Chapter 7 - The Deposition
The deposition room at the State Attorney General’s office was walled in frosted glass, cold and austere.
My mother sat on the opposite side of the long oak table, dressed in a black suit that looked two sizes too big for her. Beside her sat her defense attorney, a sleek, expensive lawyer named Arthur Pendelton, whom Daniel’s family had scraped together the money to retain.
I sat next to the lead prosecutor, Marcus Thorne—a terrifyingly brilliant attorney who had spent twenty years dismantling organized crime syndicates.
"State your name for the record," Marcus began, his voice echoing off the glass walls.
"Evelyn Sterling Vance," my mother said, her voice faint and shaking.
"Mrs. Vance," Marcus continued, flipping open a thick binder filled with bank statements, phone records, and security camera transcripts. "I want to direct your attention to the night of August 4th. On that night, your daughter Maya suffered a severe traumatic brain injury, a fractured nose, and three broken ribs. You told the responding deputy that she fell."
"She did fall," my mother insisted, her hand gripping her leather purse so tightly her knuckles turned white. "She's unstable on her feet!"
Marcus didn't argue. He simply pressed a button on a remote control resting on the table.
The large flat-screen monitor on the wall lit up. The video from the kitchen played in crisp, horrifying detail. The audio echoed through the small room—Maya’s terrified gasp, the metallic crash of her head striking the refrigerator, the sickening wet pop of her nose breaking under Daniel's knee, and her desperate, choking sob.
Then came my mother's voice on the tape, clear as day: "Clean that up before the police get here, Daniel. We can't have blood on the floor."
My mother flinched as if she had been slapped. She covered her face with her hands, trembling violently.
"Mrs. Vance," Marcus said, his voice dropping an octave, deadly serious. "That video proves that you not only witnessed a brutal felony assault on a disabled individual, but you also actively attempted to conceal evidence of the crime and misled law enforcement officers."
"I was afraid of him!" my mother sobbed, breaking down completely. "You don't know what he's like! He controlled everything! He threatened to leave me penniless!"
"So you let him beat your daughter instead?" I interjected, unable to stay silent any longer.
"Claire, please!" she begged, looking across the table at me with desperate, bloodshot eyes. "I'm your mother! You have to help me! Tell them to drop the charges against me! I was a victim too!"
"You were an accomplice," I corrected her, my tone as hard and unyielding as granite. "You chose a monster over your child because he bought you fine clothes and paid for your country club membership. You traded Maya’s blood for your comfort."
"Ms. Sterling," Pendelton, her attorney, interrupted smoothly. "My client is prepared to offer full cooperation with the state’s prosecution of Daniel Vance in exchange for a reduction of charges to misprision of a felony with probation."
Marcus Thorne leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "Mr. Pendelton, your client is facing charges of third-degree felony child and vulnerable adult neglect, obstruction of justice, and three counts of conspiracy to commit wire fraud. The only deal on the table is this: she pleads guilty to felony obstruction and agrees to testify against Daniel Vance at trial. In exchange, we recommend a sentence of five years in state prison instead of fifteen."
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My mother let out a strangled gasp. "Five years?! In prison?!"
"Take it or leave it, Mrs. Vance," Marcus said, closing the binder with a heavy thud. "Because if this goes to a jury, I promise you, that video will play on a loop during opening statements. And no jury in this state will let you walk free."
