Chapter 8 - The Deposition of Shadows
The high-rise legal office of Sterling Equine Conglomerate overlooked the glittering skyline of the city,
a monument to wealth built on corporate intimidation and ruthless acquisitions.
Inside the glass-walled conference room,
Marcus Sterling sat at the head of a twenty-foot mahogany table,
flanked by five high-priced corporate defense attorneys in dark pinstripe suits.
Beside them sat Travis,
wearing a brand-new suit bought with Sterling’s advance money,
trying to look confident despite the nervous sweat glistening on his forehead.
My mother sat in the corner chair,
clutching a expensive leather handbag Sterling had gifted her,
looking around the luxurious room as if she had finally achieved the high status she deserved.
The heavy frosted glass doors opened,
and I walked into the room accompanied by Pat,
Vivien Hargrove,
and two federal prosecutors who had joined our legal defense.
I wore a sharp black blazer,
my hair tied back securely,
my posture erect and unyielding as I took my seat directly across from Travis and Marcus Sterling.
"Let the record show,"
the court reporter announced,
adjusting her transcription machine,
"that this is the preliminary federal deposition regarding the matter of Sterling Equine versus Bethany Vance."
Marcus Sterling leaned back in his leather chair,
steeped his fingers together,
and offered a condescending smile.
"Mrs. Vance,"
Sterling said smoothly,
his tone dripping with false sympathy.
"It didn't have to come to this."
"If you had simply accepted my generous partnership offer years ago,
your late husband’s reputation would not be under scrutiny today."
"Do not speak my husband’s name,"
I replied,
my voice as cold and sharp as a surgeon's scalpel.
"You don't deserve to breathe the same air as his memory."
Travis sneered across the table,
leaning forward onto his elbows.
"Keep acting tough,
Bethany,"
Travis taunted quietly.
"The federal documents are signed."
"I swore under oath that Daniel took cash payments from Sterling’s representatives right in front of me."
"Your word against mine,
little sister."
Pat didn't waste time with verbal arguments.
She opened a thick steel briefcase,
pulled out a series of high-resolution enlarged documents,
and slid them forcefully across the glossy table toward Sterling’s attorneys.
"Let us examine the evidence of Mr. Vance’s supposed employment,"
Pat declared,
her voice ringing with lethal precision through the quiet room.
"Exhibit A: The affidavit signed by Travis Vance,
claiming Daniel Vance worked at Sterling's central research lab on October 14th through October 20th of 2017."
"Exhibit B,"
Pat continued,
placing a second document down.
"Certified,
forensically audited GPS satellite logs from Daniel’s truck,
along with timestamped video footage from the County Grain Elevator."
"These records prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Daniel Vance was sixty miles away from your lab,
hauling hay with Walt Sinclair on every single one of those days."
Sterling’s lead attorney frowned,
quickly picking up the documents and scanning the satellite coordinates with rising concern.
"Furthermore,"
Pat said,
sliding a third,
even larger folder across the table,
"we have obtained banking records from the Swiss financial accounts of Sterling Equine's holding company."
Travis’s face instantly lost all color,
his eyes widening with sudden,
blinding panic.
"Two days before this affidavit was filed,"
Pat explained to the federal prosecutors sitting beside us,
"a wire transfer of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars was made from Sterling Equine to an offshore account registered under Travis Vance’s name."
"This was not an employment dispute,"
Pat declared,
her hand slamming onto the table.
"This was a paid,
suborned perjury scheme designed to fraudulently seize control of a hundred-million-dollar asset!"
The federal prosecutors immediately stood up,
opening their own official red folders.
"Marcus Sterling,"
the lead prosecutor stated firmly,
"you are hereby notified that you are the chief subject of an active federal grand jury investigation for corporate fraud,
evidence tampering,
and bribery."
"And as for you,
Mr. Vance,"
the prosecutor added,
turning his stern gaze toward Travis.
"Suborning perjury and accepting offshore bribes to falsify federal agricultural records carries a mandatory minimum sentence of ten years in a federal penitentiary."
Travis dropped his pen,
his entire body trembling as he looked at Sterling in utter terror.
"You said they couldn't trace the offshore account!"
Travis screamed at Sterling,
his voice cracking with panicked desperation.
"You promised me I was completely protected!"
My mother stood up from her chair,
her expensive leather handbag slipping from her fingers and crashing onto the polished floor.
"Travis!"
she shrieked,
her voice echoing off the glass walls.
"What did you do?!"
Marcus Sterling’s smooth demeanor completely vanished,
replaced by a look of sheer,
unadulterated rage as he turned to his legal team.
"Get these people out of my office!"
Sterling roared,
pointing a furious finger at us.
"This deposition is over!"
I stood up slowly,
looking down at my sniveling brother and the corporate billionaire who had tried to destroy my life.
"The deposition is over,
Marcus,"
I said,
May you like
a cold smile touching my lips.
"But your trial is just about to begin."
