Chapter 3 - The Deposition
The boardroom on the forty-second floor of the Dirksen Federal Building felt less like a room and more like a high-tech execution chamber.
Floor-to-ceiling glass windows offered a panoramic view of Lake Michigan, covered under a dark blanket of grey storm clouds. A long, polished oval conference table sat in the center of the room, flanked by eight high-backed leather chairs.
I sat on the right side of the table, wearing a tailored navy wool dress that Mrs. Gable had provided for me that morning, paired with a delicate pearl necklace. My hair was styled in a sleek, elegant bun, and my makeup was understated, polished, and professional.
Beside me sat Alexander, wearing a bespoke charcoal three-piece suit that made him look like a billionaire monarch ready to sign a war decree.
Across the table sat Arthur Vance.
The boys' grandfather was a man in his late seventies, with sharp, icy blue eyes, silver hair combed slickly back, and a face lined with decades of ruthless corporate warfare. He wore a heavy tweed suit and held a silver-topped walking cane between his knees.
Beside Arthur sat his lead attorney, Richard Vance—a slick, sharp-faced man with a predatory smile.
"This is a farce, Alexander," Arthur Vance spoke up, his voice gravelly and dripping with contempt as he glared across the table at me. "You expect a federal magistrate to believe that this... this line cook from Pilsen has been living in your estate as your fiancée for six months?"
Alexander didn't even look at Arthur. He sat back in his chair, calmly adjusting his silver cuff links.
"My personal life is not open for public debate, Arthur," Alexander said smoothly. "You filed an emergency custody petition claiming my household lacked a stable maternal environment for my sons. Here is Miss Claire Bennett. She resides at the estate. She manages the boys' daily schedules, their nutrition, and their domestic environment."
Richard Vance, the lawyer, opened a heavy black briefcase and pulled out a stack of high-resolution glossy photographs. He slid them across the table toward us.
They were the photos taken outside Rose & Finch Tea House yesterday afternoon.
"Yesterday at 2:15 PM," Richard Vance said, a triumphant grin stretching across his narrow face. "Our investigator captured these images of Miss Bennett at a public tea house. My client’s surveillance team watched her interact with the quadruplets for twenty minutes. Our witnesses state that the children approached her as a complete stranger and asked her to pretend to be their mother."
My heart hammered against my ribs. My palms felt icy cold beneath the polished conference table.
Alexander didn't flinch. He didn't even glance at the photos.
"Your investigator is incompetent, Richard," Alexander said flatly.
"Incompetent?" Richard laughed dryly. "The photos clearly show—"
"The photos clearly show my boys engaging in a roleplay game that Claire invented to keep them entertained while waiting for their private transport," Alexander interrupted, his voice dropping into that chilling, unshakeable tone. "My sons are seven years old. They enjoy imaginative games in public places. Miss Bennett took them out for an afternoon snack while I was finalizing the acquisition of The Grand Luxe Hotel."
Richard Vance sneered, turning his sharp gaze directly onto me.
"Is that so, Miss Bennett?" he asked, leaning across the table. "You expect us to believe you were playing a game? Tell me... where did you and Alexander meet?"
I locked my eyes onto the lawyer's face, channeling every ounce of calm I had used during my five years of working in high-pressure kitchens.
"We met two years ago," I said, my voice clear and steady. "At a private culinary tasting event hosted at The Grand Luxe Hotel. Alexander was reviewing the property's catering operations. I was preparing the dessert course—a dark chocolate dome with gold leaf."
Arthur Vance’s eyebrows twitched slightly.
"And when did you move into the Gold Coast estate?" Richard pressed, his eyes narrowing.
"Six months ago," I replied smoothly. "On the fourteenth of September. I occupy the east wing master suite with Alexander. I oversee the boys' morning routines, I prepare their meals when the kitchen staff is off, and I read to Lucas before he goes to sleep every night at 8:30 PM."
"Lies!" Arthur Vance slammed his silver-topped cane against the hardwood floor with a loud BANG. "She's a hired actress! Look at her! She was working a line cook shift eighteen hours ago!"
"She was managing the pastry kitchen of a hotel I purchased, Arthur," Alexander corrected him coldly. "A hotel she now oversees as Executive Culinary Director."
Richard Vance pulled another document from his briefcase—a financial printout.
"Three hours ago," the lawyer said smugly, "an wire transfer of $84,000 cleared the medical accounts of a Mrs. Martha Bennett at Chicago General Hospital. The originating account belongs to Sterling Holdings. If Miss Bennett is your genuine live-in fiancée, why did you only pay off her mother's medical debt three hours ago?"
The room fell dead silent.
I felt a cold sweat break out along the back of my neck. They had pulled my mother's hospital records within hours.
Arthur Vance leaned forward, a triumphant, cruel smile twisting his wrinkled face. "She's a mercenary, Alexander. You bought her to fool the court. And under Illinois family law, submitting fraudulent testimony during a custody proceeding is a felony."
I looked at Alexander. His face was entirely unreadable, carved from marble.
I knew that if I hesitated for even two seconds, the lie would collapse. The boys would be handed over to that bitter, cruel old man. My mother’s medical bills would be reinstated. My sister’s tuition would be canceled.
Something inside me snapped. A quiet, fierce flame ignited in my chest.
I leaned across the table, grabbing the stack of surveillance photos, and threw them right back into Richard Vance’s chest.
"How dare you?" I said, my voice dripping with pure, unadulterated anger.
Richard blinked, startled by my sudden outburst. "What?"
"How dare you send armed men with long-lens cameras to stalk seven-year-old children through the window of a tea shop?!" I stood up from my chair, towering over the two men across the table. "You claim you care about Noah, Eli, Theo, and Lucas?! You don't even know them! You don't know that Lucas sleeps with a blue nightlight because he's afraid of the dark! You don't know that Theo puts four sugar packets in his tea when nobody is looking! You don't know that Noah stands between his brothers and strangers every single time a door opens!"
Arthur Vance sat back, stunned into silence by my fury.
"Alexander paid off my mother's medical bills because he is my partner," I spat, my eyes burning into Arthur's. "And unlike you, he doesn't let the people he loves suffer under debt while sitting on billions of dollars! You aren't doing this to protect those boys, Mr. Vance. You're doing this because you're a lonely, bitter old man who couldn't control his daughter, and now you want to control her children!"
The silence in the boardroom was absolute.
Richard Vance’s mouth was slightly open. Arthur Vance stared at me, his face turning an angry, blotchy red.
Beside me, Alexander slowly stood up. He reached out, his long fingers gently wrapping around my hand, pulling me back slightly. His touch was warm, solid, and surprisingly reassuring.
"The petition is dismissed, Arthur," Alexander said quietly, pulling a sealed blue envelope from his jacket and tossing it onto the table. "That is an order from Federal Magistrate Reynolds, issued thirty minutes ago upon review of our verified cohabitation records, digital footprint, and joint asset filings. If your surveillance teams step within five hundred yards of my sons or my fiancée ever again, I will have them arrested for federal stalking."
Alexander turned to me, his dark eyes shining with something intense and unreadable.
May you like
"Let's go home, Claire," he whispered.
He didn't let go of my hand. He linked his fingers through mine, holding tight as he led me out of the boardroom, down the long corridor, and past Arthur Vance's frozen legal team.
