Chapter 6 - The Deposition
Three months later.
The pre-trial deposition room at the federal courthouse in New Haven was cold, sterile, and quiet, save for the rhythmic humming of the fluorescent lights overhead.
I sat at one side of the long conference table, flanked by Arthur Vance and two corporate litigation associates.
Across from us sat Eric and his court-appointed defense attorney.
The high-profile tabloid lawyer, Richard Vance, had abandoned Eric the moment his retainer check bounced. Now, Eric was stuck with a public defender who looked exhausted and hopelessly outmatched by the mountains of evidence stacked against his client.
Eric looked terrible. He had lost at least twenty pounds. His tailored suits were gone, replaced by an ill-fitting gray jacket. The confident, arrogant man who had leaned against the doorway with a glass of whiskey on Thanksgiving night was completely gone. In his place sat a terrified man facing up to fifteen years in federal prison.
The court reporter adjusted her equipment. "Deposition of Eric Harrison in the matter of Apex Capital Solutions versus Eric Harrison and Harrison Contracting LLC. Case Number 2026-CV-08891. Proceed."
Arthur Vance leaned forward, placing a thick stack of bank statements in front of Eric.
"Mr. Harrison," Arthur began, his voice calm and methodical. "On July 14th of last year, you authorized a wire transfer of $150,000 from the primary operating account of Harrison Contracting to an account titled 'Greenwich Property Management LLC.' Is that correct?"
Eric looked down at his hands, his knuckles white. "I... I don't recall that specific transfer."
"Let me refresh your memory," Arthur said, sliding a document across the table. "Greenwich Property Management LLC is a shell company registered to your mother, Linda Harrison. The funds were used three days later to purchase a 2025 luxury boat currently docked in Mystic, Connecticut. Did Harrison Contracting utilize a luxury boat for construction operations, Mr. Harrison?"
Eric swallowed hard. "No."
"So you used corporate capital—which was explicitly secured by Mrs. Claire Harrison's personal assets—to buy your mother a pleasure craft?"
"My mother worked hard all her life!" Eric suddenly burst out, his voice cracking with emotion. "She deserved nice things! Claire had millions! She didn't even notice the money was gone! Why does it matter to her?!"
Arthur looked at Eric with a mix of professional disgust and pity. "It matters, Mr. Harrison, because stealing $150,000—or in your case, $2.8 million—is a federal felony regardless of how much money the victim possesses."
"She was my wife!" Eric yelled, turning his desperate eyes toward me. "Claire, tell him! We were married! Marital assets are shared! I had a right to use that money to take care of my family!"
I looked at him for several seconds before leaning toward my microphone.
"Eric," I said quietly. "We had a prenuptial agreement. Do you remember signing it?"
Eric froze.
"In that prenuptial agreement," I continued, "section 14 explicitly stated that all assets, credit lines, and corporate holdings owned prior to the marriage, or acquired through individual business entities like Apex Capital, remained 100% separate property. You signed that agreement in front of two witnesses and a notary seven years ago."
Eric turned pale. "I... I thought that was just a formality... for your parents..."
"It wasn't a formality," I said. "It was protection. Protection against people like you and your mother who think that marriage is a license to steal."
Eric’s public defender sighed deeply, placing a hand over his face. He knew his client had just blown any remaining legal defense.
Arthur leaned back in his chair. "Mr. Harrison, the U.S. Attorney’s office has offered a plea bargain. If you plead guilty to two counts of wire fraud and agree to full restitution of the $2.8 million, they will recommend a reduced sentence of four years in federal custody."
Eric gasped, tears instantly springing to his eyes. "Four years?! In prison?! I can't go to prison! Claire, please! Talk to them! Tell them not to press charges! I'll give you everything back! I'll work for free for the rest of my life! Just don't send me to prison!"
He slumped across the table, weeping openly, reaching out his hands toward me as if begging for mercy.
I remembered the cold November night at Linda's house. I remembered standing in front of twenty relatives while Eric shrugged, drank his whiskey, and told me I was being difficult. I remembered his arrogant laugh as I walked out the door into the freezing night air.
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"You spent years letting your mother humiliate me, Eric," I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion. "You smiled while she threw me out of her house. You thought I was weak because I stayed quiet. Take the plea deal, Eric. Because if this goes to trial, my attorneys will ensure you get the maximum fifteen years."
I stood up, buttoned my blazer, and walked out of the deposition room without looking back once.
