Chapter 18 - The Deposition of Preston Vance
The final pre-trial deposition took place in the central courthouse’s third-floor interrogation suite. Preston Vance had been compelled to appear under subpoena, facing six counts of forgery, criminal impersonation, and grand larceny.
The room smelled of stale coffee, industrial floor wax, and damp paper. Preston sat at the metal table opposite Marcus Vance and me. He was thirty-one years old now, but he looked completely ruined. The expensive Italian suit was long gone, replaced by an off-the-rack gray polyester jacket with loose threads at the lapel. He had dark purple rings under his eyes, his fingernails were bitten down to the quick, and his foot tapped a frantic, erratic tempo against the linoleum tile.
His court-appointed public defender sat beside him, looking thoroughly exhausted before the session had even begun.
Marcus adjusted his glasses, clicked his pen, and placed Julianna Mercer’s forensic hard drive directly in the center of the table.
"Mr. Preston Vance," Marcus began, his voice echoing off the cinderblock walls. "I remind you that you are under oath. Do you recognize this digital storage device marked Exhibit D?"
Preston swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing violently. "I... I don't know. It looks like an ordinary hard drive."
"This drive contains the complete server backup of your former venture, Vance Atelier LLC," Marcus stated smoothly. "Including the IP address, timestamp, and digital signature of the emergency petition filed with the Probate Court of Massachusetts on October 14, 2026. The petition that forged Harrison Vance’s signature while he was undergoing spinal fusion surgery."
Preston’s lawyer leaned over, whispering urgently into his ear. Preston’s face flushed a deep, mottled red.
"It wasn't my idea!" Preston suddenly blurted out, his voice cracking into a high-pitched whine. "Dad said Harold’s money belonged to the family! He said Harrison had a wife with a big corporate salary and didn't need the money! He told me the trust was just sitting there doing nothing, and I was on the verge of taking the company public! We were going to pay it back! We were going to replace every dollar before Wyatt turned eighteen!"
"You were going to replace it?" I spoke up for the first time, leaning forward in my chair.
Preston flinched, shrinking back against his seat.
"With what, Preston?" I asked, my voice terrifyingly calm. "With the revenue from your bankrupt fashion line? With the second mortgage your father defaulted on? Or with the money you expected to extort from me through manufactured guilt?"
"You never cared about me, Harrison!" Preston hissed, his eyes filling with bitter, venomous tears. "From the day I was born, you acted like you were better than everyone else! Working fifty hours a week on construction sites, getting your engineering degree, acting like the perfect son! You made Mom and Dad feel small! I gave them a dream! I gave them something exciting to brag about at their dinner parties!"
"No, Preston," I said softly, looking at him with nothing but cold, objective pity. "You gave them an excuse to indulge their shallowest vanity. And they sacrificed my children’s safety to fuel your delusions. The difference between you and me is simple: when my foundation was crushed, I rebuilt it with steel and truth. When yours cracked, you turned to fraud and betrayal."
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Preston buried his face in his trembling hands, letting out a ragged, defeated sob as his attorney signaled for a recess.
The empire of mirrors had finally shattered. And there was nothing left to reflect.
