Chapter 8 - THE DEPOSITION
The high-ceilinged chambers of Federal District Judge Eleanor Thomas were quiet and imposing. Heavy wooden bookshelves lined the walls, and large leather chairs were arranged around a mahogany conference table.
Judge Thomas, a stern woman in her late sixties with sharp blue eyes, sat at the head of the table. Across from her sat Viktor Vane's lead defense attorney, Richard Sterling—a man famous for destroying prosecution witnesses with ruthless rhetorical traps.
Iris sat in a chair that was slightly too large for her, her feet dangling above the floor, wearing a neat navy blue dress. June sat in the waiting room outside, her hands trembling, while Nathan stood just outside the glass paneling of the chamber doors, his presence a silent wall of protection.
"Miss Kwan," Judge Thomas began, her voice soft and reassuring. "My name is Judge Thomas. Do you know why we are here today?"
"Yes," Iris replied calmly. "Because the lawyers think Mr. Cole made up what I saw in his office."
Richard Sterling leaned forward, a condescending, artificial smile on his face. "Little girl... Iris, is it? We don't think Mr. Cole made anything up. We just think you might have gotten confused. It was four in the morning, wasn't it? You were sleepy, you were in a dark house you didn't know..."
"The house wasn't dark," Iris interrupted smoothly. "The hallway emergency lights were on at twenty percent illumination, which is standard for residential security systems. And I wasn't sleepy because I had taken a nap in the supply closet at eleven PM."
Sterling's smile faltered slightly. He adjusted his silk tie. "Be that as it may, you claim you saw a man wearing a gold signet ring. Do you know how many middle-aged men in Boston wear gold signet rings?"
"I don't know the total population count for Boston," Iris said rationally. "But the ring I saw had a crest with two crossing arrows and a small notch on the bottom left edge of the seal where the gold was worn down from rubbing against a metal watch band."
Sterling froze.
Judge Thomas raised an eyebrow, looking down at the physical evidence photographs on her desk. The photograph of Raymond Farrell’s signet ring showed the exact notch on the bottom left edge of the seal.
"And the computer files?" Sterling pressed, his voice losing its condescending polish and taking on an aggressive edge. "A seven-year-old girl reading complex corporate real estate acquisition deeds? You expect us to believe you understood legal contract jargon?"
"I didn't read all the words," Iris said plainly. "I looked at the numbers. The transfer consideration was listed as $1.00. The previous acquisition document listed the purchase price as $42,500,000. You don't need to be a lawyer to know that one dollar is less than forty-two million dollars."
A faint smirk touched Judge Thomas's lips.
Sterling flushed red, leaning closer to the girl. "Did Mr. Cole tell you to say that? Did he promise your mother a job and money if you remembered those specific details?"
"Objection!" the federal prosecutor shouted.
"Mr. Sterling, watch your line of questioning," Judge Thomas warned sharply.
Iris didn't flinch. She looked at Sterling with a calm, pitying expression. "Mr. Cole didn't promise us anything. He helped us because someone was doing something wrong in his house. Just like you're trying to do something wrong in this room."
Outside the glass door, Nathan felt a surge of pride so profound it brought a rare warmth to his chest.
Judge Thomas closed her folder with a loud slam. "That is quite enough, Mr. Sterling. The witness's cognitive clarity, memory recall, and credibility are beyond question. The defense's motion to disqualify her deposition is denied. This testimony stands."
Sterling sank back into his chair, his face pale, realizing that the syndicate’s final legal defense had just been completely demolished by an eight-year-old girl.
When the chamber doors opened, Iris walked out into the hallway. Nathan immediately walked up, kneeling down beside her.
"How did it go?" Nathan asked, though he already knew the answer.
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"The lawyer tried to trick me," Iris said, handing him a mint she had taken from the judge's desk. "He wasn't very clever."
Nathan laughed—a bright, ringing sound that filled the marble corridors of the courthouse. "No, Iris. He certainly wasn't."
