Chapter 15 - The Deposition in White Plains
The conference room on the thirty-second floor of the Sterling, Vance & Hargrove offices smelled of polished mahogany, old leather-bound case law, and the absolute finality of justice. Through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, the Hudson River stretched out under an overcast autumn sky.
Across the long table sat Arthur Sterling, a silver-haired attorney in his early sixties whose calm demeanor carried the weight of four decades in estate litigation. Next to him was a junior associate tapping furiously on an iPad, cataloging three thick blue binders labeled *ESTATE OF ELEANOR VANCE (FRAUD INQUIRY).*
"Ms. Vance, Ms. Vance," Arthur Sterling began, his voice measured and empathetic. "First, allow me to apologize on behalf of our firm’s late senior partner. Eleanor Vance entrusted this firm with the execution of her wishes before her passing. Unfortunately, when Brenda Vance presented the modified codicil and power of attorney in 2014, our oversight protocols were not what they are today. The clerk who handled the validation accepted fabricated identity verifications."
"How much did she take?" I asked directly, keeping my posture rigid.
Arthur opened the first binder, sliding a ledger toward Briana and me. "The principal began at $450,000 in July 2014. Under normal market conditions, had it remained untouched, the portfolio would currently sit at approximately $820,000. Instead, your mother made seventy-two distinct withdrawals over the course of nine years. She channeled the money through three intermediate accounts—one labeled *Vance Youth Foundation*, which was nothing more than an unregistered DBA she created using an online legal mill."
Briana gasped softly. "A youth foundation? She told our church she was running a charitable non-profit to help underprivileged girls with interview clothes."
"It was a personal slush fund," Arthur confirmed grimly. "She purchased high-end European vacations, paid down personal signature loans, and financed vehicle leases. However, we managed to place an immediate administrative freeze on the remaining $284,000 the moment your wire fraud complaint was filed in Manhattan."
"Can she access any of it?" Briana asked, her voice steady despite the tension in the room.
"Not a single penny," Arthur replied. "In fact, because your mother filed false affidavits under penalty of perjury, she is facing immediate civil contempt of court, mandatory restitution with compound interest, and potential criminal referral for grand larceny in the second degree."
The door to the conference room opened, and Arthur’s paralegal stepped in, handing him a freshly printed slip of paper. Arthur read it, a faint, cold smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"It seems your mother has just arrived at the building downstairs," Arthur noted, looking up. "She demanded to speak with me directly. She claims this entire proceeding is a 'misunderstanding between family members' and has brought along her neighbor’s son, who recently passed the bar exam, to represent her."
"Let her come up," I said immediately.
"Are you sure, Sylvia?" Arthur asked gently. "You are under no obligation to face her outside the courtroom."
"I spent twenty-eight years being quiet so she wouldn't throw a tantrum," I said, meeting Arthur’s gaze without blinking. "I want her to see that we are not her victims anymore."
Briana reached out, her hand finding mine on the table. She squeezed my fingers tightly. "Let her up, Mr. Sterling. We're ready."
Five minutes later, the double doors swung open, and Brenda swept into the conference room. She was wearing her oversized tortoiseshell sunglasses, a camel-hair trench coat, and carrying her favorite designer handbag—the armor of a woman who believed image could defeat the law. Behind her trailed a nervous young man in a poorly fitted navy suit, clutching an empty leather folder.
"Sylvia! Briana!" Brenda exclaimed, hands outstretched in theatrical relief, completely ignoring the attorneys. "Thank God you’re here. Do you have any idea what kind of nightmare this bank has put me through? They've frozen my everyday checking! I couldn't even pay for parking downstairs!"
She stepped forward to embrace Briana, but Briana didn't move an inch. She simply looked at Brenda with eyes so cold, so stripped of filial warmth, that Brenda stopped dead in her tracks, her outstretched hands dropping awkwardly to her sides.
"Sit down, Brenda," Briana said quietly.
Brenda blinked, stunned by the tone. "Excuse me? Brenda? I am your mother—"
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"Sit down, Mrs. Vance," Arthur Sterling interjected, his tone cutting through her indignation like a razor. "Or I will have building security escort you directly to the courthouse precinct. You are not here as a guest. You are here to answer for grand larceny."
***