Chapter 4 - The Deposition
Jamal arrived forty minutes late.
He wore a cream suit, dark sunglasses, and no tie.
His attorney, Marcus Dean, apologized on his behalf.
Jamal did not.
The deposition took place in Nathaniel’s conference room.
Two cameras recorded.
A court reporter sat near the wall.
I was not allowed to ask questions.
That was probably wise.
Nathaniel began gently.
“State your full legal name.”
“Jamal Andre Brooks.”
“Occupation?”
“Private investment consultant.”
“Licensed securities professional?”
“I operate in digital assets.”
“That was not the question.”
Jamal smiled.
“I’m not required to hold traditional licensing for everything I do.”
“Are you registered with the SEC as an investment adviser?”
“No.”
“FINRA?”
“No.”
“Commodity Futures Trading Commission?”
“No.”
“Georgia Secretary of State securities division?”
Marcus objected to form.
Jamal answered anyway.
“No.”
“Do you manage money for others?”
“I advise.”
Nathaniel slid over a bank record.
“Did Richard and Susan Vance transfer seven hundred eighty thousand dollars to Elevate Meridian Holdings?”
“They invested.”
“Did you control the receiving account?”
“Yes.”
“Did Britney?”
“Technically.”
“Did she have login credentials?”
Jamal hesitated.
“I handled operations.”
“So no?”
“She could have requested them.”
“That is not an answer.”
“No.”
Nathaniel continued.
“How much of the Vances’ investment remains?”
“Market valuations fluctuate.”
“How much cash or marketable assets remain?”
“I’d need records.”
“You were subpoenaed to bring them.”
“My team is compiling.”
“What team?”
Another pause.
“Contractors.”
“Names?”
Marcus objected.
Nathaniel moved on.
He produced the fake First Southern statement.
“Have you seen this?”
“Looks familiar.”
“Did you create it?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“Metadata identifies J. Carter.”
“Never heard of him.”
Nathaniel placed another exhibit beside it.
A promotional deck for Elevate Meridian.
PDF author:
J. Carter.
Jamal’s expression changed.
Nathaniel asked, “Who is J. Carter?”
“I don’t know.”
Simone passed Nathaniel a note.
He smiled slightly.
“Did you use a freelancer named Julian Carter?”
Jamal leaned back.
“Maybe.”
“For document design?”
“Marketing.”
“Financial statements?”
“No.”
“Loan packages?”
“No.”
“Bank-statement alteration?”
“Absolutely not.”
Nathaniel presented an invoice.
JULIAN CARTER DIGITAL SERVICES.
Description:
Statement recreation and document formatting.
Payment:
$8,500.
Marcus objected.
Jamal said, “Formatting isn’t fraud.”
“No. Fraud is fraud.”
Marcus told Nathaniel not to argue.
Nathaniel nodded.
Then came the folder.
“Do you recognize a directory titled LAUREN HOUSE PLAN?”
“No.”
“Did you maintain a laptop in your home office?”
“Yes.”
“Did your wife access it?”
“She invaded my privacy.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
The screenshot appeared on a monitor.
Jamal stared.
Nathaniel asked about each file.
BANK STATEMENT FINAL.
“No idea.”
DEED TRANSFER.
“Family planning.”
CREDIT PROFILE.
“Public information.”
LAUREN SIGNATURE MASTER.
Jamal stopped.
“What is that?” Nathaniel asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Did you collect samples of Lauren Vance’s signature?”
“No.”
Nathaniel placed three documents on the table.
An old birthday card.
A copy of my college tax return.
The fraudulent loan application.
A forensic document examiner had identified repeated stroke patterns consistent with digital tracing from a source signature.
Jamal looked toward Marcus.
His attorney whispered something.
For the next nine questions, Jamal answered:
“On advice of counsel, I decline to answer based on my Fifth Amendment rights.”
That changed everything.
A civil case allowed inferences under some circumstances that a criminal case did not.
My parents’ theory depended on Jamal’s evidence.
Now he would not authenticate it.
Nathaniel asked one final question.
“Did Lauren Vance steal three hundred thousand dollars from Richard or Susan Vance?”
Jamal looked toward the camera.
Then at his attorney.
“I invoke.”
Deposition over.
My father was next.
His was harder.
Not because the questions were difficult.
Because I knew his face.
I knew the way he pressed his tongue against his cheek when nervous.
I knew the pause before he lied.
Nathaniel asked whether he had ever seen an original First Southern statement for the family account.
“No.”
“Who gave you the documents?”
“Jamal.”
“Did you verify them?”
“He showed me financial reports.”
“Did you call the bank?”
“No.”
“Did you know Lauren had access to the account?”
“I believed she did.”
“Based on what?”
“Jamal told me.”
“Did Lauren ever tell you?”
“No.”
“Did you ever ask her before filing suit?”
My father stared at Nathaniel.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“She would deny it.”
“How did you know?”
“Because she always thinks she’s smarter than us.”
Nathaniel paused.
“Mr. Vance, did you sue your daughter because you believed she stole money or because you needed her house?”
My father’s attorney objected.
He answered anyway.
“Both.”
My chest tightened.
Nathaniel stayed calm.
“Explain.”
“We gave Lauren every advantage.”
“Such as?”
“College. A stable home. Connections.”
“Did you provide three hundred thousand dollars toward her current house?”
“No.”
“Any amount?”
“No.”
“Did you promise Britney a house?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“When she had children.”
“Why?”
“Because she needed one.”
“Did Lauren know?”
“Everyone knew.”
“Was Lauren obligated to provide it?”
My father’s face hardened.
“She has more than enough.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“In a family, people contribute.”
“Did you ask her?”
“She would have said no.”
“So instead you sued her?”
“Yes.”
My mother gasped quietly behind counsel.
Even his own lawyer looked uncomfortable.
Nathaniel continued.
“Did you know your home mortgage balloon payment was due shortly?”
“Yes.”
“Did you have funds to pay it?”
“No.”
“Did you believe transferring Lauren’s Buckhead property to Britney would allow the family to borrow against it?”
My father looked at his attorney.
Then invoked the Fifth Amendment.
Again.
Again.
Again.
When the deposition ended, he passed me in the hallway.
“You enjoying this?”
“No.”
“You look like you are.”
“I’m documenting it.”
“You’ll regret what happens to this family.”
I looked at him.
“This family was already in trouble. You just wanted my house to hide it.”
He walked away.
My mother’s deposition broke differently.
She cried before the first substantive question.
Nathaniel offered a break.
She refused.
“I want this done.”
She admitted she never saw the account.
Never verified the transfer.
Never asked me whether I had taken money.
Why sign?
“Richard said we would lose the house.”
“The Roswell house?”
“Yes.”
“And Britney?”
“She was pregnant. Jamal said the market was temporary. If Lauren signed over her property, we could stabilize everything.”
“Did you understand Ms. Vance would lose control of a home she purchased herself?”
My mother whispered, “Temporarily.”
“What did temporarily mean?”
“Until Jamal recovered the investments.”
“Did you have a date?”
“No.”
“A repayment agreement?”
“No.”
“An equity arrangement for Lauren?”
“No.”
“Any document protecting her?”
“No.”
Nathaniel paused.
“So your daughter was expected to surrender a $1.5 million property based on a verbal promise from a man who had already lost your retirement funds?”
My mother began sobbing.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She looked toward me.
“Because Lauren always survives.”
I forgot to breathe.
Nathaniel did not speak.
My mother wiped her face.
“Britney falls apart. Lauren doesn’t. Lauren works. Lauren fixes things. She was paying her own bills at twenty-two. Britney called us every time the rent went up.”
“So you demanded more from Lauren because she was more capable?”
“Yes.”
“And gave more to Britney because she was less capable?”
“Yes.”
“Did you believe that was fair?”
My mother looked at me.
“No.”
It was the first honest answer she had given me in years.
“Then why?”
“Because strong children are easier to disappoint.”
The court reporter’s fingers continued moving.
No one else did.
That sentence explained my entire childhood.
Britney cried, parents intervened.
Lauren handled it.
Britney missed rent, parents paid it.
Lauren worked extra.
Britney needed a car, family contributed.
Lauren bought used.
My independence had not freed me from family obligation.
It had increased my assigned burden.
Nathaniel ended early.
Outside, my mother tried to hug me.
I stepped back.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I believe you.”
Hope crossed her face.
Then I continued.
“That doesn’t undo the lawsuit.”
Her expression fell.
“I know.”
“You froze my accounts.”
“I know.”
“You jeopardized my job.”
“I didn’t know Jamal would contact them.”
“You still signed.”
“Yes.”
I left.
That evening, Nathaniel called.
“We have enough to seek dismissal and sanctions.”
“What about the house restriction?”
“We’ll ask to lift it.”
“And Jamal?”
“Different problem.”
Federal investigators had contacted Simone.
Several of Jamal’s investors had filed complaints after learning about the lawsuit.
The amounts were large enough to trigger attention.
A financial-crimes investigation was beginning.
My family’s attempt to steal one house had exposed a much larger scheme.
May you like
But before we could return to court, Britney went into premature labor.
And Jamal disappeared.
