Chapter 5 - The Deposition of Lies
The next morning, the harbor motel was surrounded by six federal marshals and two local police cruisers. Julian was apprehended at 6:00 AM, sitting in the passenger seat of Victoria Sterling’s Mercedes with two packed suitcases and forty thousand dollars in undeclared cash tucked under the floorboards.
Because he was deemed a massive flight risk, the judge denied bail. Two weeks later, we met in the high-security deposition room of the federal courthouse for the civil asset recovery hearing.
Seeing Julian in an orange county jail jumpsuit, stripped of his expensive suits, his hair unwashed and his wrists resting on the table in handcuffs, was a surreal experience. Yet, even in shackles, he tried to project an air of superiority, glaring at me across the conference table as if I were a disobedient child.
His new court-appointed lawyer, a tired-looking public defender who clearly realized he had been handed a losing case, cleared his throat. "Mr. Vance intends to plead the Fifth Amendment regarding the criminal wire fraud and assault allegations, but he is willing to answer questions regarding the division of marital property."
Marcus smiled—a cold, shark-like smile that made Julian flinch. "That’s fascinating, counselor. Because we aren't here to discuss dividing property. We are here to discuss the complete forfeiture of your client’s assets under the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act."
Marcus slid a massive, six-inch binder across the table, letting it slam down with a heavy thud.
"We subpoenaed the phone records of Victoria Sterling," Marcus said, opening the binder to a printed transcript. "We also recovered the deleted cloud backups from the desktop computer your client attempted to have stolen from the marital home last week. We have thirty-two recorded phone calls where Mr. Vance explicitly discusses using chemical substances to induce psychological distress in my client."
Julian’s sneer faltered. His eyes darted toward the door, as if looking for an escape route that didn't exist.
"Furthermore," Marcus continued relentlessly, "we have the signed confession of your private investigator, who confirmed under oath that you paid him to destroy physical evidence of your embezzlement. The total amount stolen from the Vance family trust over the last forty-eight months is three million, four hundred and twelve thousand dollars."
"She didn't even know she had that money!" Julian suddenly shouted, slamming his cuffed hands against the table, his narcissism finally breaking through his calculated demeanor. "She's weak! She spent her days painting and volunteering at the school while I was out there building a real empire! I deserved that money! I built our reputation! Without me, she is nothing but a pathetic, neurotic housewife!"
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The court reporter’s fingers flew across the stenograph machine, capturing every single word of his venomous outburst.
I looked at him—really looked at him—for the first time without fear. "You didn't build an empire, Julian. You built a house of cards out of lies and theft. And a ten-year-old girl just blew it down."
