Chapter 8 - THE DEPOSITION
The conference room on the tenth floor of Webb & Associates was quiet, save for the rhythmic clicking of a court stenographer’s machine.
It was three weeks after the incident at Alder Manor.
Sutton sat across the long mahogany conference table, flanked by a tired-looking court-appointed defense attorney named Henderson. She looked pale, her skin devoid of makeup, dressed in a simple gray sweater that made her look years older than thirty. Her eyes were red-rimmed, carrying the haunted look of someone who had finally realized that charm and tears no longer worked.
Marcus Webb sat to my right, looking through a thick stack of certified exhibits, while I sat opposite my sister with my medical boot resting on a low stool.
“Let the record show that the deposition of Sutton Marie Hale is commencing on this twelfth day of November,” the stenographer announced crisply.
Henderson cleared his throat, leaning toward his client. “Ms. Hale, for the record, please state your name and occupation.”
“Sutton Marie Hale,” she whispered, staring fixedly at the polished wood of the table. “I... I owned an event planning business. Formerly.”
“Ms. Hale,” Marcus intervened, his voice smooth and authoritative. “Let’s direct our attention to the afternoon of October twenty-first, specifically regarding the preparation of the bridal party footwear at Alder Manor.”
Sutton didn't answer immediately. She looked up, her gaze sliding across the table until it met mine. There was no anger left in her eyes—only a cold, helpless resignation.
“I bought the shoes,” she whispered.
“Speak up, Ms. Hale. The stenographer needs a clear record,” Henderson prompted gently.
“I bought the stiletto shoes,” Sutton said louder, her voice trembling. “And... and I inserted the half-inch carpet tacks into the left heel.”
“Why did you do that?” Marcus asked, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.
“Because... because I wanted her to stumble,” Sutton choked out, a tear finally escaping and tracking down her cheek. “I wanted her to look clumsy in front of everyone. I wanted her to stop complaining about her foot and just shut up for once in her life.”
“And you were aware that your sister suffered from permanent nerve damage in that foot?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I knew.”
Marcus slid a document across the table—a certified medical bill from the hospital, combined with loss-of-income estimates and psychological distress assessments.
“The civil suit demands full restitution for medical expenses, professional damages, and emotional distress, totaling one hundred and eighty-five thousand dollars,” Marcus stated clearly. “Furthermore, in exchange for our recommendation of a suspended sentence rather than active prison time in the criminal proceeding, the defendant will sign a permanent confession of judgment and a total waiver of any future claims against the plaintiff.”
Henderson looked at the document, then at Sutton. “Sign it, Ms. Hale.”
May you like
Sutton picked up the heavy metal pen with trembling fingers. She didn't look at the paper. She signed her name at the bottom, the ink scratching across the page like a dying breath.
The deposition was over in twenty minutes.
