Chapter 9 - THE MOTEL DEPOSITION
Two weeks later.
The deposition was held in a small, windowless conference room in downtown Seattle.
Michael sat on one side of the long mahogany table, flanked by a public defender who looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. Michael’s expensive suit looked loose on him, his collar frayed, his face pale and sunken.
Sarah sat in the corner of the room, her hands clutched around a paper cup of water, her eyes red and swollen. She looked smaller now, her aristocratic posture completely collapsed, her expensive jewelry gone—likely pawned to pay for her motel stay and her upcoming medical consultations.
Maya Chen stood at the end of the table, her laptop open, her voice calm and clinical as she read the terms of the settlement.
"We are offering a full waiver of criminal prosecution regarding the eighty-five thousand dollars of embezzled corporate funds," Maya said, her eyes scanning the paper. "In exchange, Michael Mitchell will sign over his entire share of the equity in the suburban property on Oak Lane, waive all claims to his wife’s business assets, and consent to sole legal and physical custody of Olivia Mitchell, with no visitation rights until Olivia reaches the age of eighteen, at which point she may choose to initiate contact."
Michael’s lawyer leaned over, whispering in his ear. Michael nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the table.
"And my mother?" Michael asked, his voice cracking. "The medical insurance... she needs her procedure."
"The supplemental medical plan was canceled due to fraud," Maya replied coldly. "Your mother was registered as a dependent under the guise of being a member of Emily’s immediate household. Since she no longer resides there, her continuation on the policy would constitute insurance fraud. Emily will not commit a crime to fund your mother’s lifestyle."
Sarah let out a soft, whimpering cry from the corner, but she didn't speak. She knew that if she opened her mouth, Maya would immediately present the security footage to the state attorney’s office.
"Sign the documents, Michael," his lawyer advised him, pushing the paper forward. "This is the best deal you’re going to get. If this goes to trial, you’re looking at prison time."
With a shaking hand, Michael took the pen.
He signed his name on the three separate copies.
As he finished, he looked up at me, his eyes searching mine for some trace of the quiet, compliant girl he had married five years ago.
May you like
"I hope you’re happy, Emily," he whispered.
"I’m not happy, Michael," I said, standing up and closing my bag. "I’m just safe. And so is my daughter."
