Chapter 3 - The Deposition
Three weeks after the sentencing, the autumn leaves had turned a deep, fiery red across St. Paul.
I sat in a glass-walled conference room on the twelfth floor of a downtown law firm, flanked by my civil attorney, Marcus Vance, and my husband. Across the mahogany table sat my mother, Eleanor, alongside my father and their civil defense counsel, a slick, overworked attorney named Jonathan Hayes.
We were here for the court-ordered deposition regarding our civil lawsuit against Vanessa’s estate and my parents for Emma’s medical bills—which had surpassed $140,000—and punitive damages for child endangerment.
"Mrs. Brooks," Attorney Hayes began, leaning forward with a patronizing smile aimed at my mother. "Would you please state for the record your recollection of the events on September 12th?"
My mother daintily adjusted her pearl necklace. Her hair was immaculately coiffed, her makeup flawless. She looked like a woman attending a garden party, completely detached from the legal destruction surrounding her family.
"It was a lovely birthday party for Anita," Eleanor testified, her voice sweet and calculated. "Vanessa arrived, and little Brooklyn simply wanted to try out Emma's new bicycle. Emma has always been... well, somewhat possessive of her things. A bit spoiled, if I'm being frank."
Marcus Vance tapped his pen against his notepad. "Mrs. Brooks, your granddaughter saved her own money for a year to purchase that bicycle. Is that correct?"
"I don't keep track of children's allowance, Mr. Vance," Eleanor sneered lightly. "The point is, Vanessa was simply trying to teach Emma a lesson about sharing within a loving family. She picked up the bat merely to make a dramatic point—to tap the ground. Emma lunged forward unexpectedly, and the accident occurred."
I closed my eyes for three seconds, feeling the cold rage settle into my chest.
Marcus didn't lose his temper. He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a high-definition tablet screen. He clicked play.
The security camera footage from our garage filled the screen in crystal-clear 4K resolution.
The audio was crisp: Vanessa: "You little brat! You think everything belongs to you?" The whistling sound of the aluminum bat swinging through the air. The sickening crack. Emma's blood-curdling scream as she collapsed. My mother running straight past Emma's writhing body to cradle Vanessa's hands.
"Mrs. Brooks," Marcus said, his voice dropping into a deep, lethal register. "In this video, at timestamp 14:22, as your fourteen-year-old granddaughter lies on the turf with a collapsed lung, you can be heard saying to the defendant, quote: 'Oh, honey, are you all right? Don't say anything, we'll tell them she tripped.' Is that your definition of a loving family teaching a lesson?"
Eleanor’s face went entirely white. Her hand flew to her throat. She looked frantically at her husband, then at her attorney.
"That... that video is taken out of context," Hayes stammered, shuffling his papers frantically.
"It is raw, unedited security footage with full audio, Mr. Hayes," Marcus replied smoothly. "And we have just submitted it as Exhibit A in our motion for summary judgment. Furthermore, we have subpoenaed your clients' bank records regarding the cash transfers made to Vanessa's illegal operation over the past two years."
My father stood up so fast his leather chair crashed against the wall behind him. "This is extortion! You are attacking grieving parents!"
"No, Mr. Brooks," I said, standing up to meet his gaze across the table. "You chose a criminal over your grandchild. You chose a lie over the truth. And now, you are going to pay every single dollar of her medical bills, or the court will foreclose on your lake house to satisfy the judgment."
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My mother began to weep—not tears of sorrow for Emma, but tears of pure, humiliated rage. "Anita... how could you do this to your own mother?"
"You stopped being my mother the second you walked over my bleeding child to comfort her attacker," I said quietly. "We are done here."
