Chapter 5 - THE LIVESTREAM DEPOSITION
Two weeks later.
The conference room at Vance & Associates was lined with floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the Loop. Sitting around the dark walnut table were Marcus Vance, myself in my wheelchair, a court reporter with a stenotype machine, and across from us, Vanessa, my mother, and their newly retained defense attorney, a flashy high-priced lawyer named Arthur Pendelton.
Pendelton looked like a man who knew he was holding a hand full of losing cards. His hair was slicked back, his gold watch caught the light, but his eyes kept darting nervously toward the large video monitor mounted on the conference room wall.
“Let the record show,” the court reporter monochrome monotone droned, “this is the video-recorded deposition of Defendant Vanessa Ward in the matter of Ward v. Ward et al.”
Marcus leaned forward, resting his elbows on the polished table. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
“Miss Ward,” Marcus began smoothly, “on the evening of October 14th, at approximately 8:15 PM, you were operating a smartphone camera on the terrace of the Bellevue Grand Ballroom, correct?”
Vanessa adjusted her silk blouse, glancing nervously at her attorney. “Yes. I was creating content for my followers.”
“And during that broadcast, you physically brought your right hand into contact with the upper shoulder area of your sister, Claire Ward, correct?”
Pendelton cleared his throat loudly. “Objection to form. My client was engaging in a playful, consensual social media interaction.”
“Overruled by the physical facts, Counselor,” Marcus replied coolly without looking at him. Marcus tapped a button on his iPad.
The seventy-inch video monitor on the wall flickered to life.
It wasn't just the livestream footage from Vanessa’s phone. Through third-party discovery, Marcus had subpoenaed the high-definition ceiling security camera footage from the venue itself—a crisp 4K angle directly overlooking the top of the marble stairs.
The video played in slow motion.
On the screen, my sister could be clearly seen looking down at my right knee, adjusting her position, stepping behind me while I was distracted talking to a guest, and forcefully thrusting both hands into my upper back with clear, directional momentum.
The camera caught my body twisting, the terrible angle of my landing, and the immediate impact against the edge of the marble steps.
Vanessa’s face drained of all color as she watched the video play on the giant screen.
“Miss Ward,” Marcus continued, his voice echoing off the glass walls. “Prior to this push, were you aware that your sister had undergone two reconstructive surgeries on her right knee joint?”
Vanessa swallowed hard. “I... I mean, I knew she had a car accident a few years ago. But I didn't think she was still fragile!”
“You didn't think she was fragile?” Marcus asked. He tapped his iPad again.
Audio played through the conference room speakers—crisp, crystal-clear audio from Daniel’s phone recording in the kitchen:
“I know which knee is her bad one. One little bump on those marble steps and she’ll be back in a wheelchair where she belongs.”
Pendelton’s jaw dropped. He turned his head slowly toward Vanessa, his eyes wide with utter shock. He hadn't been informed that plaintiff’s counsel possessed pre-event audio proving premeditation.
My mother, sitting beside Vanessa, grabbed the edge of the table, her face turning an ugly, mottled gray. “Where... where did you get that? That was a private conversation!”
“It was recorded in a shared catering space by a third party who has already provided a sworn, notarized affidavit,” Marcus stated coldly. “Miss Ward, is that your voice on the recording?”
Vanessa looked at her attorney, tears of terror welling in her eyes. “Arthur... do something! Tell him he can't play that!”
Pendelton slowly closed his briefcase. He leaned over to Vanessa and whispered loudly enough for the court reporter’s microphone to catch:
“Shut your mouth right now, Vanessa. Do not say another word.”
Pendelton looked across the table at Marcus and me. The flashy, confident defense lawyer looked entirely defeated.
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“We need a fifteen-minute recess,” Pendelton said, his voice tight. “My clients need to discuss settlement terms in private.”
“You have ten minutes, Arthur,” Marcus replied, leaning back in his chair. “Because at two o'clock, the State’s Attorney is filing formal felony indictment charges based on this exact deposition record.”
