Chapter 7 - Confronting the Past
The deposition room on the third floor of the Manhattan federal courthouse was cold, sterile, and windowless.
I sat at the polished oak table flanked by Aaron’s top-tier legal representative, Attorney Sarah Bennett, and Detective Vance, who attended as an observer. Across the table sat Vanessa’s defense attorney—a sharp-suited, silver-haired man named Henderson—alongside a court-appointed psychological evaluator.
Vanessa herself sat at the end of the table in her orange jumpsuit, her wrists shackled to the metal chair. She looked thin and haggard, her eyes sunken with dark circles. When I walked into the room, she looked up, and for a split second, a flash of pure, unadulterated venom crossed her face before she quickly morphed it back into a trembling, fragile expression.
“Ms. Davis,” Attorney Henderson began smoothly, adjusting his glasses. “For the record, can you describe Ms. Sterling’s demeanor when she entered your hospital room last week?”
“She was furious, coherent, and aggressive,” I answered steadily, keeping my voice level and calm. “She was fully aware of what she was saying.”
“Was she screaming incoherently?” Henderson pressed.
“Not at all,” I replied. “Her words were precise. She stated clearly that she paid to make sure my child was never born.”
Vanessa flinched, biting her lower lip hard enough to draw blood.
“Objection, speculation as to her state of mind,” Attorney Sarah Bennett chimed in smoothly, shutting down the defense line of questioning before it could gain traction.
Henderson sighed, shuffling his papers. He looked directly at me, trying a different tactic. “Ms. Davis, you must admit that finding out your ex-husband’s new fiancée had lied about your pregnancy must have caused a great deal of emotional distress. Isn’t it possible that you are exaggerating Ms. Sterling’s statements out of lingering bitterness from your divorce?”
I let out a quiet, cold laugh. That was the mistake that sealed their fate.
I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the table, locking my eyes onto Henderson, and then slowly turning my gaze to Vanessa.
“Bitterness?” I said softly, the quiet intensity in my voice making every lawyer in the room sit up straight. “Mr. Henderson, my divorce happened because Mr. Sterling chose ambition over family. That was a painful chapter, but it ended. What Ms. Sterling did wasn't bitterness. It was calculated, premeditated cruelty.”
I opened my leather portfolio and pulled out a single printed document—a certified medical report that Detective Vance had managed to secure from an overseas clinic in the Cayman Islands just forty-eight hours prior.
“This,” I continued, sliding the document across the table toward Henderson and the psychological evaluator, “is a wire transfer record from an account registered under Vanessa Vance’s maiden name, sent to a disgraced medical courier in our city, dated four months ago. The memo line reads: ‘Special delivery service for Claire Davis’s grocery run.’”
Vanessa went completely rigid. All pretense of fragility vanished instantly. Her face drained of every drop of color.
“Ms. Davis, what is this?” Attorney Henderson asked nervously, scanning the document.
“This is proof that her actions were not the result of a sudden psychological break,” I said, my voice ringing with absolute authority. “She planned it for months. She stalked me, she poisoned my food supply, she lied to the man who trusted her, and she tried to destroy my child’s life before it even began. There is no insanity here, Mr. Henderson. Only malice.”
The psychological evaluator picked up the document, read it over twice, and slowly lowered his pen. He looked across the table at Vanessa.
“We are withdrawing the insanity plea,” the evaluator announced quietly to the defense attorney.
Vanessa let out a strangled gasp, lunging forward in her chair so violently that the shackles rattled loudly against the metal table. “No! You can’t! She’s lying! She’s ruining everything!”
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“We’re done here,” Detective Vance said, standing up and buttoning his jacket.
As the guards pulled Vanessa back into her seat, sobbing hysterically as her entire defense collapsed in real-time, I stood up, gathered my portfolio, and walked out of the room without looking back at her ever again.
