Chapter 7 - The Witness in the Deposition Room
The conference room of Vance, Sterling & Thorne LLP on the thirty-fifth floor was bathed in the sterile, glaring light of fluorescent panels. Across the mahogany table sat a sharp-suited, middle-aged civil attorney named Marcus Sterling—hired by my mother’s defense—alongside a court stenographer whose fingers hovered restlessly over a steno machine.
I sat beside Arthur Vance, my posture rigid, my expression locked in absolute stone.
The door swung open, and Bernice walked in, flanked by a court bailiff. She looked different. The polished, untouchable matriarch who had ruled my childhood and terrorized my home was gone, replaced by a bitter, hollowed-out woman in a county-issued grey jumpsuit, her hair unstyled and her eyes burning with a venomous, unrepentant hatred.
When she saw me sitting across the table, her lips curled into a sneer.
“You’re really going to sit there and let them treat your own mother like a criminal over a squabble about household chores?” Bernice spat out, her voice dripping with venom before her attorney could even motion for her to sit.
“Quiet, Mrs. Davis,” her lawyer warned, pulling out a thick manila folder. He turned to Arthur and the stenographer. “We are here for the civil deposition regarding the disputed financial management of the San Diego residence, specifically concerning Mrs. Davis's unpaid labor and verbal agreements regarding her housing stipend.”
Arthur didn't blink. He simply reached into his briefcase, pulled out a heavy, secure black lockbox, and set it squarely in the middle of the table. He turned the key, opened the lid, and slid a single encrypted USB thumb drive across the mahogany surface.
“Before we discuss financial stipends or uncompensated labor,” Arthur said, his voice smooth and lethally calm, “let’s establish the exact nature of Mrs. Davis’s tenure in the residence.”
Marcus Sterling frowned, picking up the thumb drive. “What is this?”
“That is Exhibit A through H,” Arthur replied. “Seventy-four separate high-definition video clips, forty-two audio recordings of covert threats, medical emergency logs documenting the deliberate administration of heavy laxatives to a pregnant woman, and a complete forensic log of physical battery spanning thirty-six months, recorded and cataloged by the victim herself.”
Bernice’s face instantly drained of all color. The haughty defiance vanished, replaced by a sudden, frantic panic. She lunged forward in her chair, slamming her cuffed hands against the table.
“Lies! Those are fabricated digital files! That woman is a manipulative liar who stole my son!” she shrieked, the veneer completely shattering as the true, ugly nature of her temperament spilled out into the sterile office.
Arthur didn't flinch. He pressed a button on his remote, and the massive projection screen descending from the ceiling flickered to life.
The courtroom stenographer stopped typing. Marcus Sterling slowly lowered his pen, staring up at the screen as the date stamp appeared in the corner: October 10, previous year.
The audio filled the room with crisp, horrifying clarity—my mother’s voice hissing venomous insults at Savannah while the sound of a heavy slap echoed through the kitchen speakers.
I watched Bernice shrink into her chair, her breathing turning shallow and erratic as the digital archive laid bare every single dark, hidden crime she had committed under the assumption that no one would ever believe the victim.
“Mr. Sterling,” Arthur said quietly, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table. “You can proceed with your civil petition for financial restitution whenever you’re ready. But before you do, I suggest you ask your client whether she’d prefer to litigate her housekeeping wages in civil court, or face an expanded indictment for aggravated felony elder abuse, coercion, and attempted poisoning of an unborn child in criminal court.”
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The civil attorney stared at the screen, then at Bernice’s trembling, ashen face. Slowly, deliberately, Marcus Sterling closed his manila folder, pushed it away from himself, and looked at Arthur.
“We are withdrawing the civil motion,” Sterling said flatly. “Immediate effect.”
