Chapter 8 - The Deposition of Cole Barrett
Four days later, the rain had returned to eastern North Carolina, turning the red clay along Highway 64 into a thick, soupy mire.
Inside the sleek, glass-and-steel satellite office of Evelyn Marcus’s firm in downtown Raleigh, the atmosphere was pressurized, sterile, and lethal.
The court reporter sat at the end of the long conference table, her fingers poised over the keys of the steno machine. Across from me sat Cole Barrett, flanked by two high-priced defense attorneys he had flown up from Atlanta on short notice.
Cole looked different than he had in the courthouse corridor four days ago.
The swagger was gone. The casual, tailored arrogance had been replaced by dark circles beneath his bloodshot eyes, a gray pallor to his skin, and a twitch near the corner of his left eyelid. His tie was slightly crooked, and he had already drunk three glasses of water before the video camera had even been turned on.
Evelyn Marcus sat opposite him, looking as crisp, cool, and predatory as an arctic blizzard.
"We are on the record," Marcus announced, looking directly into the camera lens mounted on the tripod behind the court reporter. "This is the deposition of Cole Barrett, taken in the matter of *Ethan Vance v. Cole Barrett and Barrett Capital LLC*, Civil Action Number 24-CVS-8812, in the General Court of Justice, Superior Court Division, Pitt County, North Carolina."
Cole’s lead attorney, a slick Atlanta litigator named Bradley Vance (no relation, but cut from the same predatory cloth), leaned forward. "Ms. Marcus, before we begin, I want to reiterate our objection to the scope of this emergency deposition. My client was served with this subpoena less than seventy-two hours ago. This is blatant procedural harassment."
"Your objection is noted for the record, Mr. Bradley," Marcus said without even looking at him. "Now be quiet so I can question your client."
She turned her icy gray eyes onto Cole.
"Mr. Barrett, state your full legal name and current residential address."
"Cole Alexander Barrett," he mumbled, clearing his throat. "1402 Peachtree Street, Unit 22B, Atlanta, Georgia."
"Mr. Barrett, are you currently married?"
Cole’s eyes flickered toward his attorney. "Yes."
Beside me, Ben leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his broad chest.
"And what is your wife’s name, Mr. Barrett?" Marcus asked smoothly.
"Helena. Helena Barrett."
"And isn't it true, Mr. Barrett, that Helena Barrett is the sole beneficiary and majority trustee of the Barrett Family Legacy Trust, which controls ninety-four percent of the liquid capital in Barrett Capital LLC?"
Cole swallowed hard. His adam’s apple bobbed violently. "Yes."
"Does Helena Barrett know you spent the last four days in eastern North Carolina?"
"Objection!" Bradley snapped, slapping the table. "Irrelevant! Harassment!"
"It is directly relevant to our Alienation of Affection and fraudulent conversion claims, Mr. Bradley," Marcus said, her voice dropping into a register of pure, lethal authority. "Because thirty minutes ago, my office served Mrs. Helena Barrett at her private equestrian estate in Alpharetta, Georgia, with a third-party subpoena duces tecum, along with twenty-four hours of hotel surveillance footage from the Hilton Greenville, showing her husband sharing a luxury suite with Laura Vance."
Cole’s hands gripped the edge of the conference table so hard his knuckles turned white.
"You did what?" Cole whispered, his voice cracking like dry timber.
"I served your wife, Mr. Barrett," Marcus said, her expression entirely deadpan. "Along with a forensic audit notice requesting an immediate accounting of the one point two million dollars you wired from her family trust to Derrick Vance’s legal escrow account last Tuesday."
"You have no right to do that!" Cole shouted, half-rising from his chair. "That money was an investment! It was a private real estate acquisition!"
"Sit down, Cole!" his attorney barked, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him back into his seat. "Don't say another word!"
Marcus didn't blink. She turned a page on her legal pad.
"Mr. Barrett, let’s talk about the letter sent to Sophie Vance at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill on Friday morning."
Cole’s jaw worked silently. He looked like a man standing on the trapdoor of a gallows, watching the executioner’s hand reach for the lever.
"I didn't send that letter," Cole muttered. "Laura wrote that letter."
Marcus pulled a heavy manila folder from her briefcase and slapped it down onto the glass table. The sound cracked like a gunshot in the pressurized quiet of the room.
"This is the digital metadata extracted from the word processing file used to create that letter, Mr. Barrett," Marcus said, sliding the document across the table. "The author of the document is registered to a laptop licensed to Barrett Capital LLC. The IP address used to upload the document to the courier service’s portal originated from your private suite at the Hilton Greenville at 6:14 AM on Friday. And the credit card used to pay the rush courier fee was your corporate American Express."
She leaned forward, her face inches from Cole’s across the glass.
"You attempted to extort a nineteen-year-old college student using forged legal threats, in violation of North Carolina General Statute 14-118.4, which constitutes felony commercial extortion. Furthermore, your attempt to manipulate a family trust using fabricated domestic violence claims constitutes wire fraud under 18 U.S. Code § 1343."
Cole looked at his attorney.
Bradley was staring at the metadata sheet. The Atlanta lawyer’s face had gone completely slack. He slowly took off his reading glasses, folded them, and placed them on the table. He didn't say a single word. He didn't object. He knew when a case had transformed from a civil dispute into an active federal criminal liability.
"Mr. Barrett," Marcus said, her voice dropping to a whisper that commanded total, terrifying silence. "My client is prepared to offer you a settlement."
Cole blinked, a desperate, pathetic spark of hope flaring in his hollow eyes. "A settlement?"
"Yes," Marcus said. "You will execute an immediate, unconditional release of all claims, liens, and options on the Tar River development parcel. You will assign your corporate equity stake in the secondary equipment notes to Ethan Vance Contracting for the sum of one dollar. And you will wire two hundred and fifty thousand dollars into Sophie Vance’s educational trust account by 5:00 PM today to cover the emotional damages and legal fees caused by your fraudulent courier delivery."
Cole stared at her in disbelief. "Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars? That’s extortion!"
"No, Mr. Barrett," Marcus said, checking her watch. "That is mercy. Because if those documents are not executed and that wire is not confirmed by 5:00 PM, I will walk across Fayetteville Street to the United States Attorney’s Office for the Eastern District of North Carolina and hand this file directly to the Special Prosecutions Division. And then I will call your wife’s divorce counsel in Atlanta and provide them with our complete surveillance archive."
Cole’s breathing was shallow, fast, like a dying animal cornered in a ditch. He looked across the table at me.
For the first time since this nightmare began, I looked back at him.
"You told Laura I was half the man you are, Cole," I said, my voice quiet, even, and unbreakable. "You told her I was just a builder who sulks. You were right about one thing. I am a builder. And when I tear down a rotten structure, I don't leave a single brick standing."
Cole looked at his lawyer.
May you like
Bradley didn't even look up from his notepad. "Sign the papers, Cole," Bradley muttered quietly. "Sign them before they decide to take your freedom too."
***
