Chapter 7 - The Depositions Under Fire
The deposition room on the forty-fourth floor of the downtown legal high-rise smelled of fresh legal pads, polished mahogany, and impending doom.
Landon sat across the table from me, flanked by his two high-priced defense attorneys. He looked like a ghost of the man who had packed his bags for Phoenix eight days ago. His suit was wrinkled, his tie was slightly askew, and his fingernails were bitten down to the quick.
Celia Vance sat to my right, an immaculate mountain of calm power. Julian sat behind us as an expert technical witness, his laptop open, ready.
The court reporter sat at the end of the table, her fingers poised over the stenotype machine.
“We are on the record,” Landon’s lead attorney, Richard Sterling, began. He cleared his throat, trying to project a confidence he clearly didn't feel. “We are here to settle the preliminary asset division and discuss the dismissal of the fraudulent conversion claims brought by Harper Linwood against Landon Hayes.”
“There will be no dismissal,” Celia Vance said, her voice cutting through the room like a scalpel. “And we are not here to negotiate. We are here to enter evidence into the official record before the federal grand jury convenes on Thursday.”
Sterling’s face twitched. “Mrs. Vance, let’s be reasonable. My client is willing to offer Mrs. Hayes fifty percent of the personal real estate portfolio and waive all claims to her inheritance in exchange for a full non-disclosure agreement and the dropping of the corporate receiver.”
Landon leaned forward, his hands clasped, looking at me with frantic, pleading eyes. “Harper... please. Let’s not do this to each other. We loved each other. We built a life. I made a terrible, terrible mistake with Sloane, but don’t destroy my life's work over it. Let me keep Apex. Let me salvage what I have left.”
I looked at him across the table. For months, I had wondered what I would feel when this moment came. Would I cry? Would I scream?
Instead, I felt nothing. Landon Hayes was not a titan. He was not a brilliant CEO. He was just a pathetic, greedy little boy who had stolen my money to play dress-up in a world that was already turning its back on him.
“Exhibit C,” Celia said smoothly, sliding a document across the table to Landon’s lawyer.
Sterling picked it up. As his eyes scanned the paper, all the color drained from his face.
“What is that?” Landon asked, reaching for it. “Richard, what is that?”
“It’s a loan agreement,” Celia stated for the record. “Dated September 14th of last year. Landon Hayes forged Harper Linwood’s signature to encumber her grandfather’s oceanfront commercial dock in San Diego for a three-million-dollar private liquidity bridge from a high-interest predatory lender.”
Landon froze. His hands began to shake violently.
“And Exhibit D,” Celia continued, sliding another file forward. “A forensic handwriting analysis conducted by the former head of the FBI document laboratory, confirming beyond any doubt that Harper’s signature was traced from our marriage certificate.”
“Landon...” Sterling whispered, looking at his client with sheer horror. “Did you forge this?”
“I... I was going to pay it back!” Landon stammered, his voice rising in panic. “The Bennett buyout was going to close! I would have paid the bridge loan off before she ever found out! It was an emergency! We had payroll to meet!”
“You used one point two million of that loan to buy jewelry, private flights, and an offshore holding for Sloane Bennett,” Celia said remorselessly. “That’s bank fraud, Mr. Hayes. That’s identity theft. That’s grand larceny.”
Julian tapped three keys on his laptop, turning the screen toward Landon.
The screen displayed the Cayman bank records, fully unlocked, showing Landon’s direct IP address linked to the fraudulent transfer attempts.
Landon looked at Julian, his eyes bulging. “You... you helped her? You destroyed me?”
“You destroyed yourself, Landon,” Julian replied quietly. “You just left the receipts behind.”
May you like
Landon buried his face in his hands. A dry, ragged sob tore from his throat. The great, untouchable Landon Hayes had finally run out of lies, run out of money, and run out of road.
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