Part 8
The following week, the battle moved from the quiet streets of Maple Ridge to the sterile, fluorescent-lit rooms of the county courthouse.
It was the day of the emergency deposition.
Clara Vance had pulled strings to force Evan to sit under oath to answer questions regarding the hidden bank accounts and the suspected forgery.
The conference room was cold.
Evan sat at the far end of the long glass table, flanked by a tired-looking lawyer who seemed to realize he was representing a sinking ship.
Lorraine sat in the corner of the room, looking furious but strangely quiet, her usual arrogance muted by the formal surroundings.
Delilah sat next to Clara, her hands tightly clasped in her lap.
Helen sat directly behind them, a silent, powerful observer.
The court reporter adjusted her machine, and the deposition began.
Clara Vance didn't waste any time with pleasantries.
She immediately placed a copy of the condominium loan application on the table, sliding it across to Evan.
"Mr. Mercer, I am showing you Exhibit A," Clara said, her voice sharp and precise.
"Is that your signature on the primary borrower line?"
Evan glanced at his lawyer before answering. "Yes."
"And is that your wife's signature on the co-signer line?"
Evan cleared his throat, adjusting his tie. "Yes. Delilah signed it."
Clara didn't blink. "Mr. Mercer, let me remind you that you are under oath."
"Perjury is a felony punishable by up to five years in state prison."
"I have here a certified report from a forensic document examiner, who analyzed this signature against twenty different examples of your wife's actual handwriting."
"The conclusion is definitive: the signature is a forgery."
Evan’s lawyer shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "A forensic report is just an opinion, counselor..."
"I’m not asking you, counselor," Clara interrupted fiercely, her eyes locked on Evan.
"Mr. Mercer, did you or did you not sign your wife's name to this document without her knowledge?"
Evan’s face went through a rapid succession of colors—red, pale white, then a deep, angry crimson.
He looked at Delilah, expecting her to look away in fear, the way she always had during their marriage.
But Delilah didn't look down.
She looked him directly in the eyes, her expression calm, detached, and entirely devoid of the fear he had spent years cultivating.
The realization hit Evan like a physical blow: he had lost his power over her.
"I... I signed it," Evan muttered, his voice barely audible.
"My wife was stressed at the time, and I did it to save her the trouble of the paperwork."
"You did it to hide an asset during a period when you were telling her you couldn't afford groceries," Clara corrected coldly.
She then pulled out another document.
"Now let's talk about the eighty thousand dollars in the account you share with your mother."
"Where did that money come from, Mr. Mercer?"
Evan stammered. "It’s... it’s family money. My mother's savings."
"Really?" Clara pulled out a series of bank transfer receipts.
"Because these receipts show that over the last three years, systematic transfers were made from your joint marital account into this secret account."
"Amounts ranging from five hundred to two thousand dollars a month."
"At the exact same time your wife was being told that the family was facing financial ruin."
Lorraine stood up from her chair in the corner, her face distorted with rage.
"This is an interrogation! Evan, don't say another word!"
Clara looked up at Lorraine with absolute indifference.
"Madam, if you disrupt this legal proceeding one more time, I will have the bailiff remove you and file a motion for contempt."
Lorraine froze, her mouth open in a silent gasp of shock.
She slowly sank back into her chair, realizing for the first time that her money and her social standing couldn't protect her here.
May you like
Helen watched from the back of the room, a small, satisfied smile touching the corners of her lips.
The truth was finally out in the open, and the walls were closing in on the Mercers.
