Chapter 7 - THE DEPOSITION
The deposition room in the downtown law offices of my attorneys was freezing, smelling heavily of lemon polish and ozone. The long wooden table was dominated by stacks of financial ledgers, printed emails, and enlarged photographs of the fake invoices.
Logan sat across from me, flanked by a public defender who looked like he hadn't slept in three days. Logan was a ghost of his former self. The orange jumpsuit had been replaced by an ill-fitting suit, but nothing could hide the hollow circles under his eyes or the nervous tremor in his hands.
The court reporter sat at the head of the table, her fingers poised over the stenograph machine.
My lead attorney, Marcus Vance—no relation to Logan, thankfully—a man with silver hair and the predatory instincts of a great white shark, adjusted his glasses and looked at Logan.
“Mr. Vance, let’s revisit Exhibit D. The wire transfer of seventy-five thousand dollars on October 14th to the offshore account registered under Crimson Petals LLC. You authorized this transfer, correct?”
Logan swallowed hard, glancing at his public defender. “I invoke my Fifth Amendment right against self-incrimination.”
Marcus smiled thinly. “You have invoked the Fifth Amendment forty-two times today, Mr. Vance. That is your right in a criminal proceeding, but this is a civil deposition. The jury will be allowed to draw a negative inference from your refusal to answer. Let’s move on to Exhibit F. The text messages between you and Brianna Hayes on November 2nd.”
Marcus pushed a printed document across the table. “In this exchange, Ms. Hayes states, ‘I’m nervous about the audit, the numbers don't match the inventory.’ To which you replied, ‘Don't panic. Just forge the shipping manifests like I showed you. My idiot wife never looks at the granular data.’ Did you write that message, Mr. Vance?”
Logan’s eyes darted to me. For a moment, a flash of the old, arrogant Logan surfaced, a sneer of pure contempt. But then he looked back at the paper, his shoulders slumping. “Fifth Amendment.”
“Fascinating,” Marcus murmured. He then leaned back in his leather chair. “Mr. Vance, I should inform you that Ms. Hayes sat in that exact chair yesterday afternoon for six hours.”
Logan’s head snapped up, panic finally breaking through his stoic facade. “What?”
“Yes,” Marcus continued smoothly. “Ms. Hayes was remarkably cooperative. She provided us with the master passwords to the shell accounts. She detailed the exact methodology you used to skim the funds. And she provided audio recordings you left on her voicemail instructing her to destroy physical evidence the morning you were fired.”
Logan turned perfectly white. “She’s lying! She’s a crazy bitch! She masterminded the whole thing! She seduced me! She needed the money to pay off her credit card debts!”
“Ah,” Marcus said, his eyes glittering with triumph. “So you are speaking now. You claim Ms. Hayes masterminded the theft of four hundred thousand dollars?”
Logan realized his mistake too late. He had broken his silence, and in doing so, he had implicated himself by admitting knowledge of the crime and the motive. His public defender buried his face in his hands.
“The truth is, Mr. Vance,” I spoke up for the first time, my voice echoing loudly in the quiet room. “Brianna threw you under the bus to save herself. She traded you for a plea deal. She signed a full confession implicating you as the primary architect of the fraud. You are facing twenty years in federal prison for wire fraud, embezzlement, and tax evasion.”
Logan stared at me, his chest heaving, his mind desperately trying to find a way out of the trap that had just snapped shut around his neck. But there was no escape. He had no money, no allies, and no defense. He had played a dangerous game with my life, and he had lost everything.
“You vindictive bitch,” he hissed, leaning across the table, his eyes wild with hatred. “You planned this. You trapped me.”
May you like
“I didn't trap you, Logan,” I replied, standing up and buttoning my blazer. “You trapped yourself the moment you kissed her in that parking garage. I just locked the door.”
I walked out of the deposition room without looking back, the sound of his furious, impotent screaming fading behind me as the heavy oak door clicked shut. The legal battle was effectively over. The slaughter was complete.
