Chapter 18 - Connor’s Second Deposition
Connor was thinner at the second deposition.
Prison had not humbled him.
It had reduced his tailoring options.
He sat across from Leanne, me, Aaron, and three attorneys representing affected legacy clients.
His own lawyer looked tired before anyone asked a question.
Connor glanced at me once.
Not long.
Long enough to see whether I still cared about his face.
I didn’t.
That was new.
Once, every expression he made had been a weather system in my body.
Warm smile.
Room cleared.
Cold jaw.
Chest tightened.
Mocking laugh.
Stomach dropped.
Now he was simply a man with a transcript waiting.
Leanne began with Elaine Porter.
Connor claimed limited knowledge.
Then partial knowledge.
Then inherited knowledge.
Then no operational authority.
Leanne let him stack the evasions.
That was one of her gifts.
She built ladders and waited for people to climb high enough that falling became educational.
She placed one email on the table.
Connor to Brenda.
Subject: Porter Cleanup
Mother, the old file creates exposure if Reed remembers the hearing. We need to keep this out of any Adler review. If Jess keeps pulling threads, the legacy mess comes up.
Connor stared at the page.
His lawyer closed his eyes.
Leanne waited.
Finally Connor said, “That was taken out of context.”
Leanne smiled.
“Wonderful. Please provide the context in which hiding financial exploitation of an elderly widow is appropriate.”
Aaron looked down.
Not fast enough.
I saw him smile.
Connor’s face reddened.
“I was trying to protect the firm from reputational harm.”
“By concealing misconduct?”
“By managing historical allegations.”
“Historical allegations supported by account numbers, hidden fees, and client objections?”
“I was not responsible for what my father did.”
Leanne leaned forward.
“No one asked whether you created the original theft. We asked whether you helped preserve its benefits.”
Connor said nothing.
That silence was the first honest thing he had contributed.
Then his eyes moved to me.
“You always wanted a crusade.”
There he was.
Not the managing partner.
Not the husband.
The boy Brenda had trained to believe any woman refusing his version of reality was performing ambition.
I looked back at him.
“No. I wanted accurate statements.”
He laughed softly.
“You think you’re so clean.”
“No,” I said. “I think I made copies.”
Leanne placed another email down.
Then another.
Connor’s father.
Brenda.
Grant Porter.
Harbor Civic Consulting.
The old machine assembled itself on paper.
One cog at a time.
By the end of the deposition, Connor had stopped looking at me.
Good.
I was no longer his audience.
On the way out, his lawyer paused beside Leanne.
“You’re enjoying this.”
Leanne looked at him.
“No. I’m billing for it.”
I laughed so hard in the elevator that Aaron asked if I needed water.
Maybe I did.
But laughing felt better.
Not because the case was funny.
May you like
Because Connor’s power had shrunk into paper.
And paper, finally, was where I knew how to fight.
