Chapter 7 - The Deposition from Hell
Two weeks later, we gathered in Conference Room B of the Franklin County Courthouse for Daniel’s mandatory civil deposition.
The court reporter sat at the end of the table, her fingers poised over her stenotype machine. Next to Daniel sat his newly appointed court-approved defense counsel, Arthur Pendelton—a tired, balding man who looked like he had spent the last seventy-two hours realizing his client was completely, hopelessly indefensible.
Daniel sat across from me. He wore his best charcoal suit, but it hung loosely on his frame; he had lost ten pounds in fourteen days. The cocky, smiling salesman from the birthday party was gone, replaced by a man with hollowed-out cheekbones and dark purple circles bruised beneath his eyes.
Yet, there was still a flickering spark of arrogant delusion left in him. He looked at me, gave a dismissive smirk, and shook his head.
"Let the record show," Nathan Vance began, adjusting his reading glasses, "that this is the deposition of Daniel Mitchell in the matter of *Hayes v. Mitchell et al.*, Case Number 24-CV-8891. Mr. Mitchell, you have been sworn under oath."
"Yes," Daniel sighed loudly, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "Let’s get this farce over with."
"State your full name and occupation for the record."
"Daniel Mitchell. Founder and Chief Executive Officer of Mitchell Advisory Group."
"Is that firm currently active, Mr. Mitchell?" Nathan asked innocently.
Daniel’s jaw tightened. "It’s currently under administrative suspension due to the bad-faith injunctions filed by your client."
"I see," Nathan said. "Let’s turn to Exhibit G. Do you recognize this document?"
Nathan slid an eighty-page bank compilation across the table.
"It’s an internal financial statement," Daniel muttered.
"Direct your attention to page fourteen, line item twenty-two," Nathan instructed. "An eighty-five-thousand-dollar deposit on October third, 2021. Where did that money originate?"
"It was an equity contribution from my wife’s personal funds."
"Did you inform your wife that those funds would be used to purchase a luxury condominium in the Short North?"
"We discussed multiple investment avenues," Daniel answered smoothly, looking directly at the court reporter as if playing to an imaginary audience. "Laura was often confused by commercial terminology. I exercised my executive discretion as managing partner to protect our household capital."
"Executive discretion," Nathan repeated. "Is that what you call this?"
Nathan produced Exhibit H: a set of full-color photographs of Daniel and Melissa entering the Short North penthouse carrying grocery bags, followed by a copy of the high-end Italian furniture delivery invoice paid with Mitchell Advisory Group funds.
"Objection," Pendelton mumbled weakly. "Relevance."
"It goes directly to the fraudulent diversion of marital and corporate assets, Arthur, as you well know," Nathan fired back without missing a beat. "Mr. Mitchell, did you or did you not forge Laura Hayes’ signature on the corporate secretary certification to secure that mortgage?"
Daniel’s face darkened. "I had power of attorney."
"Did you?" Nathan produced Exhibit I: the formal power of attorney document Daniel had attempted to file. "This document was purportedly signed by Laura on November twelfth, 2022. Laura was in the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota on November twelfth, 2022, undergoing reconstructive uterine surgery. We have the hospital admission logs certified by the chief medical officer."
Daniel’s hands curled into tight balls beneath the edge of the table.
"It was an administrative oversight," Daniel hissed. "My assistant must have mixed up the dates."
"Your assistant, Melissa Vance-Reyes, gave a sworn videotaped deposition yesterday afternoon, Mr. Mitchell," Nathan said, his voice dropping into that terrifying, absolute stillness. "She testified under penalty of perjury that you personally traced Laura’s signature using a lightbox in your home office while Laura was recovering from surgery, and that you paid an administrative clerk five hundred dollars in cash to stamp it."
The silence in the deposition room was deafening. The only sound was the soft, rhythmic clicking of the stenotype machine.
Daniel looked at his lawyer. Pendelton was staring at his legal pad, actively refusing to make eye contact with his client.
"She’s lying," Daniel whispered. "Melissa is a disgruntled employee who is trying to save her own skin."
"We also have the audio recordings, Mr. Mitchell," Nathan continued relentlessly. "Pursuant to the search warrant executed on your private safe, the Ohio Bureau of Criminal Investigation recovered four flash drives containing your voice memos. In memo forty-seven, dated January ninth of this year, you state—and I quote: *'Once the Apex contract closes, I'll file the uncontested petition. Laura is so beaten down by the infertility stuff she'll sign whatever separation agreement I put in front of her just to make the pain stop.'*"
I watched Daniel’s face.
The final remnants of his mask shattered. The polished salesman, the suburban golden boy, the charismatic conversationalist who made everyone laugh at my expense—all of it peeled away, leaving only the raw, rancid core of an irredeemable sociopath.
Daniel lunged across the table toward me, his face twisted in pure, animal hatred.
"YOU RUINED ME!" he screamed, spit flying from his lips. "You were nothing before I married you! A pathetic, mousey little accountant who couldn't even give me a child! I gave you a life! I gave you a name! You owed me that money! You owed me everything!"
"Mr. Mitchell!" Pendelton yelled, grabbing his client’s arm. "Shut up! Shut your mouth right now!"
The two court bailiffs stationed at the door moved instantly, grabbing Daniel by his shoulders and slamming him back into his chair, pinning his arms behind him.
I didn't move an inch. I didn't lean back. I didn't flinch from his spit or his venom.
I looked at the man I had loved for sixteen years—the man whose approval I had begged for, whose cruelty I had excused, whose emotional crumbs I had gathered like bread in a famine.
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"The deposition is concluded," Nathan said, standing up and closing his leather briefcase with two definitive, metallic clicks. "Arthur, tell your client to prepare for criminal arraignment on Monday morning."
***