Chapter 17 - The Deposition in the High Tower
Three weeks later, the war moved from the grass of Maple Street to the thirty-second floor of the Montgomery Tower downtown. Richard Montgomery’s attorneys had insisted on taking my oral deposition before the hearing on the lien dismissal.
The conference room was a palace of glass, polished marble, and chrome. Richard sat at the head of the mahogany table, flanked by three senior partners in pinstriped suits. Clara sat behind them, armed with a fresh blowout and a venomous scowl.
Across the table, I sat next to Martin Hayes—an attorney who hadn't cost me a dime. He was the general counsel for the Amalgamated Transit Union, a man who lived on black coffee and civil rights statutes.
"Mrs. Vance," Richard’s lead litigator began, adjusting his gold cufflinks. "Is it not true that on April 14th, you signed an agreement authorizing the disbursement of personal funds toward the Rosewood Manor banquet facility?"
"I signed a check for thirty-eight thousand, seven hundred dollars," I answered calmly. "Made out directly to the catering group. Because my son asked me for help."
"And isn't it true," the attorney continued, his voice dripping with condescension, "that upon arrival at the venue, you created a disturbance, harassed the waitstaff, and demanded a seat at the primary family table in violation of the bride's seating protocol?"
Martin Hayes leaned forward, tapping his pencil on the mahogany. "Objection. Compound, argumentative, and factually absurd."
"I sat where I was told," I said, ignoring the lawyers. I looked straight at Richard Montgomery. "I sat in Room 104. The utility closet next to the service elevator, between three cases of folding chairs and forty dirty bibs. Because Clara told the banquet captain that I was the hired nursery staff."
Richard didn't flinch. "You are emotionally unstable, Eleanor. That was a private resting area provided for your comfort. And because of your subsequent slander, my daughter has suffered irreparable damage to her reputation in the philanthropic community."
"Let's talk about irreparable damage, Richard," Martin Hayes interrupted, opening a battered leather briefcase. He pulled out three thick, bound volumes stamped with the state seal of the Department of Transportation.
The lead attorney frowned. "What is that? Those aren't exhibits in this case."
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"They are now," Martin said, sliding the first volume across the table so hard it hit Richard’s water glass with a loud clink. "These are the certified inspection logs of the Metro Core Project from November 1998, signed by Inspector David Vance. Along with the matching forensic ultrasound scans of the foundational piers beneath this very building—the Montgomery Tower."
Richard’s face drained of color. The smug, patrician smirk died instantly on his lips.
