Chapter 12 - The Deposition
Thursday morning arrived with a heavy, grey downpour that turned the courthouse steps into a slick sheet of marble. I walked through the security checkpoints wearing my Service Dress Blue uniform—the medals, the warfare pins, and the clean white collar sending a clear, unambiguous message to the court about who and what I represented.
When I entered the small deposition room on the third floor, Sarah was already sitting at the far end of the table, flanked by a bargain-rate divorce attorney her mother had likely hired using a credit card. She looked terrible. The glowing, curated maternity aesthetic from the baby shower was completely gone; her face was pale and swollen, her hair was pulled back into a messy knot, and she refused to lift her eyes from the grain of the wooden table as I pulled out my chair directly across from her.
Julian wasn't in the room—his federal case was being handled in a separate jurisdiction—but his presence hung over the proceedings like a toxic fog.
"Let’s get straight to the matter of the marital estate and temporary spousal support," Sarah’s attorney, a nervous-looking man named Mr. Gentry, began, clearing his throat as he opened his binder. "My client is currently eight and a half months pregnant, unable to work, and facing impending medical expenses related to childbirth. Under state law, as her legal husband, Lieutenant Vance is obligated to maintain her primary residence and provide a monthly allotment for maintenance until the divorce is finalized."
David leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table with the casual confidence of a predator who already knew the outcome of the hunt. "Mr. Gentry, before you embarrass yourself by reading statutory guidelines on spousal support, I suggest you review Exhibit A in our response filing—which was served to your office electronically at 0800 this morning."
David slid a thick, bound document across the table. Gentry picked it up, his eyes widening as he read the title page: MILITARY INVESTIGATION REPORT - DEFENSE FINANCE AND ACCOUNTING SERVICE (DFAS) & NAVAL CRIMINAL INVESTIGATIVE SERVICE (NCIS).
"What is this?" Gentry stammered.
"That is a certified federal finding of marital waste and fiduciary fraud," David explained smoothly. "During Lieutenant Vance’s ten-month deployment to a designated combat zone, your client withdrew forty-two thousand, six hundred dollars from his sole-proprietorship savings account without authorization. Furthermore, she executed a fraudulent power of attorney to redirect his basic allowance for housing (BAH) into a private checking account held jointly with Mr. Julian Thorne."
"She is his wife! The BAH is intended to support the family!" Gentry argued, though his voice lacked conviction.
"The BAH is intended to support a lawful dependent residing in the servicemember’s home," I spoke up, my voice cold and steady in the quiet room. "Not a wife who has moved her lover into the master bedroom while using federal funds to pay for his car lease. Under naval regulations and state family law, the dissipation of marital assets for the benefit of a third-party paramour constitutes absolute marital waste."
Sarah finally looked up at me, her hazel eyes flashing with a desperate, cornered anger. "You never cared about the house, Marcus! You only cared about your career! You left me alone for months at a time! Why should I live like a monk while you're off sailing around the world?"
"Because you took an oath when we got married, Sarah," I replied, meeting her gaze without blinking. "The same way I took an oath when I put on this uniform. The difference is, I kept mine."
David tapped the table with his pen, drawing Gentry’s attention back to the legal reality of their situation. "Here is our counter-proposal, Mr. Gentry. Lieutenant Vance will agree to waive his right to sue your client in civil court for the immediate reimbursement of the stolen forty-two thousand dollars—an amount she currently cannot pay without facing prison time for wire fraud. In exchange, your client will sign a full waiver of temporary spousal support, vacate the residence at 442 Elm Street within seventy-two hours, and agree to an immediate, uncontested divorce with zero claim to Lieutenant Vance’s military pension or TSP retirement account."
Gentry stared at the terms, his face turning pale. He leaned over, whispering frantically into Sarah’s ear. She shook her head violently, tears spilling down her cheeks as she pointed a trembling finger across the table at me.
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"No! I won't sign it! Where am I supposed to go?" she sobbed. "I have a baby coming in three weeks! I don't have a job! I don't have an apartment! You can't throw me out into the street!"
"You have a mother who seems very invested in your future," I said coldly, standing up from the table and adjusting my uniform jacket. "I suggest you ask her for the down payment on a rental. You have seventy-two hours, Sarah. When I return to that house on Sunday afternoon, I expect your keys on the kitchen counter and your property out of my garage."
