Chapter 14 - The Deposition
Three weeks passed,
three weeks of relentless legal maneuvering,
subpoenas,
and forensic accounting that ripped away every single layer of Calvin’s deceit.
The criminal investigation into Stephanie had completely stalled the divorce proceedings,
because every asset they shared was now part of a federal evidence locker,
but Marcus Sterling was not a man who allowed his cases to gather dust.
He had successfully petitioned the family court to compel Calvin to sit for a sworn deposition,
forcing him to go on the official legal record regarding the stolen two hundred thousand dollars,
and the forged LLC documents.
The deposition took place in the grand conference room of Marcus’s law firm,
a room designed specifically to intimidate opposing counsel,
featuring a massive mahogany table,
leather chairs,
and an unobstructed view of the city skyline.
I arrived early,
wearing a sharp,
tailored gray suit,
my hair pulled back tightly,
my expression an unreadable mask of absolute calm.
I sat next to Marcus at the head of the table,
watching as the court reporter set up her stenography machine,
her fingers resting lightly on the keys,
ready to immortalize every single word.
At exactly ten o'clock,
the heavy wooden doors opened,
and Calvin walked in,
followed closely by his attorney,
a sweaty,
nervous-looking man who clearly knew he was fighting a losing battle.
Calvin looked utterly destroyed,
a hollow shell of the arrogant,
confident man I had married.
He had lost weight,
his suit hung loosely on his frame,
and his hands shook violently as he pulled out his chair and sat down across from me.
He refused to meet my eyes,
staring rigidly at the polished surface of the table,
swallowing constantly as if trying to force down a golf ball.
"Let us begin,"
Marcus announced,
his voice booming in the quiet room,
pressing the button on a small digital recorder sitting in the center of the table.
"State your full name for the record."
"Calvin James Davis,"
my husband mumbled,
his voice barely audible.
"Speak clearly into the microphone, Mr. Davis,"
Marcus instructed sharply,
not allowing him an inch of comfort.
For the next two hours,
Marcus surgically dismantled Calvin's life,
asking a series of rapid-fire,
inescapable questions that cornered him from every possible angle.
"Mr. Davis,
did you,
on the fourteenth of last month,
initiate a wire transfer of two hundred thousand dollars from a joint savings account shared with your wife?"
"Yes,"
Calvin answered,
sweat beading on his forehead.
"And did you inform your wife,
Brooke Davis,
of this transfer before executing it?"
Calvin hesitated,
looking desperately at his lawyer,
who simply shook his head,
silently telling him he had to answer honestly.
"No,"
Calvin whispered.
"I did not."
"Did you use those funds to capitalize an LLC named CS Holdings,
an entity registered to yourself and a Ms. Stephanie Miller?"
"Yes."
Marcus leaned forward,
his eyes narrowing,
resembling a shark smelling blood in the water.
"Mr. Davis,
were you aware that the funds in that specific account were derived entirely from an inheritance left to your wife by her late grandfather,
and had never been commingled with your personal income?"
Calvin’s lawyer tried to object,
claiming relevance,
but Marcus immediately shut him down,
citing the specific statutes regarding the misappropriation of non-marital assets during a marriage.
"I... I knew it was her inheritance,"
Calvin finally admitted,
a tear leaking out of the corner of his eye,
sliding down his pale cheek.
"So, for the official record, Mr. Davis,"
Marcus summarized,
his voice dripping with lethal contempt,
"you admit to secretly draining your wife's inherited life savings,
without her consent,
to fund a business venture with a woman you were simultaneously carrying on an illicit sexual affair with?"
The silence in the room was deafening,
broken only by the rapid,
rhythmic clicking of the court reporter's keys.
Calvin finally looked up,
his eyes meeting mine for the first time since he walked into the room,
and I saw the absolute,
unfiltered misery in his soul.
"Yes,"
he sobbed,
breaking down completely,
burying his face in his hands,
weeping uncontrollably in front of the lawyers and the court reporter.
"I did it.
I am so sorry, Brooke.
I am so, so sorry."
I stared at him,
feeling the immense weight of the last month finally lifting off my shoulders.
His apology meant absolutely nothing to me,
because apologies do not refund bank accounts,
and apologies do not repair shattered trust.
But his recorded,
sworn confession meant everything,
because it guaranteed that when we went before the judge for the final financial settlement,
I was going to take everything he had left,
down to the absolute last penny,
and he would spend the rest of his life paying me back.
"No further questions,"
Marcus stated smoothly,
May you like
clicking the recorder off,
leaning back in his chair with a deeply satisfied smile.
