Chapter 3 - The Deposition of Deceit
Three weeks later, the preliminary discovery phase of the cross-complaints began. Michael had pulled off a procedural miracle, filing a massive civil suit for battery, intentional infliction of emotional distress, and conspiracy against Linda, Arthur, and Erica, forcing them into depositions before the criminal charges against Sarah could even reach a grand jury.
The deposition took place in a sterile conference room on the 42nd floor of Michael’s law firm. Sarah sat beside Michael, dressed in a sharp, loose-fitting navy blue dress that concealed her small pregnancy bump and the fading scars of her burns. She looked calm, poised, and utterly lethal.
Across the table sat Linda and Arthur Hayes, accompanied by their family attorney, a pompous, old-school lawyer named Richard Vance (again, no relation, much to Michael’s annoyance). Erica was absent, her attorney claiming she was "too traumatized by Sarah’s erratic behavior" to attend.
Linda sat with her chin high, her designer pearl necklace catching the fluorescent light. She looked at Sarah not with concern or remorse, but with deep, simmering resentment.
"Let the record reflect that this is the deposition of Linda Hayes," Michael began, his voice smooth and deceptively gentle. He adjusted the video camera recording the session. "Mrs. Hayes, let's start with the afternoon of October 14th. You maintain that your daughter, Sarah, attacked Erica?"
"Absolutely," Linda said, her voice dripping with practiced upper-class offense. "Sarah has always been an deeply envious, unstable girl. She couldn't handle the fact that Erica was finally finding her footing in life. When Sarah announced her pregnancy, she did it in a way to mock Erica's single status. When Erica tried to congratulate her with a cup of tea, Sarah flew into a rage, slapped the mug out of her hand, and then tripped over her own feet, falling into the coffee table."
"I see," Michael said, nodding slowly as he flipped through a stack of papers. "And your husband, Arthur, what did he do?"
"Arthur tried to calm Sarah down," Linda lied smoothly. "But then Michael charged into the room like a madman. He threw Arthur against the wall. We were terrified for our lives. We didn't hide their phones; we simply couldn't find them in the chaos. We called the police because we were victims of a home invasion by our own daughter."
Sarah watched her mother, marveling at how easily the woman who gave birth to her could weave a narrative designed to destroy her. There was no love there. There never had been. Sarah had always been the functional child—the one who got scholarships, the one who worked eighty-hour weeks, the one who paid for her own wedding. Erica was the perpetual victim, the one who needed saving, and Linda’s entire identity was wrapped up in enabling Erica’s toxicity.
"A compelling story, Mrs. Hayes," Michael said, leaning back in his leather chair. "Just one small problem. We obtained the data logs from your smart-home security system."
Linda’s smug expression faltered for a fraction of a second. "Our what?"
"Your home is equipped with a Vivint smart-home automation system, including internal security cameras and ambient microphones in the living room," Michael said, pulling out a tablet and turning it toward Linda and her attorney. "You forgot that three years ago, Sarah paid for that system to be installed for your safety. And because she paid for the account, her name is still listed as the primary administrator."
Richard Vance, the parents' attorney, stood up. "Objection! This is an ambush! We were told the living room cameras were inactive!"
"They were inactive for recording video, Mr. Vance," Michael replied smoothly, his eyes locking onto Linda’s suddenly pale face. "But the ambient sound-activation feature for emergency glass-breakage was active. It recorded the audio. Let’s take a listen, shall we?"
Michael pressed play on the tablet.
The conference room was filled with the clear, unmistakable sound of the past. Sarah’s shriek of pain. Erica’s cold, chilling whisper: "I bet if I really tried, I could make it quiet." The brutal, dull thud of a boot hitting flesh. Sarah’s body crashing into the table.
And then, the voice of Linda Hayes, clear as day: "Stop overreacting. You're ruining her life. Arthur, block the door. Don't let him get his phone."
The silence in the conference room after the audio clip ended was deafening. Arthur Hayes lowered his head into his hands. Linda’s face turned an ugly, mottled shade of crimson.
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"We are done here," Richard Vance muttered, his face pale as he began packing his briefcase. "We are suspending this deposition."
"You can run, Richard," Michael said, his voice ringing with absolute finality. "But this audio tape, along with the forensic report showing your clients tried to scrub the tea stains out of the rug with bleach yesterday morning, has already been delivered to the District Attorney’s superior. The charges against Sarah are being dropped today. And the grand jury indictment for your clients is being drafted as we speak."
