Chapter 4 - The Deposition and The Arrest
Arthur’s world collapsed exactly one week later, on a Tuesday afternoon.
We were scheduled for our first official divorce deposition in Victoria’s high-rise office. Arthur strutted into the conference room wearing a tailored suit—undoubtedly bought with my money—flanked by a discount lawyer he had found on a billboard.
He looked smug. Confident. He thought this was going to be a simple negotiation where he would bully me into giving him half the house and a hefty alimony check.
He didn't look at my face. He didn't look at the burn scars still healing on my jawline. He simply smirked and sat down.
"Let's make this quick," Arthur’s lawyer said, tossing a sloppy stack of papers onto the table. "My client is entitled to fifty percent of the marital assets, including the residence, the joint savings, and spousal support, as your client has been the primary breadwinner through her freelance work."
Victoria didn't even blink. She slowly opened her pristine leather briefcase and withdrew a single, thick stack of documents, sliding them across the table.
"Your client," Victoria said, her voice dropping to a terrifyingly calm register, "is entitled to absolutely nothing. In fact, your client is currently in debt to my client for the sum of $150,000, which he embezzled and committed wire fraud to conceal."
Arthur’s smirk vanished instantly. "That’s a lie! That was marital money! I had every right to move it!"
"The funds were traced directly to an inheritance account explicitly protected under a prenuptial agreement you signed eight years ago," Victoria countered seamlessly. "An agreement you clearly didn't read closely. Furthermore, my client is the sole owner and majority shareholder of Caldwell & Sterling Financial. She is not a freelance graphic designer. She is a multi-millionaire CEO. And you, Arthur, are a thief."
Arthur turned completely pale. He stared at me, his eyes wide with a mixture of horror and disbelief.
"You... you own a financial firm?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "That’s impossible. You work from a laptop in the living room."
"I run a private lending empire from my laptop in my living room," I corrected him, my voice devoid of any emotion. "And I have watched you steal from me for six months."
Arthur’s lawyer looked at the bank traces, his face draining of color as he realized he was representing a man guilty of federal financial crimes. "Arthur," the lawyer muttered, "you told me she had a small savings account..."
"Before we discuss the civil lawsuit for the stolen funds," Victoria interrupted, checking her silver wristwatch, "I believe we have a more pressing matter."
Right on cue, the heavy oak doors of the conference room swung open.
Two uniformed police officers stepped into the room.
"Arthur Vance?" the lead officer asked.
Arthur stood up, his chair scraping violently against the floor. "Yes? What is this?"
"You are under arrest for felony domestic assault causing grievous bodily harm," the officer stated, pulling a pair of metal handcuffs from his belt. "Turn around and place your hands behind your back."
"Assault?!" Arthur screamed, panicking as the officer grabbed his arms. "I didn't assault anyone! It was an accident! I just spilled some coffee!"
"The medical reports, the photographic evidence of second-degree burns, and the documented police report filed the day of the incident suggest otherwise," Victoria noted dryly.
As the cold steel cuffs clicked around Arthur’s wrists, he locked eyes with me. For the first time in eight years, the arrogance was entirely gone. He looked small, terrified, and utterly powerless.
"Elena, please!" he begged, tears welling in his eyes as the officers dragged him toward the door. "Tell them it was an accident! Please!"
I sat perfectly still, folding my hands on the table.
May you like
"I told you," I said softly, just loud enough for him to hear. "The trip to the hospital gave me a lot of time to think."
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