Chapter 13: The Deposition
The conference room at Elias Thorne’s law firm was intimidating by design. Situated on the top floor of a glass skyscraper, it featured a massive mahogany table, panoramic views of the city, and an atmosphere designed to make opposing counsel sweat.
I sat next to Elias, wearing a tailored, dark navy suit. My hair was pulled back into a severe, flawless bun. I looked less like a chef and more like a corporate executioner.
Across the table sat Judith. She wore a Chanel suit, her chin tilted up in that familiar, arrogant angle. Next to her was her lawyer, a slick, aggressive man named Vance, known for terrifying small business owners into early settlements.
Nathan sat at the far end of the table, isolated. He had his own separate counsel present, a necessary legal maneuver to establish his independence from his mother’s aggressive claims.
A court reporter sat in the corner, her fingers hovering over the stenograph. The red light of the video camera blinked silently.
"Let’s get this over with," Vance began with a condescending smirk, adjusting his silk tie. "My client is simply asking for what is legally and rightfully hers. The seed capital for Second Table Catering was provided from a joint marital account, heavily subsidized by the Cross family trust. Therefore, the resulting enterprise is subject to equity division."
"Are you finished with your opening monologue, Counselor?" Elias asked smoothly, not even looking up from his legal pad. "Because it's fictional."
Vance bristled. "The bank statements speak for themselves."
"Let's look at those bank statements," Elias said, sliding a thick, bound ledger across the table. "Exhibit A. This is a forensic accounting of my client's finances from the date of incorporation to the present day."
I watched Judith. Her confident smirk began to waver as the massive binder hit the table with a heavy thud.
"You will notice," Elias continued, his voice lethal and precise, "that the five thousand dollars withdrawn from the joint account was repaid in full, with six percent interest, exactly four months later. My client did not accept it as a seed investment. She coded it as a short-term, high-interest personal loan. Here is the canceled check, signed by Nathan Cross, depositing the repayment back into his personal account."
Vance looked at the document. He blinked. He looked at Judith, who suddenly looked very pale.
"A technicality," Vance sneered, recovering quickly. "During the marriage, my client’s son provided housing, living expenses, and logistical support that allowed her to build the business. That constitutes sweat equity and structural support."
Elias leaned back, steepling his fingers. "Is that so? Let's ask the co-plaintiff. Mr. Cross, you are under oath. Did you provide structural and logistical support for Second Table Catering?"
Nathan leaned forward into the microphone. He didn't look at his mother. He looked directly at the camera.
"No," Nathan said clearly. "I did not. In fact, I actively discouraged her. I called her business a 'hobby.' I refused to watch our children while she catered her first events, forcing her to hire overnight sitters out of her own pocket. I contributed absolutely nothing to the success of her company."
Judith gasped loudly. "Nathan! What are you doing?!"
"I am telling the truth, Mother," Nathan said, finally turning to look at her. The weakness was gone. "She built this entirely on her own. We have no right to a single dime of her money."
"Mr. Cross is a hostile witness to his own petition," Vance stammered, frantically trying to salvage the sinking ship. "He is clearly being emotionally manipulated by his ex-wife!"
"I am a man who read the documents you tricked me into signing," Nathan fired back, his voice rising with long-suppressed anger. "I am officially withdrawing my name as a plaintiff from this frivolous lawsuit, and I am instructing my counsel to file for sanctions against you for deceptive practices."
The room descended into absolute chaos. Judith was hyperventilating, her aristocratic composure completely shattered. Vance was desperately whispering into her ear.
May you like
I sat perfectly still, watching the destruction of the woman who had tormented me for a decade. I didn't gloat. I didn't smile. I simply leaned forward to the microphone.
"Are we done here, Judith?" I asked softly, my voice cutting through the noise like a scalpel. "Because I have a television contract to sign, and you are wasting my time."
