Chapter 6 - THE DEPOSITION OF MARTHA COLLINS
The turning point of the pre-trial proceedings came on a rainy Tuesday morning in a fluorescent-lit conference room on the tenth floor of the courthouse.
Martha Collins sat at the witness table for her formal court-ordered deposition.
She looked a shadow of her former self. Her immaculate blonde hair was unstyled, dark circles bruised the skin beneath her eyes, and her designer pantsuit hung loosely on her frame. She looked like a woman who had spent her entire life believing she was untouchable, only to realize gravity applied to her too.
Marcus Vance stood across the room, leaning casually against a whiteboard with a black marker in his hand.
“State your name and occupation for the record,” Marcus instructed, his voice flat and professional.
“Martha Collins. Former… former headmistress of St. Catherine’s Academy,” she murmured, staring fixedly at the polished wood of the table.
“Mrs. Collins, I’m directing your attention to Exhibit 42—the internal email chain dated October 14th of last year, subject line: ‘Patricia Complaints - Action Required.’ Do you recognize this document?”
Martha glanced at the paper handed to her by her defense attorney, swallowed hard, and nodded. “Yes.”
“In this email, your assistant warned you that three separate parents had reported unexplained bruising on their children coming from Miss Patricia’s classroom. Your written reply, Mrs. Collins, was and I quote: ‘Handle it quietly. Patricia is due for her pension in two years, and an investigation will damage our capital campaign. Remind the parents of our behavioral code of conduct.’ Is that correct?”
The defense attorney immediately leaned over. “Objection, badgering—”
“Overruled, counselor,” the supervising magistrate judge interjected sharply from the corner of the room. “She may answer.”
Martha’s hands began to tremble. She looked up from the paper, her eyes darting across the room until they landed on Javier, who was sitting quietly in the back row, watching her with cold, unwavering eyes.
She knew she had nowhere left to hide.
“Yes,” Martha whispered, her voice cracking. “I wrote it.”
“Why?” Marcus demanded, stepping closer to her. “Why would an educator, sworn to protect children, knowingly leave vulnerable six-year-olds in the care of a woman she knew was physically abusing them?”
A tear slipped down Martha’s cheek, splashing onto the table.
“Because… because St. Catherine’s was everything I built,” she sobbed, the professional facade finally shattering completely. “We were raising leaders, philanthropists, politicians… I thought a few bruised arms were a small price to pay to maintain the reputation of an institution that did so much good for the community. I thought… I thought nobody would ever look closely enough to find out.”
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Javier sat in the back row, listening to her confession. There was no satisfaction in her tears. There was only a profound, sickening realization of how cheaply human beings—especially powerful people—valued the safety of children when it conflicted with their pride and their money.
“Thank you, Mrs. Collins,” Marcus said quietly, turning off his recorder. “That will be all for today.”
