Chapter 7 - The Deposition
The conference room at Reed & Associates was cold and sterile.
My parents sat on one side of the long mahogany table, flanked by their lawyer, Gregory Vance—a sharp-looking man in an expensive pinstriped suit who looked like he had never lost an argument in his life. My mother wore a black dress and oversized sunglasses, trying desperately to project an aura of tragic sophistication, though her swollen eyes gave away her stress. My father sat beside her, glaring at me with open hostility.
I sat on the opposite side of the table with Evelyn. I was dressed impeccably in a crisp white blouse and dark trousers, sitting tall and relaxed, holding a warm cup of tea.
"Let the record reflect," Vance began, pointing a finger at the court reporter sitting at the end of the table, "that we are gathered here to discuss the illegal seizure of the property located at 412 Elm Street by Miss Clare Thompson, and the fraudulent claims made regarding my clients, Richard and Eleanor Thompson."
"State your demands, Mr. Vance," Evelyn said smoothly, leaning her elbows on the table.
Vance smirked, shuffling his papers. "My clients are reasonable people. Despite the ungrateful and cruel actions of their daughter, they are willing to forego criminal charges for trespass and extortion if Miss Thompson agrees to two conditions: First, immediate vacation and return of the deed for 412 Elm Street. Second, a cash payment of two hundred thousand dollars to cover my clients' legal expenses and emotional distress."
My mother spoke up, her voice trembling with theatrical grief. "We took her in! We gave her a home when her husband died! And she concocted this insane story about a doll to ruin our reputations in the community! People at my church won't even speak to me!"
"Mrs. Thompson, please keep your comments focused," Evelyn instructed coldly. She then turned her gaze to Gregory Vance. "Mr. Vance, your entire lawsuit relies on the claim that Mr. Richard Thompson was a law-abiding trustee who maintained absolute fidelity to the Arthur Miller Trust, correct?"
"Of course," Vance said condescendingly. "Mr. Thompson managed his father's affairs for years with complete devotion."
"Is that so?" Evelyn pulled the thick black binder from under her chair and slid it across the table. "Then perhaps you can explain these forensic accounting statements certified by the state financial crimes division yesterday afternoon."
Vance frowned, opening the binder. As he flipped through the pages, his arrogant smirk began to fade. His eyes darted across the highlighted account numbers, wire transfers, and offshore bank routing codes.
"What is this?" Vance asked, his voice losing its confident edge.
"That," Evelyn explained, "is the paper trail showing that between June 2018 and November 2022, Richard Thompson embezzled two hundred and twenty-three thousand, four hundred dollars from Arthur Miller’s medical trust."
My father gasped, his face turning bright red. "That's a lie! That was... those were administrative fees!"
"Administrative fees sent to a private holding company in Grand Cayman registered under your personal name, Richard?" Evelyn countered, leaning forward. "Elder financial exploitation carries a mandatory minimum sentence of seven to ten years in state prison. Furthermore, because the funds were transferred across state lines using electronic systems, federal wire fraud charges were officially filed with the U.S. Attorney’s Office this morning at 8:00 a.m."
My mother turned to my father, her eyes wide with terror. "Richard? What is she talking about? What offshore accounts?"
"Shut up, Eleanor!" my father yelled, slamming his hand on the table.
"Mr. Thompson, control yourself!" Vance barked, looking thoroughly alarmed. He quickly turned to Evelyn. "Mrs. Reed... this is... this is outside the scope of our civil claim—"
"It is directly relevant to your clients' credibility and their standing to contest the trust," Evelyn interrupted firmly. "In five minutes, two federal investigators will arrive in this building to serve a grand jury subpoena on Mr. Thompson. However, my client is willing to offer a settlement."
My parents stared at me in shock.
I leaned forward across the table, looking directly into my mother's terrified eyes, then into my father's furious ones.
"Here are my demands," I stated, my voice clear and unwavering. "First, you will sign an absolute, permanent waiver renouncing any and all claims to the Arthur Miller Trust and the property on Elm Street. Second, you will sign a consent decree granting a permanent, lifetime order of protection for me and Maya. Third, you will sign over your personal rights to the remaining family heirlooms currently held in storage."
"And if we refuse?" my father growled, his voice trembling with desperation.
"If you refuse," I said softly, "the U.S. Attorney will proceed with the federal wire fraud indictment, and Evelyn will present the fireplace audio recording and the financial evidence to the press. You wanted to teach Maya a lesson about how life works, Mom. Today, I'm teaching you one: You reap what you sow."
The room was dead silent.
Vance leaned over to my father, whispering frantically into his ear: "Sign it, Richard. Sign it right now or you're going to spend the rest of your life in federal prison. I can't defend you against this."
My father looked at the documents Evelyn pushed toward him. His hands shook so violently he could barely hold the pen. With tears of rage slipping down his cheeks, he signed his name on every line. My mother followed suit, sobbing openly into her handkerchief.
When they finished, Evelyn took the signed documents, verified every signature, and stood up.
May you like
"The deposition is concluded," Evelyn said. "You have ten minutes to exit the building before the federal agents arrive to serve your subpoena."
My parents scrambled out of their chairs like broken animals, refusing to look at me as they rushed out the door. I sat back in my leather chair, taking a quiet sip of my tea, feeling the final chains of my past shatter into dust.
