Chapter 10: The Deposition
The deposition room was small and beige and smelled like printer paper.
There was a long table, a court reporter at one end, Philip Crane across from Douglas and me, and a video camera on a tripod in the corner that recorded everything without opinion.
Crane had brought a junior associate who took notes and said nothing.
Douglas had brought a paralegal named Ruth who had worked with him for eleven years and had the stillness of someone who had seen everything twice.
I had brought the records.
Every account statement.
Every transfer date.
Every clinic appointment from the seven years of fertility treatment, because Douglas had told me Crane would try to use them and I had decided that if my medical history was going to be in a room, I was going to be the one who put it there.
Crane began with the marriage.
How long.
When things changed.
Whether I had been happy.
"I was committed," I said.
"That's not what I asked."
"It's what I'm telling you."
He moved to my work schedule.
The hours.
The nights.
The weekends.
"I worked the schedule required by my position," I said.
"My department head will confirm that my hours were standard for an attending physician."
"Your husband felt neglected."
"My husband felt entitled to a wife who existed primarily for his comfort.
Those are different things."
Crane paused.
Made a note.
He moved to the finances.
The joint account.
Whether I had been aware of the transfers.
"I was not aware of them while they were occurring," I said.
"I became aware of them when Douglas Sterling contacted me three months ago."
"And you never questioned the account balance during the marriage?"
"Brandon managed the investment account.
I trusted him to do so.
That trust was misplaced."
"You didn't review the statements?"
"I reviewed them quarterly.
The transfers were structured to fall below the threshold that would have triggered automatic alerts.
They were designed not to be noticed."
Crane looked up.
"Designed by whom?"
"That's a question for your client."
He moved on.
He tried the fertility records next.
Gently at first.
Then with more pressure.
The number of treatments.
The outcomes.
Whether the emotional weight of those years had affected my functioning as a wife.
I looked at him across the table.
"My functioning as a wife," I said.
"Your emotional availability.
Your —"
"Mr.
Crane.
I underwent thirty-one medical appointments over seven years in an attempt to have a child.
My husband attended four of them.
I have the records here if you'd like to review them." I placed a folder on the table.
"I was not emotionally unavailable.
I was a woman doing the work of grief largely alone while maintaining a full-time medical career and a household.
If you intend to argue that this constitutes a failure of character, I'd encourage you to make that argument in front of a judge."
Crane looked at the folder.
He did not pick it up.
He tried one more angle near the end.
Whether I had any reason to believe Lauren Barrett had acted under duress.
"I believe she did," I said.
That surprised him.
He hadn't expected it.
"You believe the woman who had an affair with your husband and helped him move your money acted under duress."
"I believe Brandon Foster is very skilled at identifying what people need and using it against them.
Lauren needed financial security.
He offered it.
Then he made sure she couldn't leave." I paused.
"That's a pattern.
It's not unique to her."
Crane made a note.
His pen moved slowly.
"No further questions," he said.
The court reporter stopped typing.
The camera kept recording for another thirty seconds, then Ruth reached over and turned it off.
Douglas gathered the folders.
Ruth stacked the copies.
Crane leaned across the table.
"Dr.
Abernathy," he said.
His voice was different now.
Lower.
Off the record.
"My client made a mistake.
He knows that.
This doesn't have to go further."
I looked at him.
"Philip," I said.
"Your client sent a threatening text message to my personal phone forty-eight hours ago.
It's already been forwarded to the state attorney's office." I stood.
"It's already gone further."
I picked up my coat from the back of the chair.
"Tell him I said good luck."
May you like
Douglas held the door.
I walked out.
