Chapter 9 - Under Oath

Julian’s deposition lasted four hours before he stopped pretending the trust had been forgotten.

Darcy asked the question three different ways.

“Mr. Mercer, when did you first learn that you were a beneficiary of the Mercer Family Income Trust?”

Julian sat across the conference table beside Grant Evers.

“Years ago.”

“How many?”

“I don’t remember.”

Darcy slid a document toward him.

“This is a trust acknowledgment you signed at age twenty-five.”

Julian glanced down.

“Then I guess by twenty-five.”

“Were you receiving distributions when you married Sloan?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“It varied.”

“Average monthly amount?”

“I don’t know.”

Maya sat behind Darcy with a binder open.

Darcy did not look away from Julian.

“Was it more than five thousand dollars a month?”

“Usually.”

“More than seven thousand?”

“Sometimes.”

“More than ten?”

“Sometimes.”

“Did Sloan know?”

Julian shifted.

“She knew my family had money.”

“That was not my question.”

Grant said, “Answer if you know.”

Julian looked at Sloan for the first time.

“No.”

Darcy nodded.

“Why not?”

“Because it was separate.”

“Separate from what?”

“Our household finances.”

“Why?”

Julian’s jaw tightened.

“Because Sloan likes control.”

Sloan did not react.

Darcy asked, “Did she control your trust?”

“No.”

“Did she have access to the trust account?”

“No.”

“Did she prevent distributions?”

“No.”

“Did she tell the trustee how to invest?”

“No.”

“Did she know the account number?”

“No.”

“Then how did she control it?”

Julian looked annoyed.

“She controlled the atmosphere around money.”

Darcy paused.

“What does that mean?”

“She made more than me.”

“That is a fact, not an atmosphere.”

Grant said, “Darcy.”

She ignored him.

“Did Sloan ever tell you that you were not allowed to pay the mortgage?”

“No.”

“Did she refuse money from you?”

Julian hesitated.

“Sometimes I offered to cover things.”

“Name one.”

He looked down.

“I don’t remember.”

Darcy opened another binder.

“For five years, Sloan paid the $3,500 monthly mortgage on the condo. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“She paid property taxes?”

“Yes.”

“Most utilities?”

“Yes.”

“Your vehicle lease for twenty-two months?”

Julian looked at Grant.

Grant nodded.

“Yes.”

“Fiona Mercer’s authorized household card?”

“She used it for family expenses.”

“That was not my question. Did Sloan pay it?”

“Yes.”

Darcy leaned back.

“During those same five years, did you receive more than four hundred fifty thousand dollars in trust distributions?”

Grant objected to the characterization.

Darcy looked toward the court reporter.

“The records will speak for themselves.”

Then back to Julian.

“Did you receive hundreds of thousands of dollars while telling your wife your career had left you unable to contribute consistently?”

Julian’s face hardened.

“I was trying to build something of my own.”

“Your brokerage account?”

“No.”

“Your savings?”

“No.”

“Your mother’s businesses?”

Julian stared at her.

Grant said, “We’re moving on.”

Darcy smiled slightly.

“No. We’re arriving.”

She placed the Crestline guaranty on the table.

“Did you sign this six months before your wedding?”

Julian looked at it.

“Yes.”

“Did you tell Sloan?”

“I thought my mother did.”

Sloan’s eyes narrowed.

Darcy caught it.

“You thought Fiona disclosed your personal guaranty to your fiancée?”

“Yes.”

“Why would Fiona do that instead of you?”

“She handled family financial matters.”

“Did you ever ask Sloan whether Fiona told her?”

“No.”

“Did you ever discuss the guaranty with Sloan during five years of marriage?”

“No.”

“Did you tell her Crestline threatened your trust distributions?”

“No.”

“Did you ask Sloan to invest five hundred thousand dollars in Heritage House?”

“No. Mom did.”

“Did you support that request?”

“I supported Mom.”

Darcy slid Thomas’s old email across the table.

“Did you write this before the wedding?”

Julian read the line.

If it ever gets bad, Sloan has more than enough equity in the Walton place to solve it.

His face tightened.

“It was private.”

“That was not my question.”

“Yes.”

“Did you also write, ‘Guilt works on her’?”

Grant said, “Asked and answered by the document.”

Darcy looked at Julian.

“Why did you think guilt would work on Sloan?”

Julian was silent.

Darcy waited.

Finally he said, “She cares about family.”

“That isn’t what you wrote.”

“I was joking with my uncle.”

“Were you joking when you asked North Shore Private Capital for six hundred fifty thousand dollars against Sloan’s condo?”

Grant’s posture changed.

“My client will invoke his Fifth Amendment rights as to questions directly related to the ongoing criminal investigation.”

The room went quiet.

Sloan stared at Julian.

He looked at the table.

Darcy asked calmly, “Did you submit the North Shore loan application?”

Grant repeated, “He invokes.”

“Did you know the deed adding your name to Sloan’s condo was not signed by Sloan?”

“He invokes.”

“Did you access the fake email account created in Sloan’s name?”

“He invokes.”

“Did you purchase the hardware keylogger found beneath Sloan’s desk?”

“He invokes.”

Sloan felt no triumph.

Only a strange finality.

Julian had spent five years telling her she asked too many questions.

Now he sat under oath and refused to answer the ones that mattered most.

Darcy changed direction.

“Let’s return to the night of Fiona’s birthday demand.”

Grant exhaled.

“Fine.”

“Did you tell Sloan to cook sixty dishes?”

“Yes.”

“Did you say, ‘Cook it or get out’?”

“I may have.”

“Did you pull her by the hair?”

“No.”

Darcy played the recording.

Julian’s voice filled the room.

“Move.”

Then Sloan.

“Let go of my hair.”

A scrape.

A gasp.

Julian saying, “Then stop fighting me.”

Darcy paused the audio.

“Was Sloan lying in real time?”

Julian looked at Grant.

Grant said, “Answer.”

“I grabbed her.”

“Where?”

“Her hair.”

Sloan’s breath caught even though she already knew.

Darcy asked, “Why?”

“I was angry.”

“Did you lock the kitchen?”

“Yes.”

“From the outside?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To calm things down.”

Darcy stared at him.

“You locked your wife in a kitchen to calm things down?”

“She had everything she needed.”

Sloan’s face went cold.

Darcy asked, “Did she have a way out?”

“There was a balcony.”

Grant closed his eyes.

Darcy’s voice sharpened.

“Eighteen floors above the street?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Did you intend her to use the balcony as an exit?”

“No.”

“Then she was confined.”

“I was going to unlock it.”

“When?”

Julian swallowed.

“Later.”

“After she agreed to cook?”

He said nothing.

Darcy played the hallway recording.

Fiona’s voice.

“Do not unlock it until she agrees.”

Julian’s response.

“She’ll calm down.”

Darcy stopped the clip.

“Did you hear your mother say that?”

“Yes.”

“Did you unlock the door then?”

“No.”

“Did you unlock it when Sloan first asked?”

“No.”

“Why did you finally unlock it?”

“She needed groceries.”

“For the sixty dishes.”

“Yes.”

Darcy sat back.

“No further questions for now.”

When the deposition ended, Grant asked to speak privately with Darcy.

Sloan and Maya waited in the hallway.

Julian came out first.

He stopped.

The protection order required distance, but with counsel present and in a controlled legal setting, he was permitted to remain nearby.

He looked at Sloan.

“I never wanted you hurt.”

Sloan stared at him.

“You grabbed my hair.”

“I know.”

“You locked the door.”

“I know.”

“You let your mother decide when I could leave.”

Julian looked exhausted.

“I know.”

“And you still want me to believe hurting me was an accident.”

He lowered his voice.

“You were never supposed to find the deed like this.”

Sloan’s stomach tightened.

“What does that mean?”

Grant opened the conference room door.

“Julian.”

He stopped speaking.

Sloan looked at him.

“Like what?”

Julian shook his head.

“Nothing.”

Grant took his arm.

“Do not talk.”

They walked away.

Maya whispered, “He almost said something.”

Sloan nodded.

“But almost isn’t evidence.”

Darcy emerged.

“Good. You’re learning my language.”

“What did Grant want?”

“To discuss a global resolution.”

“Again?”

“This time without Fiona receiving money.”

Sloan raised an eyebrow.

“That is progress.”

“He says Julian will concede the condo is yours, reimburse certain joint-account transfers, and agree to expedited divorce terms.”

“In exchange for what?”

Darcy’s face turned serious.

“You do not oppose his request for leniency in any criminal matter.”

Sloan stared.

“I don’t control that.”

“Correct.”

“Then what is he actually asking?”

“That you submit a statement saying you do not want incarceration and consider the financial harm reparable.”

Sloan looked down the hallway where Julian had disappeared.

“What did you say?”

“That I would discuss it with you after we know the charges, if any.”

“Do you think I should?”

“I think you should wait until you know the facts.”

Sloan nodded.

Fiona’s deposition happened the next day.

It lasted forty-three minutes before Grant’s prediction about ugliness became accurate.

Fiona arrived with her own attorney, Paula Stein.

She wore black this time.

No tissues.

No sympathetic smile.

Darcy began simply.

“Mrs. Mercer, did you create Fiona Mercer Heritage House LLC?”

“Yes.”

“Did you seek investors?”

“Yes.”

“Did you seek financing from North Shore Private Capital?”

“I made introductions.”

“Did you represent that Sloan Mercer supported the transaction?”

“I believed she did.”

“Why?”

“She is my son’s wife.”

“That is not consent.”

Fiona looked annoyed.

“You don’t understand our family.”

Darcy ignored the invitation.

“Did Sloan agree to pledge her condo?”

“Julian told me she had.”

Sloan watched Julian’s mother place the blame with no hesitation.

Darcy asked, “Did you create the email address [email protected]?”

Paula leaned toward Fiona.

Fiona said, “No.”

“Did you access it?”

“No.”

Darcy placed provider records on the table.

“The account was created from the internet service at your apartment.”

“I have guests.”

“Your consulting email was the recovery address.”

“My son handles technology for me.”

“Which son?”

“Julian.”

“Did Julian create it?”

Paula said, “Do not speculate.”

Darcy nodded.

“Did you give Julian permission to use your internet and email accounts?”

Fiona glared.

“Sometimes.”

“Did you provide North Shore with Sloan’s tax returns?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Driver’s license?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Mortgage statement?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Fake authorization letter?”

“I object to ‘fake.’”

Paula touched Fiona’s arm.

Darcy continued.

“Did you wear Sloan’s engagement ring during a remote verification recording?”

Fiona’s face changed.

“No.”

Darcy showed the still image.

Cream sleeve.

Sloan’s ring.

“Is that your hand?”

“No.”

“Is that Sloan?”

Fiona looked at the image.

“No.”

“Then who?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did Sloan lend you her ring eight months earlier?”

Fiona’s mouth tightened.

“For resizing.”

“Did you return it?”

“Yes.”

“Did you make a replica?”

“No.”

Darcy switched documents.

“Did you send Thomas Mercer a document claiming Sloan knew about Julian’s guaranty before marriage?”

“Yes.”

“Where is the original?”

“In storage.”

“Which storage facility?”

Fiona hesitated.

“I don’t remember.”

“Unit number?”

“I don’t remember.”

Darcy slid the examiner’s report forward.

“The PDF was digitally assembled three days before you sent it. Sloan’s initials were imported from another source.”

Fiona stared.

“That is ridiculous.”

“Do you have an original to prove otherwise?”

“I said it is in storage.”

“Where?”

“I don’t remember.”

Darcy leaned back.

“Did you write this note before the wedding?”

She placed the rehearsal folder note on the table.

Julian - make sure Sloan initials all yellow tabs. Keep copies. We may need them later for family financial paperwork.

Fiona read it.

“I don’t recall.”

“Is that your handwriting?”

“It resembles mine.”

“Why did you want copies of Sloan’s initials?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Did you intend to reuse them?”

“No.”

“Then why did you say you might need them later?”

“I don’t remember.”

Darcy’s voice became softer.

“Mrs. Mercer, what did you mean when you told Julian, ‘Once Hale funds, Crestline gets paid, you are clear, and we clean up the title later’?”

Fiona’s face emptied.

Paula immediately spoke.

“My client invokes her Fifth Amendment privilege.”

Darcy nodded.

“Did you say it?”

“She invokes.”

“Did you know Naomi Reeves was nearby?”

“She invokes.”

“Did you know Sloan had not signed the deed?”

“She invokes.”

“Did you participate in copying Sloan’s signature or initials?”

“She invokes.”

“Did you instruct Julian to keep Sloan occupied in the kitchen during Victor Hale’s visit?”

“She invokes.”

Sloan looked at Fiona.

For years, Fiona had always had an answer.

An opinion.

A correction.

A demand.

Now silence was the only safe thing left.

The deposition ended.

Outside, Fiona ignored Sloan completely.

Paula guided her toward the elevator.

Then Fiona stopped and turned.

Her attorney whispered, “Don’t.”

Fiona looked directly at Sloan.

“You destroyed my son.”

Sloan answered calmly.

“No.”

Fiona’s eyes flashed.

“You took his home.”

“It was mine.”

“You froze his money.”

“The judge did.”

“You turned the police against him.”

“His devices did.”

Fiona took one step forward.

Paula caught her arm.

Sloan continued.

“Do you know what I finally understand?”

Fiona stared.

“You always needed me to be the cruel one.”

Fiona’s face changed.

“So you could call taking from me family. You could call control sacrifice. You could call fraud help. And the moment I said no, you could point at me and say I was tearing everyone apart.”

Fiona whispered, “You are.”

Sloan shook her head.

“The family you’re mourning required me to lose.”

Paula pulled Fiona toward the elevator.

The doors closed.

Darcy exhaled.

“That was more conversation than I recommend.”

“I know.”

“But?”

“But I’m not sorry.”

Darcy almost smiled.

Later that evening, Detective Bell called.

The state’s attorney had approved charges for presentation to a grand jury.

Bell would not discuss every count.

He said only, “The case involves the deed, identity materials, computer access, and loan application.”

Sloan sat quietly.

“Both of them?”

“I’m not discussing charging decisions before they are filed.”

“Understood.”

Bell added, “There is one thing you should prepare for.”

“What?”

“If charges are filed, Julian may blame Fiona.”

Sloan looked at Darcy.

“And Fiona may blame Julian,” Bell continued.

“Which one is telling the truth?”

“Possibly both. People can act together and still disagree about who started it.”

After the call, Sloan looked at the evidence wall Maya had built.

Two people.

One debt.

One trust.

One condo.

A fake email.

A stolen notary stamp.

A keylogger.

A forged deed.

A birthday feast.

The story no longer depended on finding a single mastermind.

Julian did not need to be Fiona’s puppet.

Fiona did not need to be Julian’s excuse.

They had made choices together.

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Tomorrow, the court would begin deciding the consequences.

For Sloan, that was enough.