Chapter 6 - The Deposition
The formal legal deposition took place three weeks later in a large, soundproofed conference room on the 15th floor of the Cook County Circuit Courthouse.
The atmospheric tension in the room was suffocating.
On one side of the long glass table sat Daniel, his mother Margaret, his sister Ashley, and their court-appointed defense attorney, a sweating, overworked man named Harold Jenkins who looked like he regretted taking the case thirty seconds after walking into the room.
On our side sat Victoria Vance, myself, and a court stenographer whose fingers rested over her machine, ready to log every word.
Daniel looked atrocious. He had lost weight, his hair was unkempt, his suit was wrinkled, and dark purple shadows hung beneath his eyes. He couldn't look at me. Every time his eyes drifted toward my side of the table, he flinched and looked down at his trembling hands.
Margaret, however, was still trying to maintain her regal facade. She sat erect in a high-backed chair, wearing a pearls-and-tweed ensemble, though her hands clutched her leather handbag so tightly her knuckles were white. Ashley sat next to her, looking terrified, sniffling quietly into a tissue.
Victoria Vance adjusted her papers, adjusted her microphone, and looked across the table.
“Let the record reflect,” Victoria began smoothly, “that this is the evidentiary deposition in the matter of Emily Walker v. Daniel Walker, Case Number 2026-D-0892. Present for the plaintiff is Emily Walker and counsel. Present for the defendant is Daniel Walker, accompanied by third-party witnesses Margaret Walker and Ashley Walker.”
Victoria turned her sharp eyes directly onto Daniel.
“Mr. Walker,” Victoria said, her voice crisp and uncompromising. “Let us begin with Walker & Associates Logistics LLC. You registered this entity in October of last year, correct?”
Daniel swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“And between November of last year and last month, you transferred a total of $94,500 from the joint checking account you shared with my client, Emily Walker, into an unlisted business account under that LLC’s name. Did you inform your wife of these transfers?”
Daniel tugged at his collar. “It... it was an investment for our family’s future—”
“Answer the question, Mr. Walker,” Victoria cut in coldly. “Did you inform her?”
“...No,” Daniel whispered.
“And who were the registered debit card holders for that LLC account?” Victoria pulled a stack of bank statements from her folder. “According to banking records, $32,000 of those funds were spent at luxury auto dealerships, $14,000 was spent at the Chicago Yacht Club, and $8,000 was spent at high-end nail salons and boutique jewelry stores.”
Victoria looked up, staring directly at Ashley.
“Ms. Ashley Walker,” Victoria said sharply. “Did you enjoy your luxury manicures funded by my client’s stolen consulting earnings?”
Ashley gasped, bursting into fresh tears. “I didn't know! Daniel told me it was his business bonus!”
“Silence, Ashley!” Margaret snapped, finally losing her composure. She slammed her palm onto the table, her face turning crimson. “This is an outrage! This whole thing is a witch hunt!”
Margaret glared across the table at me, her eyes filled with venomous rage.
“Emily!” Margaret shouted, pointing a bony finger at my face. “You ungrateful, malicious little snake! We took you into our family! We gave you a home! My son loved you, and you repaid us by destroying his business, dragging my daughter’s name through the dirt, and threatening to steal my house!”
I didn't flinch. I didn't look away. I didn't lower my head.
I leaned forward, looking Margaret directly in the eyes.
“You didn't take me in, Margaret,” I said, my voice dangerously soft, yet filling every corner of the silent room. “I paid for your kitchen. I paid for your roof. I paid for your husband’s heart surgery. You didn't give me a home—you treated me like an unpaid servant and a financial siphon.”
I pointed to my right wrist, where a light pink scar was still visible from the second-degree burn.
“Seven days before I sold my condo, I cooked dinner for eleven of your guests while bleeding and burned. And when your daughter asked me to wash her dishes because she didn't want to ruin her manicure, and I asked for help... you threw my wedding picture down the stairs and threw me out into the street.”
Margaret opened her mouth to scream back, but no sound came out.
“You thought I had no family left,” I continued, my voice steady as steel. “You thought because my parents died, I was alone and defenseless. But my parents left me two things before they passed: assets that you couldn't touch, and the strength never to let abusive people walk over me.”
Their lawyer, Mr. Jenkins, put his head in his hands and let out a long, pathetic sigh. He leaned over and whispered frantically into Daniel and Margaret’s ears.
“Mrs. Vance,” Mr. Jenkins said, his voice completely defeated as he raised his hands in surrender. “We... we would like to request a fifteen-minute recess to discuss settlement terms.”
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Victoria Vance checked her watch, a cold, victorious smile spreading across her lips.
“You have ten minutes, Mr. Jenkins,” Victoria said. “And if your clients don't accept our full financial restitution terms by 11:00 AM... the State’s Attorney’s felony fraud indictment goes active at noon.”
