Chapter 8 - THE DEPOSITIONIn September, two months before the criminal trial was scheduled to begin, the civil deposition took place in a neutral conference room downtown.
I sat at the head of the glass conference table, dressed in a tailored navy blazer, flanked by Daniel and Marcus Vance.
Across the table sat Vanessa and my father, accompanied by Attorney Arthur Sterling.
Vanessa looked hollow. She had lost weight, her dark circles covered in thick foundation, her fingers constantly picking at the skin around her nails. She wore a plain black dress with no jewelry, forced by her lawyer to look humble and subdued.
My father sat beside her, his hair noticeably silvered, refusing to meet my eyes.
A court reporter sat at the end of the table, her fingers poised over the stenotype machine.
“State your name for the record,” the reporter requested.
“Vanessa Marie Vance,” my sister whispered.
Marcus Vance leaned forward, placing a stack of printed text messages on the glass table between them.
“Miss Vance,” Marcus began, his voice calm, sharp, and lethal. “I am showing you Exhibit D—a series of thirty text messages sent from your mobile phone to Daniel Vance between June and August of last year. Do you recognize these messages?”
Vanessa’s hands began to shake. She looked at her attorney, who gave her a grim, silent nod.
“Yes,” Vanessa rasped.
“In text message number fourteen,” Marcus read aloud, “you wrote to Daniel: 'Emily is too soft for you. She doesn't belong in your world. You’re making a mistake, and I can give you everything she can't.' Did you send that message?”
Vanessa swallowed hard, tears welling in her eyes. “I… I was under the influence of alcohol when I sent that.”
“And on August 12th,” Marcus continued, turning the page, “you wrote: 'If she thinks she’s going to walk down that aisle looking like a princess, I will make sure she remembers who really controls this family.' Did you send that message three weeks before purchasing the industrial adhesive?”
My father’s head snapped up. He looked at the printed text message, then turned his head to stare at Vanessa in absolute, horrified shock.
He hadn't seen these texts before. Sterling had kept them hidden from him.
“Vanessa…” Dad whispered, his voice cracking with pure, unadulterated realization. “You… you planned this for months?”
Vanessa buried her face in her trembling hands, breaking down into wild, hysterical sobs. “Dad, please! She took everything from me! Everyone always loved Emily! She was the good twin, the nurse, the sweet one! I was just the daughter who failed out of law school!”
“You didn't fail because of Emily, Vanessa!” my father suddenly shouted, slamming his hand onto the glass table, tears streaming down his own weathered cheeks. “You failed because you spent your whole life trying to destroy your sister instead of building your own life! And I let you do it!”
The room went completely quiet, save for the click of the stenotype machine.
My father turned slowly to face me across the table. For the first time in my life, I saw genuine, unvarnished remorse in his eyes—not fear of public embarrassment, not worry about his reputation, but the crushing weight of a father realizing he had ruined his own children.
“Emily…” Dad choked out, his voice breaking. “My God… what have I done?”
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I looked across the glass table at my father and my weeping twin sister.
“You chose her toxicity over my humanity, Dad,” I said softly, my voice calm, steady, and unshakeable. “And now you both have to live with the bill.”
