Chapter 7 - The Depositions
The defense did not surrender quietly.
Daniel’s attorney, Richard Sterling—a veteran criminal defender known for his aggressive, scorched-earth tactics in high-profile domestic cases—immediately launched a campaign to destroy my credibility before the grand jury could formalize the trial indictment.
In mid-November, I was subpoenaed for a pre-trial evidentiary deposition in a conference room at the county courthouse.
I arrived wearing a simple navy blue blazer, dark trousers, and low flats. Clara walked beside me on one side, and Evelyn Cross walked on the other. My incision had healed into a thin, pink, durable line across my lower abdomen. My hair, which had thinned slightly during the initial rounds of adjuvant therapy, was growing back thicker and darker.
Across the long mahogany table sat Daniel Vance.
It was the first time I had seen him in person since the night he was escorted out of our house by the police. He wore an orange Department of Corrections jumpsuit, his wrists shackled to a leather restraint belt around his waist. He had lost twenty pounds in county custody. His skin had taken on the dull, grayish cast of institutional lighting, but his posture was still rigid, his chin tilted upward in that familiar, aristocratic disdain.
Beside him sat Richard Sterling, a heavy-set man with silver hair, expensive gold cufflinks, and a sharp, predatory smile.
"State your name for the record," the court reporter droned from the corner.
"Emily Vance," I answered clearly.
Sterling leaned forward, resting his elbows on the legal files. "Mrs. Vance, let’s talk about the weeks leading up to October twelfth. You were undergoing intensive adjuvant chemotherapy following a major abdominal resection, correct?"
"Yes."
"And during that time, you experienced profound fatigue, severe nausea, and documented episodes of spatial disorientation, isn't that right?"
"I experienced nausea caused by chemotherapy, and disorientation caused by the phenobarbital your client was illegally slipping into my prescription bottles," I replied without missing a beat.
Sterling didn't flinch. "That is an unproven allegation, Mrs. Vance. Let’s focus on your medical history. Isn't it true that two days before the incident, you told your oncology social worker that you felt 'overwhelmed,' 'hopeless,' and that you felt like you were 'becoming an intolerable burden to your husband'?"
"I did," I admitted freely. "Because my husband spent three hours every single day whispering in my ear that my family was sick of visiting me, that our friends were tired of bringing food, and that my illness was destroying his business. He engineered my despair, Mr. Sterling."
Daniel’s jaw twitched. He leaned toward his attorney, whispering something furiously, but Sterling held up a silencing hand, his gaze never leaving my face.
"Let’s address the night of October twelfth," Sterling continued, flipping a page on his legal pad. "Nurse Rachel Simmons testified that she spent twenty minutes in your home. During that time, she noted no domestic disturbance. In fact, she testified that Mr. Vance offered her tea, carried her bag, and expressed genuine concern over your nutritional intake."
"He was performing for her," I said. "He performed for everyone. The moment the lock clicked, the performance ended."
"Isn't it true, Mrs. Vance, that you were vomiting so violently that your entire abdominal wall was in spasm?"
"I was vomiting because Daniel forced me to swallow food my stomach couldn't tolerate."
"And isn't it true," Sterling’s voice rose, dropping all pretense of gentility, "that when you collapsed over the trash container, you struck your surgical site against the sharp, reinforced steel lip of the industrial waste bin?"
I looked at Sterling. Then, slowly, deliberately, I turned my eyes directly toward Daniel.
Daniel didn't look away. His eyes bored into mine with that familiar, icy menace—the look that had silenced me in our kitchen for six months.
Four weeks ago, that look would have made my throat close up. It would have made me stutter, retreat, and question whether I was remembering correctly.
Now, I felt nothing but utter, liberating disgust.
"No, Mr. Sterling," I said, my voice echoing off the paneled walls of the conference room. "I did not hit the lip of the bin. Daniel placed his left hand on the back of my neck to hold my head down, and he used the heel of his right hand to drive my abdominal fascia into my spine. He told me that if anyone asked, the cancer caused it. He looked directly into my face, and he told me that my medications would make everyone believe I was insane."
"Objection! Narrative!" Sterling barked.
"Let her finish, counselor," the presiding magistrate interjected calmly from the head of the table. "This is an evidentiary hearing."
"And while he was doing it," I continued, leaning forward until my hands rested flat on the polished table, "he had already transferred eighty-four thousand dollars of our home equity into a shell corporation, and he had already taken out a two-million-dollar insurance policy on my life. He didn't want a sick wife, Mr. Sterling. He wanted a corpse that came with an insurance payout."
Across the table, Daniel’s composure shattered.
He didn't wait for his attorney. He lunged forward against the table, the metal shackles rattling violently against the mahogany.
"You ungrateful bitch!" he roared, spitting across the documents. "I gave up six months of my life to wipe your ass! You were dying anyway! You were nothing without me!"
"Daniel, shut up!" Sterling shouted, throwing his body across his client to force him back into the chair.
Two armed sheriff's deputies were on Daniel within two seconds, pinning his shoulders against the back of the high-backed chair, forcing his wrists down until the chain bit into his flesh.
"Get him out of here," the magistrate ordered, standing up and slamming his gavel against the desk. "The defendant is remanded into custody without bail. The grand jury will hear all charges, including felony attempted murder."
As the deputies dragged Daniel backward through the secure side door, his boots squeaking frantically against the linoleum, he screamed my name—a raw, furious howl of a man who realized that his mask was gone forever, and that the world had finally seen the hollow, venomous creature underneath.
I sat back in my chair.
May you like
My hands were completely still. My breathing was slow and deep.
Evelyn reached over, placing her warm hand over mine. "You just won this trial, Emily. Right there on that record."
