Chapter 4 - The Deposition
Friday morning arrived with a clear, icy sky over downtown Asheville.
The deposition room at the county courthouse was stark, sterile, and lit by buzzing overhead fluorescent tubes. A court reporter sat at the end of the long wooden table, her fingers poised over her stenography machine.
I sat on the right side of the table, flanked by Kenneth Boyd and his lead forensic associate.
Across from us sat Connor, his criminal defense lawyer, Arthur Pendelton, and Melinda, who was sitting as far away from Connor as the table physically allowed. She wore no makeup, her eyes were dark and hollow, and she wore a plain gray sweater that hung loosely off her thin frame.
"We are on the record," the court reporter announced quietly. "Deposition of Connor James Fleming in the matter of Sinclair v. Fleming, Case No. 2026-CV-0892."
Kenneth Boyd leaned forward, resting his hands on his legal pads.
"Mr. Fleming," Kenneth began, his voice calm and lethal. "Under oath, did you state during your divorce proceedings on October 14th of last year that you had no secret bank accounts, shell corporations, or undisclosed assets?"
Connor looked at his lawyer, Pendelton, who gave a slow, somber nod.
"Yes," Connor mumbled.
"Speak up for the record, please," Kenneth requested politely.
"Yes!" Connor snapped. "I said yes!"
"Thank you. I show you Plaintiff’s Exhibit C," Kenneth said, sliding a bank statement across the table. "This is an account statement from First Caribbean International Bank, registered to M&C Heritage Holdings. The balance as of September 30th of last year—two weeks before your divorce affidavit—was six million, two hundred thousand dollars. Did you disclose this account?"
"No," Connor muttered.
"Why not?"
"Because..." Connor swallowed hard, glancing nervously at me. I sat watching him, my face an impassive mask of professional calm. "Because I earned that money through my software development. Kirsten didn't help me build Fleming Dynamics."
"Is that so?" Kenneth pulled another document. "Plaintiff’s Exhibit D. This is a copy of a personal guarantee loan agreement signed by Dr. Kirsten Sinclair in the amount of one million, five hundred thousand dollars, secured by her personal inheritance from her late mother’s estate. Was this loan used to fund the initial research and development of Fleming Dynamics?"
Connor's mouth opened, but no sound came out.
"Answer the question, Mr. Fleming," the court reporter prompted gently.
"Yes," Connor whispered, his shoulders slumping forward in total defeat. "Yes... she signed the guarantee."
"And did she pay off that loan using her personal salary as a pediatric oncologist over the past four years?"
"Yes."
Kenneth turned a page in his binder. "So, to summarize: Dr. Sinclair funded your company, paid off your corporate debt with her salary, and pledged her family inheritance to keep your business solvent. Meanwhile, you were transferring the profits and intellectual property of that company into a secret offshore account for Ms. Vance and her child?"
Arthur Pendelton raised a hand. "Objection as to the form of the question—argumentative."
"He doesn't have to answer the commentary, Kenneth," Pendelton added, looking weary and utterly defeated himself. "We know where this is going."
Pendelton leaned over to Connor, whispering urgently in his ear for nearly two minutes. Connor’s expression shifted from anger to disbelief, then finally to complete, crushing desperation. He shook his head violently, but Pendelton grabbed his forearm, speaking to him with sharp, severe intensity.
Finally, Pendelton straightened up and looked across the table at Kenneth and me.
"Mr. Boyd," Pendelton said quietly. "My client wishes to inquire if the Plaintiff is open to discussing a global settlement agreement to resolve all civil and personal property claims today."
Kenneth looked at me.
I leaned forward, clasping my hands together on the polished wooden table.
"I am listening, Mr. Pendelton," I said, my voice cutting through the quiet room like a bell.
Connor looked up at me, his eyes filled with tears, all his pride and arrogance completely evaporated.
"Kirsten... please," Connor choked out, his voice trembling uncontrollably. "I'll give you everything. I'll sign over the house in Biltmore Forest. I'll transfer one hundred percent of Fleming Dynamics to you. I'll resign as CEO today. Just... please don't push the district attorney for prison time. I have a son. He needs a father."
I looked at Connor for a long, quiet moment.
I remembered the nights I had spent crying on the floor of our closet, holding negative pregnancy tests, while he sat downstairs pretending to work, secretly texting my best friend. I remembered the way he had stood in my hospital corridor three days ago, using a child as a weapon to mock my pain in front of my colleagues.
"Your son deserves a father, Connor," I said softy, every word laced with unyielding truth. "But he deserves an honest one. Not a man who steals from his wife, robs a pediatric hospital charity, and uses innocent people to build a fortress of lies."
I stood up from the table, pulling my blazer closed.
"Kenneth will handle the terms of the financial surrender," I continued, looking down at Connor and Melinda. "As for the criminal charges filed by the hospital board and the state prosecutor... I have no control over those. Justice belongs to the law, not to me."
I turned toward the door, taking two steps before pausing and looking back over my shoulder at Melinda, who was staring at me with a hollow, terrified gaze.
May you like
"You took my husband, Melinda," I said gently. "You took my money, my trust, and my friendship. But you didn't break me. You just freed me from a parasite."
I walked out of the deposition room, the door clicking softly shut behind me, leaving them sitting in the cold, gray light of their own undoing.
