Chapter 12 - A Mother's Deposition
The formal deposition took place on a rainy Tuesday morning in the neutral, wood-paneled conference room of a court-reporting agency in Lower Manhattan. Because of the active protection orders, the room was divided by a long, mahogany table, with two armed court security officers stationed near the doors.
My mother sat across from me, flanked by her defense attorney, Arthur Pendelton. She looked different—the platinum blonde hair she usually kept styled in salon-fresh waves was flat, her makeup was subdued, and she wore a simple, dark conservative suit designed to make her look like a humble, elderly grandmother.
She avoided my eyes entirely, staring down at her folded hands until David Miller initiated the questioning on the record.
"State your name and address for the record, please," Mr. Miller said, his voice calm and measured as the court reporter’s fingers flew across the stenotype machine.
"Evelyn Vance," my mother said, her voice thin and trembling—another calculated performance. "442 Elmwood Drive, Scarsdale, New York."
"Mrs. Vance, let’s turn our attention to the afternoon of July 14th at the Universal Studios cabana complex," Mr. Miller began, opening a black binder. "You were the designated adult supervisor for your seven-year-old grandson, Leo Vance, between the hours of 2:00 PM and 3:00 PM while your husband and daughter visited the water slides, correct?"
"I was watching him," my mother insisted, dabbling at her eyes with a tissue. "He was right there with me. But anyone who has children knows they can slip away in the blink of an eye! It was a momentary distraction! The park was so loud, and when I turned around, he had wandered off toward the novelty shops!"
"A momentary distraction," Mr. Miller repeated neutrally. He picked up a printed exhibit from his folder and slid it across the table toward Mr. Pendelton and my mother. "Mrs. Vance, I am handing you what has been marked as Plaintiff’s Exhibit 4. It is a certified transcript of the security camera timestamps from Cabana 12. According to this record, Leo walked out of the cabana at exactly 2:14 PM. You did not look up from your cellular device until 2:54 PM. That is a forty-minute interval. Do you consider forty minutes to be 'the blink of an eye'?"
My mother’s lips thinned, her eyes darting toward Mr. Pendelton, who placed a hand on her arm. "I... I lost track of time. I thought he was playing with the other children in the shallow pool right in front of the cabana."
"Did you walk over to the shallow pool to visually verify his presence?" Mr. Miller asked.
"No, but—"
"Did you ask the cabana attendant if they had seen him?"
"I didn't think it was necessary at the time—"
"Let’s move to Exhibit 5," Mr. Miller interrupted smoothly, presenting another document. "At 2:38 PM—twenty-four minutes after Leo vanished—you received a voicemail on your personal mobile phone from Alyssa Jenkins, the Guest Relations Supervisor at Universal Security. In that voicemail, which has been entered into evidence, Ms. Jenkins explicitly states: Mrs. Vance, we have your grandson Leo in our security office at the main concourse. He is distressed and looking for his family. Please come retrieve him immediately. Did you listen to that voicemail, Mrs. Vance?"
My mother swallowed hard, her face turning pale. "My phone was in my beach bag. I didn't hear it ring over the music."
"Your phone was in your beach bag?" Mr. Miller asked, his voice dropping an octave as he pulled out a large, glossy photograph extracted from the high-resolution cabana video. He slapped it down on the table directly in front of her. "Then please explain what you are doing in this photograph, timestamped 2:39 PM—exactly one minute after the security voicemail was delivered. You are holding your cellular device in your right hand, looking directly at the illuminated screen."
Silence descended on the conference room. My mother stared at the photograph of herself staring at her phone while her grandson was missing. The "elderly grandmother" facade evaporated instantly; her jaw clenched, her neck flushed mottled crimson, and she looked up at Mr. Miller with pure, venomous malice.
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"He was fine!" my mother snarled, her voice dropping the trembling affectation and ringing with harsh, arrogant entitlement. "He was sitting in an air-conditioned office with guards! He wasn't in any danger! Hannah has always spoiled that boy rotten, treating him like a fragile little prince! We were having a family vacation that cost us over fifteen thousand dollars, and I wasn't going to let a spoiled seven-year-old throw a temper tantrum and ruin our afternoon just because he wanted attention!"
"Thank you, Mrs. Vance," Mr. Miller said quietly, closing his binder with a soft click. "I have no further questions at this time. The record will reflect the witness's statement."
