Chapter 17 - The Deposition
The library of Eleanor Sterling’s mansion in the Columbus suburbs smelled of lemon oil, old money, and desperation. The walls were lined with leather-bound books nobody had ever read, and a massive mahogany conference table dominated the center of the room.
Eleanor sat at the head of the table, flanked by Marcus VanderBerg and a corporate attorney whose collar was far too tight for his thick neck.
"This is an outrage," Eleanor began before we had even pulled our chairs out. "Bringing personal squabbles into my home with fabricated allegations of fraud."
"Shut up, Eleanor," Dad said. He didn't sit down. He stood at the edge of the Persian rug, his hands clasped behind his back, looking like a monument carved out of gray granite. "The grownups are talking now."
Marcus adjusted his silk pocket square, though his fingers were visibly twitching. "Arthur, let’s be reasonable. There were misunderstandings regarding the promotional packaging. We can write off the cancellation fees as an administrative loss if Emily agrees to sign a nondisclosure agreement regarding the media rights."
I stepped forward, tossing a heavy binder onto the polished mahogany. It slammed down with the force of a hammer strike, leaving a faint scratch on the lacquer.
"There will be no nondisclosure agreement, Marcus," I said. "Inside that folder are the original time-stamped schedules you sent to my phone, compared against the ones you filed with the production company. You altered the event program after Dad signed the master contract. You forged my initials on the release for the syndicated broadcast."
The corporate attorney flipped the binder open, skimmed the first two pages, and immediately closed it. He leaned toward Marcus and whispered something harsh and hurried into his ear. Marcus’s face turned an ugly, mottled gray.
"And as for the timber rights," Paige said, stepping up beside me, her voice ringing clear in the cavernous room. "I have already executed my revocation of the easement agreement. The black walnut stays with the farm. If Carter’s name appears on any document regarding this estate without my signature, I will personally file an ethics complaint with the state bar against your firm, Eleanor."
Eleanor rose from her chair, her eyes blazing with cold venom. "You ungrateful little Midwestern parvenu. I gave you a name. I gave you entry into the only circles that matter in this state."
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"You gave me a mountain of debt and taught me to hate my own sister," Paige said, not backing down an inch. "Keep your circles, Eleanor. We’re keeping the farm."
***
