Chapter 5 - THE DEPOSITION OF ELEANOR
Two weeks later, the physical swelling on my face had subsided enough for Dr. Aris to remove the dark sutures, leaving behind a sharp, pink, raised scar that ran from just beneath my lower eyelid down across my cheekbone.
It was prominent, impossible to hide without heavy makeup, and a permanent part of my features. But when I looked at it in the mirror, I no longer saw pain. I saw the line where my old, desperate life ended and my real life began.
While my father remained held in county jail awaiting his criminal trial, my mother, Eleanor, managed to post her lower bond using her equity in her mother’s estate. Her legal team immediately filed a frantic petition requesting a "family mediation session" before civil suit depositions commenced, desperate to negotiate a settlement that would keep her out of prison.
At David Vance’s advice, we agreed to the deposition—not to settle, but to put her testimony permanently on the record.
The deposition took place in a high-rise conference room overlooking downtown Richmond. Marcus sat directly to my right, his hand resting on the arm of my chair. David Vance sat to my left, his laptop open and ready.
When the door opened, my mother stepped inside, flanked by her two defense attorneys.
Eleanor Whitfield looked like a shadow of her former self. Her hair, usually perfectly styled, was pulled back into a hasty bun. Her expensive cream suit was slightly wrinkled, and her eyes were bloodshot and sunken. For the first time in her life, she didn't look like a society matriarch. She looked terrified.
When her eyes landed on my face—on the thick pink scar running down my cheek—she flinched, looking away instantly.
"Dana..." she whimpered, taking a step toward me with her arms slightly open. "My baby girl..."
"Mrs. Whitfield," David Vance’s voice cut through the air like a guillotine. "Take your seat across the table. Do not address my client directly."
Eleanor swallowed hard, sinking into the leather chair opposite us. Her lead attorney, a weary-looking man named Mr. Henderson, cleared his throat.
"Before we begin the recorded deposition," Mr. Henderson began, "my client wishes to express her profound regret for the tragic events of that evening. Eleanor is prepared to offer a full public apology and waive any claim to disputed family trusts if Dana agrees to submit a letter of leniency to the Commonwealth’s Attorney regarding the obstruction charges."
David Vance didn't even look up from his screen. "No."
"David, please," Eleanor pleaded, her voice trembling, tears filling her eyes. "I’m her mother! I raised her! I spent my whole life making sure my daughters had everything! What happened that night... it was a horrible accident! Richard lost his mind because of his business stress! I was in shock! I didn't know what I was saying!"
"Mrs. Whitfield," David said calmly, turning on the digital recording equipment on the center of the table. "This deposition is now on the record. State your name for the court."
"Eleanor Vance Whitfield," she whispered.
"Mrs. Whitfield," David began, leaning forward, his eyes cold and unblinking. "On the night of May 12th, after your husband physically threw your eldest daughter into a glass table, causing severe facial disfigurement and hemorrhaging, what was the very first sentence you uttered?"
Eleanor’s lips trembled. "I... I don't remember. I was traumatized—"
"Allow me to refresh your memory," David interrupted, sliding a certified transcript from the audio recording captured by the neighbor’s security camera near the fence line. "You stood beside the door, laughed, and said: 'Maybe now he’ll finally look at someone worth looking at.' Do you deny making that statement?"
Eleanor gasped, her face draining of all color. "I... I was referring to... to..."
"You were referring to Marcus Reyes looking at your younger daughter, Renee," David stated flatly. "While your firstborn daughter lay bleeding on stone tiles with a broken face, your immediate emotional response was amusement and a desire to capitalize on her injury to push your favorite child onto a wealthy man."
"That's not how I meant it!" Eleanor sobbed, burying her face in her hands. "You don't understand how hard it’s been! Richard was threatening to ruin us! He said if Renee didn't marry Marcus, we would lose the house! I was just trying to keep our family together!"
"By sacrificing Dana?" Marcus spoke up for the first time, his deep voice filling the room with crushing weight.
Eleanor looked at Marcus, her tears streaming down her foundation. "Marcus, please... you're a good man. Talk to her! Tell her to stop this! A daughter shouldn't send her own mother to prison!"
I leaned forward across the mahogany table. I looked my mother directly in her eyes, refusing to let her look away from the scar her husband had carved into my face while she laughed.
"A mother," I said, my voice quiet, steady, and utterly devoid of fear, "doesn't laugh when her child is bleeding. A mother doesn't help her husband lie to the police while her daughter is in surgery. A mother doesn't treat one child like a golden ticket and the other like livestock."
"Dana... please..." Eleanor begged, reaching across the table with trembling hands.
"I spent twenty-nine years believing that if I was quieter, smarter, more obedient, and gave up my own happiness, you would finally love me," I told her, every word striking with the weight of absolute liberation. "But you never loved me, Eleanor. You loved what I could do for your ego. And now, you are going to face the full consequence of every choice you made."
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I turned to David Vance. "We're done here. Let the criminal trial proceed."
I stood up, took Marcus’s hand, and walked out of the conference room. Behind us, my mother’s desperate, hysterically sobbing cries echoed off the glass walls of the high-rise, completely ignored by the world she had spent a lifetime trying to impress.
