Chapter 8 - The DepositionThe conference room on the nineteenth floor of Sterling, Vance & Hayes overlooked the steel-grey expanse of the Chicago River.
The room was enclosed in floor-to-ceiling glass, featuring a long, polished marble table surrounded by ten ergonomic leather chairs. Sitting at the head of the table was David Sterling, flanked by two senior forensic accountants and a certified court reporter adjusting her stenography machine.
I sat in the chair directly beside David, wearing a tailored charcoal suit, my hands folded calmly on the table.
At 8:55 AM, the double doors opened.
Arthur walked in first, wearing a dark suit that hung loose on his diminished frame. Behind him walked Amber, wearing a black dress and oversized sunglasses that she nervously pushed onto her head as she took her seat across from us. Their court-appointed defense attorney, a weary-looking man named Henderson from a small suburban firm, sat between them, spreading his files across the marble.
Neither my father nor my sister looked me in the eye.
"Good morning, counsel," David Sterling began, his voice smooth and professional as he tapped his microphone. "We are on the record for the deposition of Amber Vance in the matter of Kovacs v. Vance."
Henderson cleared his throat. "Before we begin, Mr. Sterling, my clients wish to discuss the possibility of a confidential global settlement regarding all outstanding civil and property matters involving Mr. Darien Vance."
I leaned forward slightly, resting my forearms on the marble. "There is no global settlement, Henderson."
My father’s head snapped up. His eyes met mine for the first time since he pulled up to my driveway in Wilmette.
"Darien," Arthur said, his voice tight with suppressed rage. "This is a legal deposition regarding a business dispute. You have no standing to sit in this room."
"I am the primary funding party for the plaintiff, Arthur," I replied calmly. "And as the sole holder of the mortgage note on 1402 Elmwood Avenue, I have every right to observe proceedings that directly impact the solvency of the defendants."
"You're trying to destroy your own family!" Amber burst out, her hands shaking as she pointed across the table at me. "You brought us to a high-rise office building to torture us! Over what?! Over a car from ten years ago?!"
David Sterling raised a hand politely. "Ms. Vance, please refrain from outbursts. We will begin the questioning."
David pulled a thick binder from his briefcase and opened it to the first section.
"Ms. Vance," David began, leaning toward the microphone. "I direct your attention to Exhibit 4. This is a bank record from Chase Bank, account ending in 4092, registered solely under your name. On March 14th of last year, a wire transfer of $25,000 was executed from the merchant operating account of Luxe Spa Glenview LLC into your personal checking account. Who authorized that transfer?"
Amber looked at her lawyer, her face turning pale. "I... I don't remember."
"You don't remember transferring twenty-five thousand dollars of your business partner's capital into your personal account?" David asked, his voice razor-sharp. "Perhaps Exhibit 5 will refresh your memory."
David slid a second sheet across the table.
It was a time-stamped text message string between Amber and Sarah Kovacs from the exact date of the transfer.
Sarah: Amber, why is there a $25k discrepancy on the merchant ledger today? The payroll checks for our estheticians bounced!
Amber: It was an accounting error by the bank. Don't worry about it. Mom and Dad are covering it.
The room went dead silent.
I watched my sister's face crumble. The arrogant, careless girl who had stood on an Evanston sidewalk ten years ago, telling me that Mom and Dad would "smooth this over," was sitting across from a court reporter while every single lie she had ever told was read into a permanent legal record.
"Ms. Vance," David pressed coldly. "Did your parents cover that discrepancy? Or did your father, Arthur Vance, call Mrs. Kovacs two days later and threaten to tie her up in litigation until she lost her home if she reported the transfer to the state prosecutor?"
Henderson interjected quickly, "Objection! Relevance!"
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"It is entirely relevant to the claim of corporate intimidation, counsel," David shot back without missing a beat.
My father sat frozen in his leather chair, his jaw locked, his eyes fixed on the glass window overlooking the river. He knew, with absolute mathematical certainty, that the fortress of lies he had built around his daughter for a decade had finally collapsed.
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