chair, his chest heaving. The illusion of the powerful, untouchable patriarch was gone. There was only a desperate, aging bully, trapped in a glass room of his own making.
