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Chapter 6 - The Deposition

Two months later, the formal deposition in the Whitmore divorce and asset-division case took place in the main conference room of Elena Vance’s law firm.

Grant sat across the glass table looking like a shadow of his former self. He had lost weight, his expensive suit looked slightly ill-fitting, and his eyes were bloodshot and dark. After being fired from Sterling & Ellis, no major financial firm in Chicago would hire him. He was living in a temporary corporate rental, facing pending state criminal charges for corporate fraud, while Brooke Ellis was under home confinement awaiting trial for grand larceny.

Beside Grant sat Richard Sterling, who looked thoroughly exhausted by his client's endless legal liabilities.

Claire sat at the head of the table, perfectly calm, wearing a navy silk blouse. Beside her sat Elena and David Miller, the forensic accountant.

A court reporter sat at the end of the table, her fingers poised over the stenography machine.

"We are on the record," Elena announced clearly. "This is the deposition of Grant Whitmore in the matter of Whitmore v. Whitmore."

Elena leaned forward, opening a thick binder. "Mr. Whitmore, I direct your attention to Exhibit 14. This is a bank statement for account ending in 4092 at Cayman International Bank. Is this account registered under your name?"

Grant glanced at Sterling, who gave a gloomy, resignation-filled nod.

"Yes," Grant muttered.

"And what is the current balance of that account?" Elena asked.

"Approximately... eight hundred and fifty thousand dollars," Grant answered, his voice barely audible.

"And where did those funds originate?"

Silence stretched across the room. Grant swallowed hard, his eyes darting frantically around the table.

"They... they were derived from corporate consulting fees," Grant lied softly.

"Mr. Whitmore," Elena said, her voice dropping into an authoritative chill. "I remind you that you are under oath. We have already subpoenaed the corresponding wire transfer logs from Sterling & Ellis. Those funds were diverted directly from Mrs. Whitmore’s personal inheritance trust—a trust set up by her late mother—which you secretly accessed using forged power-of-attorney documents while she was hospitalized for her initial cancer biopsy eighteen months ago."

Grant’s head snapped up. "That was marital property! I reallocated those funds to protect our family's investment strategy!"

"You stole your wife's inheritance while she was lying in a hospital bed undergoing a biopsy," Elena countered ruthlessly. "And you used two hundred thousand dollars of those funds to purchase a luxury sports car registered to Brooke Ellis."

Grant’s face turned an ugly, mottled red. "Claire didn't care about that money! She was obsessed with her health! I was managing our future!"

"No, Grant," Claire spoke up, her voice smooth, icy, and completely unbothered by his outburst. "You were stealing my future because you were terrified I would realize I didn't need you."

Grant glared at her, his lips trembling with rage. "You ruined me, Claire! Look at what you've done! I have no job, my reputation is destroyed, and I'm facing criminal charges! Is this what you wanted?!"

Claire leaned back in her chair, looking at him not with anger, but with profound, quiet pity.

"You ruined yourself, Grant," Claire said softly. "You thought my illness made me weak. You thought you could strip away my support, take my mother's memory, steal my child, and leave me with nothing. But all you did was show the court—and the world—exactly who you really are."

Richard Sterling turned to Grant and whispered loudly, "Grant, shut up. We are done here."

Sterling looked across the table at Elena. "We want to discuss a global settlement. Complete surrender of all claims to the marital residence, full custody to Mrs. Whitmore, full restoration of the inheritance trust, and liquid asset division in Mrs. Whitmore's favor. Just... do not push for criminal referral on the power-of-attorney forgery."

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Elena looked at Claire. Claire gave a single, slow nod.

"Draft the agreement, Mr. Sterling," Elena said, closing her binder with a satisfying snap. "You have forty-eight hours."

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