Chapter 3 - The Deposition of La Jolla
Three weeks later, the morning sun over Prospect Street in La Jolla was dazzling, reflecting off the deep blue expanse of the Pacific Ocean.
At 10:00 AM, I sat in the executive conference room of Marsh & Osei Legal on the fourth floor of a high-end glass building overlooking the water. The room smelled of polished mahogany, leather, and fresh freesia.
Across the glass table sat Alyssa Vance.
Without her tailored real estate dresses and professional lighting, the twenty-six-year-old woman looked surprisingly young, pale, and deeply uncomfortable. She wore a simple navy sweater, no jewelry, and sat beside her court-appointed civil attorney, a nervous young man named Bradley.
Beside me, Patricia Osei adjusted her video recording equipment.
"This is the civil deposition of Alyssa Vance in the matter of Lumina LLC v. Todd Harmon," Patricia announced into the microphone, her voice crisp and professional. "Present are Plaintiff Camilla Parker-Harmon, Plaintiff Counsel Patricia Osei, and Witness Counsel Bradley Thorne. Miss Vance, please state your full name for the record."
"Alyssa Marie Vance," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Miss Vance," Patricia began, her tone measured yet intense. "Between November of last year and September of this year, were you in a romantic relationship with the Defendant, Todd Harmon?"
Alyssa glanced at her lawyer, who gave her a slight nod.
"Yes," she swallowed hard.
"During that period, did Mr. Harmon provide you with cash transfers, retail gifts, and luxury hotel accommodations totaling over $20,000?"
"Yes," Alyssa said, her face flushing red. "But... but I didn't know where the money was coming from! I swear to God, I didn't know!"
I sat entirely still, watching her closely.
"Miss Vance," Patricia continued calmly, "what did Mr. Harmon tell you regarding his professional and financial status?"
"He told me he was the principal owner and managing partner of Lumina Culinary Group," Alyssa said, her voice trembling as she reached for a glass of water. "He told me he owned the building on Kettner Boulevard. He said his wife was just an employee—a head chef he hired to run the kitchen while he managed the corporate investments."
A quiet, dry exhale escaped my lips.
A head chef he hired to run the kitchen while he managed corporate investments.
The sheer magnitude of Todd’s delusion was almost staggering. He hadn't just stolen my money; he had stolen my entire identity, selling my eleven years of brutal, exhausting labor to a younger woman to buy himself a brief, pathetic fantasy of being a high-powered mogul.
"And when did you discover that Mr. Harmon held zero legal ownership in Lumina LLC?" Patricia asked.
"When your process server showed up at my apartment in La Jolla with the court subpoena four weeks ago," Alyssa said, tears finally welling in her eyes. "He served me with the financial tracing documents showing that every Venmo transfer Todd sent me came directly from the Lumina business operating account. I... I called Todd immediately. He panicked. He told me to lie to the process server. He told me to tell you guys that the money was for 'marketing consulting fees.'"
Patricia looked at the video camera, ensuring every word was clearly captured on the recording.
"And did you perform any marketing consulting services for Lumina LLC, Miss Vance?"
"No," Alyssa whispered, wiping a tear from her cheek. "I never did a single hour of work for that restaurant. As soon as I realized what he was doing—that he was embezzling from his wife's business—I packed his things and kicked him out of my apartment. I gave your investigators the jewelry he bought me. The necklace from Prospect Street, the watch... it's all in the evidence box."
Patricia leaned back, satisfied. "Thank you, Miss Vance. That will be all for today."
Alyssa’s lawyer stood up quickly, packing his briefcase, but before Alyssa could leave the room, she stopped. She looked across the mahogany table directly at me.
"Mrs. Parker," she said softly, her voice choked with genuine shame. "I am so, so sorry. He lied to me about everything. But what he did to you... what he tried to take from you... it was terrible. I hope you take every single thing he has left."
I looked at her for a long second.
The anger I had held toward Alyssa Vance for eleven weeks didn't vanish, but it shifted. She wasn't the mastermind of my betrayal; she was simply another piece of collateral damage in Todd Harmon’s pathetic, fragile ego project.
"Thank you, Alyssa," I said quietly. "Good luck."
By 2:00 PM that afternoon, Patricia and I were standing inside the wood-paneled chambers of Family Court Judge Rebecca Torres at the San Diego Central Courthouse.
Todd Harmon sat at the defense table across from us, wearing a plain gray county-issued suit. His hair was untrimmed, his face gaunt, his eyes hollow and dark. Beside him stood his attorney, David Sterling, who looked thoroughly exhausted and utterly defeated.
In the gallery behind them sat Ingrid Harmon, looking smaller, older, and completely stripped of her arrogance.
Judge Torres, a formidable woman in her late fifties with sharp dark eyes, reviewed the signed deposition from Alyssa Vance, the forensic audit from Diane Marsh, and the felony indictment from the District Attorney’s office.
She set the papers down and looked over her glasses at Todd.
"Mr. Harmon," Judge Torres said, her voice ringing with stern, uncompromising authority. "In my twenty-two years on the bench, I have rarely seen a marital dissolution case involving such egregious bad faith, fraudulent conversion, and criminal misconduct."
Sterling cleared his throat nervously. "Your Honor, my client is prepared to sign the uncontested dissolution agreement immediately—"
"Quiet, Mr. Sterling," Judge Torres cut him off sharply. "I am speaking."
She turned her gaze back to Todd, who stared down at the defense table, unable to lift his head.
"The court hereby grants the absolute dissolution of the marriage between Camilla Parker-Harmon and Todd Harmon," Judge Torres declared, her voice echoing in the silent courtroom. "The pre-marital property status of Lumina LLC is confirmed as the sole, exclusive, separate property of Camilla Parker-Harmon. Mr. Harmon holds zero equity, zero operational interest, and zero claim to any past, present, or future appreciation of the business."
I felt a deep, warm sensation spread through my chest—the sound of eleven years of my life being legally locked behind an unbreachable wall.
"Furthermore," Judge Torres continued, "pursuant to the civil conversion claim, Mr. Harmon is ordered to pay full restitution to Lumina LLC in the amount of $24,954, plus accrued interest. In addition, due to the documented bad faith and extortionate behavior of the Defendant, the court awards the Petitioner $18,500 in legal fees and court costs. All marital debts accrued by the Defendant during his extra-marital activities are assigned exclusively to him."
Judge Torres picked up her wooden gavel.
"This court is adjourned."
BANG.
The sound of the gavel struck the block like a cannon shot.
I stood up slowly beside Patricia. I didn't look at Todd. I didn't look at Ingrid.
I picked up my leather folder, buttoned my navy blazer, and walked out of the courtroom into the bright, sunlit hallway of the fifth floor.
As we reached the elevators, the heavy double doors of the courtroom opened behind us.
David Sterling hurried out, followed by a trembling Ingrid Harmon. Todd was being led away through a side exit by two county sheriff's deputies, returning to the holding facility to await his formal arraignment on the felony extortion charges.
Ingrid stopped ten feet away from me. She didn't scream this time. She didn't call me names.
She just stood there, clutching her handbag, tears rolling silently down her face, watching the woman who had built her life with her own hands walk away into a future she could no longer touch.
Patricia looked at me with a proud, radiant smile. "It's over, Camilla. Lumina is completely yours. Your life is completely yours."
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I looked out through the high glass windows of the courthouse hallway toward Kettner Boulevard in Little Italy. The sky over the bay was clear, electric blue, and unlimited.
"No, Patricia," I said softly, a real, radiant smile finally breaking across my face for the first time in eight months. "It’s not over. It’s just beginning."
