Chapter 7 - The Deposition
Three weeks later, the legal hammer fell with absolute, uncompromising precision.
We were gathered in the main conference room of Kenneth Boyd’s downtown law firm. The wall of floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the Chicago skyline, bright and clear under the crisp autumn sun.
Sitting at the center of the mahogany table was Connor, his legal team, Kenneth, myself, and a court stenographer whose fingers hovered over her machine, ready to record every word.
This was the mandatory financial deposition before the criminal indictment was officially handed down by the grand jury. Connor’s partners at Vance & Fleming Equity had ousted him two weeks prior, citing a breach of fiduciary duty and ethics violations. His picture had been removed from their website, his name scrubbed from their doors.
He looked hollowed out. He had lost weight, his suit hung loosely on his shoulders, and his hands twitched nervously against his water glass.
"Mr. Fleming," Kenneth began, pressing his palms together on the table. "We are here to record the final accounting of the marital assets that were improperly concealed during the 2025 dissolution of marriage."
Kenneth opened a binder.
"On March 14th, 2024, while still married to Dr. Kirsten Sinclair, you transferred three point eight million dollars from a joint money market account into an entity titled Fleming Capital Holdings LLC, registered in Delaware. Is that correct?"
Connor stared at the polished wood of the table. "On advice of counsel... I decline to answer based on my Fifth Amendment rights."
"Very well," Kenneth said, unbothered. He flipped a page. "On August 22nd, 2024, you authorized a wire transfer of nine hundred thousand dollars to an offshore account in the Cayman Islands under the name of Travis Investments, an entity managed by Melinda Travis. Was this payment intended to secure her silence regarding your medical diagnosis?"
Connor’s attorney, Hayes, leaned over and whispered frantically in his ear. Connor swallowed hard, his skin turning a sickly shade of grey.
"Fifth Amendment," Connor muttered, his voice barely audible.
"Let the record reflect that the witness is asserting his privilege against self-incrimination," Kenneth told the stenographer. He then turned his gaze directly onto Connor.
"Mr. Fleming, are you aware that yesterday afternoon, the United States District Court for the Northern District of Illinois issued an order unsealing your private medical records and approving a full forensic claw-back of all assets transferred under the fraudulent divorce agreement?"
Connor finally raised his head. His eyes were bloodshot, filled with a frantic, desperate wildness.
"You took everything," Connor rasped, looking directly at me. "You took my firm. You took my home. You took my name."
"I didn't take anything from you, Connor," I replied, my voice calm, even, and entirely devoid of malice. "You spent seven years stealing from me. You stole my confidence. You stole my peace of mind. You stole my time—years of my youth that I spent weeping in doctors' offices, wondering why my body was failing."
I leaned forward across the table, looking at the man who had tried so hard to crush me.
"I didn't destroy your life, Connor," I said gently. "I just stopped protecting you from yourself."
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"The grand jury convenes at two o'clock today, Mr. Fleming," Kenneth added, closing the binder with a definitive thud. "I suggest you spend your remaining hours of freedom getting your affairs in order. The District Attorney intends to request bail at five million dollars."
Connor stared at us, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The reality of his complete and total destruction was absolute. He had built a fortress out of lies, vanity, and stolen wealth—and it had collapsed on top of him in less than a month.
