Chapter 3 - The Deposition of Vanessa Hart
Three weeks after Grant was forced out of the house, Vanessa Hart gave birth to a six-pound, eight-ounce baby boy at a private hospital in downtown Nashville.
According to public birth announcements posted by Evelyn on Facebook, the child was named Grant Whitmore Jr.
While Evelyn was busy throwing a lavish, fifty-thousand-dollar private baptism party at a country club—funded entirely by a high-interest loan she took out because Grant’s accounts were still frozen—Marcus Vance issued a legal subpoena for Vanessa Hart’s personal appearance at a formal deposition.
The deposition took place on a humid Tuesday afternoon in Marcus’s corporate conference room.
Vanessa Hart arrived forty-five minutes late, wearing oversized designer sunglasses, a tight beige jumpsuit, and carrying a five-thousand-dollar leather handbag. She was accompanied by a young, visibly nervous associate attorney from a low-end family law firm.
Grant sat at the far end of the table, looking haggard, his suit unpressed, his eyes avoiding mine completely. He had been living in his mother’s guest bedroom for the past month, surviving on a strict five-hundred-dollar weekly court allowance while Marcus Vance systematically dismantled his corporate tax filings.
I sat beside Marcus, wearing a sharp navy suit, my hair pinned back, looking composed, dignified, and entirely in control.
"We are on the record," Marcus announced, setting his pen down beside a digital recording device. "This is the deposition of Vanessa Hart in the matter of Claire Whitmore v. Grant Whitmore, Case Number 24-CV-8912."
Marcus turned his cold blue eyes onto Vanessa, who was casually filing a nail.
"Ms. Hart, state your full name for the record."
"Vanessa Marie Hart," she sighed, without looking up.
"Ms. Hart, when did your romantic relationship with Grant Whitmore begin?"
Vanessa’s attorney leaned over, whispered in her ear, and pulled back. "My client asserts her Fifth Amendment right regarding any questions concerning marital misconduct."
"That’s fine," Marcus smiled thinly. "We aren't here to discuss your morals, Ms. Hart. We are here to discuss financial fraud. I show you Plaintiff’s Exhibit C. This is a copy of a residential lease agreement for Unit 14B at the Velocity Luxury Apartments in downtown Nashville. Is that your signature on page four?"
Vanessa glanced down at the paper, her red lips curling into a pucker. "Yes."
"The monthly rent for this unit is $4,200," Marcus continued. "Who paid the security deposit of $8,400 on August 14th of last year?"
"Grant paid it," she said flatly.
"Did you know that the $8,400 was transferred directly from a savings account jointly owned by my client, Claire Whitmore, and her husband?"
"I didn't ask where he got the money," Vanessa sneered, crossing her legs. "Grant told me he was a successful business owner. He said his wife was an unemployed housewife who was leeching off his hard work."
I leaned forward slightly, resting my elbows on the polished table. "I earned sixty percent of that savings account as a senior pharmaceutical director, Ms. Hart," I said softly, my voice calm and razor-sharp. "While Grant was giving you my money, I was working fifty hours a week while pregnant."
Vanessa shifted uncomfortably in her chair, her dismissive bravado cracking for the first time.
"Ms. Hart," Marcus cut in, sliding another document across the table. "I show you Plaintiff’s Exhibit F. This is a paternity acknowledgment document filed with the Tennessee Department of Health three weeks ago for the birth of Grant Whitmore Jr. On page two, under 'Father's Legal Obligations,' there is a signed agreement wherein Grant Whitmore pledges to pay you $6,500 per month in private child support and convey a fifty percent ownership stake in GW Capital LLC to your newborn son."
Grant suddenly slammed his hands on the table. "Marcus, that was a private contract between Vanessa and me! It has nothing to do with Claire!"
"It has everything to do with Claire, Grant," Marcus retorted, his voice booming through the room. "Because GW Capital LLC was funded entirely with co-mingled marital assets stolen from Claire Whitmore’s salary over eighteen months! You cannot legally give away half of a company that was built using stolen marital equity to your mistress’s child!"
Vanessa turned her head toward Grant, her eyes wide with sudden panic. "Grant... what is he talking about? You said GW Capital was worth two million dollars! You said you owned that property outright!"
Grant looked down at the table, his face flushed with deep embarrassment. "Vanessa... calm down... we're working through it..."
"Calm down?!" Vanessa yelled, her voice dropping its polished accent, revealing a sharp, shrill edge. "I just had a baby three weeks ago! You told me your ex-wife was getting nothing! You told me your mother was going to fund our son's trust account!"
"His mother is currently under federal tax audit for hiding two hundred thousand dollars of undeclared corporate dividends," Marcus interjected casually, pulling a fresh white document from his folder. "Which brings me to my next point."
Marcus turned directly to Grant's defense attorney. "We are amending our complaint to name Vanessa Hart as a co-defendant in a civil racketeering and fraudulent transfer suit. We are demanding the immediate seizure of the downtown penthouse contents, the repayment of $47,600 in converted funds, and the immediate surrender of the luxury vehicle Grant purchased for Ms. Hart in November."
Vanessa stood up so fast her leather chair tipped backward, crashing onto the carpet.
"You bought me that car!" Vanessa screamed at Grant, her red nails pointing like daggers at his face. "You told me it was a gift! You lied to me! You told me you were rich!"
"Vanessa, please!" Grant pleaded, reaching for her arm.
"Don't touch me!" she shrieked, snatching her designer purse off the floor. "You're living in your mother's spare room! You can't even pay for your own gas! You complete, pathetic loser!"
Vanessa stormed out of the conference room, her high heels clicking loudly against the hardwood floor, leaving her bewildered attorney running after her down the hall.
May you like
I sat quietly at the table, watching Grant bury his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent, defeated sobs.
"We will resume this deposition tomorrow morning, Grant," Marcus said quietly, packing his documents into his briefcase. "Have your mother bring her bank records. She's going to need them."
