Chapter 8: On the Record
Maya’s deposition was scheduled for a Thursday in Patricia’s office.
She wore a long-sleeved blouse that covered the residual marks and spoke in the flat, precise register of a person who has already paid the cost of the truth and is no longer negotiating with it. The opposing counsel attempted to rattle her with rapid shifts between financial details and personal accusations. She did not rattle. When they asked why she had not called the police during the months of pressure, she said, “Because the people applying the pressure were my husband’s mother and brother, and I was alone in the house with a limited power of attorney and a narrative already prepared about my instability. I was waiting for him to come home.” When they asked whether she had benefited from any of the transfers, she said, “I lost the company we built, the accounts we shared, and the ability to sleep without listening for the door. If that is a benefit, I fail to see it.”
I sat in the adjoining room and watched the feed. The urge to walk through the wall and end the questioning was professional rather than useful. I stayed seated.
Julian’s deposition the following week was shorter and less controlled. He contradicted himself twice on the timeline of the shell entity’s formation and could not explain why dual-authorization thresholds in the original operating agreement had been ignored. Mother’s session was pure narrative—concern, practicality, a troubled daughter-in-law, a son who had returned from war with distorted perceptions. Patricia let her talk until the contradictions with the documents and the neighbor’s recantation were thick enough to enter the record without further prompting.
By the end of the second week the forensic accountant had traced three major movements of funds from the shell entity into accounts connected to Julian and one luxury purchase in Mother’s name that post-dated the transfers by eleven days. Patricia filed for a temporary restraining order expanding the freeze and compelling the return of specific corporate instruments. The hearing was set for the following Monday.
On Sunday night Maya stood in the study and looked at the wall where the company launch photo had been restored.
“If we get it back,” she said, “I don’t want to run it the way we did before. I want the authority lines written so that no one can do this again while one of us is gone.”
May you like
“Then that’s how we’ll write them,” I said.
She reached for my hand. The contact no longer carried a flinch. The war was still active. The perimeter at home was holding.
