Chapter 12 - The Deposition of TruthThree weeks before the trial was scheduled to begin, Michael’s legal team requested a formal civil deposition to settle the marital property division and custody agreements outside of a public courtroom.
The deposition took place in a glass-walled conference room in downtown Chicago.
I wore a dark gray tailored pantsuit, my hair pulled back neatly, sitting alongside Clara Mercer and Detective Raymond. Across the long mahogany table sat Michael and his primary counsel.
For three hours, Michael’s attorney attempted to push a narrative that I had engineered the hospital visit to gain leverage in a divorce proceeding.
"Mrs. Bennett," the defense lawyer asked, leaning forward with a patronizing smile. "Isn't it true that you had discussed leaving your husband several months prior to November?"
I looked past the lawyer and fixed my eyes directly on Michael.
"I stayed for fifteen years because I believed keeping the peace would protect my daughter," I replied, my voice calm, level, and entirely devoid of fear. "I left the night your client looked at a dying child throwing up blood and told me she was having a performance to skip a test. The leverage didn't come from a strategy, counselor. It came from a perforated organ and a fifteen-year-old girl’s courage to write down the truth."
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Michael’s jaw clenched so tightly the muscles in his neck strained against his collar. For the first time in his life, he couldn't interrupt me. He couldn't shout over me. He couldn't turn my words into a sign of instability.
He was trapped in a room where facts reigned supreme, and he knew he had lost.
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