Chapter 14 - The Deposition
Two months later, the justice system had moved with unusual velocity, propelled by the overwhelming mountain of forensic evidence.
Julian had been apprehended by federal marshals at a private airfield in New Jersey trying to board a chartered flight to South America.
Denied bail entirely this time, he was transported back to Massachusetts in chains to face a grand jury indictment.
On a rainy Tuesday in late March, I sat across a long conference table in the secure deposition room of the U.S. Attorney’s Office.
It was the first time I had been in the same room with Julian since the night at the Ritz-Carlton gala.
He sat between two public defenders, looking completely unrecognizable after months in a maximum-security county cell.
He had lost fifteen pounds, his skin had a gray pallor, and his eyes were bloodshot and deeply sunken into his skull.
The federal prosecutor placed a stack of bank routing slips between Julian and the video recorder on the table.
“Mr. Vance, let’s direct your attention to Exhibit D-14,” the prosecutor stated systematically for the official record.
“This is a certified wire transfer of forty thousand dollars from your personal checking account to Gary Miller on November 12th, 2022.”
She reminded him that Mr. Miller had testified under oath that this payment was compensation for tampering with my hydraulic brake lines.
“Do you dispute the authenticity of this bank record, Mr. Vance?” she asked sharply.
Julian stared down at the paper, his hands trembling where they were cuffed to the steel loop bolted to the table.
He slowly lifted his head, bypassing the prosecutor entirely to fix his bloodshot, hate-filled gaze directly on me.
“You always had to be the martyr, didn't you, Clara?” he sneered, his voice a raspy, broken shadow of its former arrogance.
“Dad gave you the keys to the kingdom because you played the perfect, responsible daughter while I did all the dirty work!”
“Answer the question, Mr. Vance,” the prosecutor snapped, her voice cutting through his self-pitying tirade.
“I dispute nothing!” Julian suddenly yelled, slamming his cuffed hands against the mahogany table so hard the water glasses rattled.
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“Yes! I paid Miller, I took the money from the relief fund, and I pushed her into that damn glass tower!”
He screamed that everything I had belonged to him by birthright and that he would do it again tomorrow to destroy me.
