Chapter 13 - The Deposition
Two weeks later, the formal civil deposition for our permanent restraining order and financial recovery lawsuit took place in the glass-paneled conference room of Vance Legal Group. It was a cold, rainy Tuesday morning. I sat at the long mahogany table holding Sarah’s hand tightly. She had insisted on being there, refusing to hide in the shadows anymore. She wore a tailored navy blazer, her chin held high, radiating a quiet, unshakeable dignity that contrasted sharply with the pathetic figure sitting across the table.
My mother looked unrecognizable. Stripped of my financial support, her designer hair highlights had faded into dull gray roots. Her face was haggard, her posture slumped, and she wore an off-the-rack department store suit that looked two sizes too large. Beside her sat her court-appointed legal aid attorney—a stressed-looking public defender who clearly realized he had been handed an unwinnable disaster of a case.
Victoria Vance turned on the digital audio recorder in the center of the table and opened her binder with a sharp, intimidating flick of her wrist.
“State your name for the record,” Victoria commanded.
“Eleanor Martha Vance,” my mother mumbled, glaring at the mahogany table.
“Ms. Vance, on the afternoon of October 14th, did you or did you not intentionally obstruct the plaintiff, Sarah Vance, from obtaining medical sustenance and hydration for a period exceeding six hours while she was recovering from childbirth?”
“I was teaching her discipline!” my mother snapped, her old arrogance briefly flickering to the surface. “She was sleeping till ten in the morning! When I raised Ethan, I was up at five scrubbing the baseboards! If she couldn't handle a little housework without fainting like a delicate little princess, that is her physical failure, not mine!”
Victoria didn't even blink. She simply tapped a button on her tablet, projecting the nanny cam footage onto the large wall monitor behind us. The room filled with the sound of my mother’s voice on the recording: ‘Let me show you what happens to weak women in our family.’ followed by the sickening thud of Sarah’s head hitting the tiles.
The public defender closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in silent despair.
“Ms. Vance,” Victoria continued smoothly, turning off the display. “After witnessing your daughter-in-law lose consciousness and suffer a traumatic head injury, did you call 911?”
“She was breathing fine!” my mother argued defensively. “I thought she was faking it to get attention!”
“So instead of seeking medical aid for an unconscious woman, you picked up her personal cellular device, bypassed her security protocols, and attempted to transmit fraudulent digital communications to a divorce attorney and your son, posing as the plaintiff. Why did you do that?”
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“Because Ethan deserves better!” my mother screamed, slamming her hands onto the table, her composure completely shattering as she pointed a trembling, manicured finger at Sarah. “He was supposed to marry Chloe! Chloe has breeding! Chloe has a trust fund! This little nobody trapped my son with a baby, and I was just trying to correct his mistake! I am his mother! I have the right to choose who raises my grandchildren!”
“No, Eleanor,” I spoke up, my voice calm, icy, and echoing with absolute finality across the room. “You don't have rights to my life anymore. You just confessed on a federal legal recording to identity theft, elder and vulnerable adult abuse, and premeditated domestic interference. We are done here.”
