Chapter 3 - The Deposition of Small Things
Three weeks later, the humidity in downtown Miami was thick enough to leave a sheen on the glass of the SunTrust International Center.
On the fourteenth floor, inside a windowless conference room smelling of dry-erase markers and fresh leather, Skylar sat at a long walnut table.
The burn on her cheek had healed into a flat, pale pink crescent that reached from her cheekbone down to the curve of her jawline. She wore no makeup over it, only a thin layer of protective silicone gel. Her hair was pulled back into a neat, low bun, and she wore a tailored charcoal suit that fit her with sharp precision.
Beside her sat Victoria Vance—no relation, but a formidable senior partner at Vance, Cross & Associates who specialized in high-asset marital dissolution and asset recovery.
Across the table sat Derek and his court-appointed legal counsel, a overworked public defender named Miller who looked as though he hadn't slept since Tuesday.
Derek looked hollow. His tailored suit hung loosely on his shoulders; he had lost at least ten pounds in twenty days. His hair, usually styled with pomade, was limp and slightly overgrown. His hands remained folded on top of a yellow legal pad that contained no notes.
"We are on the record," Victoria Vance announced, nodding to the court reporter seated at the end of the table. "This is a preliminary asset discovery deposition in the matter of Vance v. Miller, Case Number 24-8891, Circuit Court of the Eleventh Judicial Circuit, Miami-Dade County."
Victoria opened a dark leather binder, her fingernails tapping against the tabbed dividers.
"Mr. Miller," Victoria began, her voice smooth, level, and entirely devoid of heat. "Let the record reflect that you are currently subject to a temporary restraining order issued under Section 741.30 of the Florida Statutes, barring you from coming within five hundred feet of the petitioner, her place of employment, or her temporary residence."
Derek didn't look at Victoria. He stared directly at Skylar, his dark eyes burning with a mixture of desperate anger and pathetic confusion.
"Skylar," he said, his voice rough. "Is this really what you want? You're sitting here with lawyers while my stuff is sitting in a storage container in Hialeah? My sister is staying in a motel!"
"Mr. Miller," Victoria interrupted firmly. "You will address your responses to me. Any further direct addressing of the petitioner will result in an immediate motion for contempt of court, which will jeopardize the conditions of your pretrial release on the aggravated battery charge."
Derek’s lawyer cleared his throat, leaning over to whisper in Derek’s ear. "Keep quiet, Derek. Let me handle the property distribution."
The lawyer looked across the table at Victoria. "Ms. Vance, my client acknowledges that the real estate asset located at 1200 Edgewater Drive was held under a pre-marital trust structure. However, during the thirty-six months of cohabitation and marriage, my client contributed substantially to the maintenance, upkeep, and value appreciation of said property. Furthermore, the total liquid assets seized by your client from the joint overdraft line exceed eighty thousand dollars, which we contend constitutes marital property subject to equitable distribution."
Victoria smiled—a brief, icy gesture that didn't reach her eyes.
She pulled a single sheet of paper from the front pocket of her binder and slid it across the table.
"Item A," Victoria said. "A complete forensic accounting of the account ending in 4092, which you refer to as the 'joint overdraft line.' Over the thirty-six months of marriage, total deposits made by Derek Miller into this account amount to four thousand two hundred and ten dollars. Total withdrawals made by Derek Miller, or executed via debit card issued to Suzanne Miller, total ninety-four thousand six hundred dollars."
Derek’s lawyer looked at the sheet, his eyes widening slightly as he scanned the long column of red numbers.
"Item B," Victoria continued, sliding a second document across. "Receipts for the 'maintenance and upkeep' of the Edgewater property. Every HOA fee, property tax assessment, insurance premium, and major repair over the past three years was paid directly from the Skylar A. Vance Individual Revocable Trust. In fact, Mr. Miller, the only contribution you made to the unit was a three-hundred-dollar receipt for a custom backsplash in the kitchen—a check that subsequently bounced and was cleared by my client."
"I paid for the groceries!" Derek blurted out, slamming his hand onto the legal pad. "I paid for dinner when we went out with my colleagues! I bought her birthday presents!"
Skylar finally looked up. Her brown eyes were cold, clear, and steady as she looked across the three feet of wood separating them.
"You bought my birthday present using my credit card, Derek," Skylar said softly. Her voice was calm, carrying a weight that made the room grow still. "You used my card to buy a watch for yourself, and then handed me the gift receipt for the box it came in."
"Skylar—"
"And the coffee," Skylar added, her voice dropping an octave. "The coffee you threw in my face was made from beans I bought. The mug was mine. The kitchen was mine. The life you were living was mine. You didn't build anything here, Derek. You were just a tenant who forgot to pay rent, and started thinking he owned the building."
Derek pulled back, his throat moving as he swallowed hard. His face turned a mottled, ugly red, mirroring the shape of the mark on Skylar's neck.
"We are offering a settlement," Victoria Vance said, closing her binder with a deliberate, heavy snap. "Mr. Miller will execute a full waiver of any and all equity claims regarding the Edgewater property, the personal property listed in Exhibit C, and any accrued trust income. In exchange, Mrs. Vance will not pursue civil restitution for the medical expenses incurred on August 12th, allowing those damages to be handled solely through the restitution order of the criminal court."
Derek’s public defender looked at the documents, then at Derek, shaking his head slightly. "Derek... if this goes to a civil jury after a criminal conviction, they will strip you of every asset you hold for the next ten years. Take the waiver."
"And what about my sister?" Derek whispered, looking at his lawyer, then back at Skylar. "She has nowhere to go. She doesn't have a job."
"Your sister," Skylar said, standing up from her chair and buttoning her jacket, "is thirty-two years old. Tell her to get an entry-level administrative job. I hear logistics companies pay eight dollars an hour to start. That’s how I bought my home."
May you like
Skylar turned and walked toward the conference room door, her heels clicking cleanly against the hard tile floor.
She didn't look back when Derek called her name. She didn't look back when his lawyer started whispering frantically about signature lines. She walked out into the bright, air-conditioned light of Biscayne Boulevard, stepped into the sunshine, and didn't feel the burn at all.
