Chapter 7 - The Deposition
The central conference room on the twentieth floor of the State Supreme Court Building offered a panoramic view of the city skyline.
Inside, the long glass table was lined with attorneys. On one side sat the District Attorney, three senior state prosecutors, Detective Marcus Vance, and myself.
On the other side sat Juliette Mercer.
She was dressed in a dull gray prison jumpsuit, her wrists cuffed and chained to a heavy leather belt around her waist. She had no expensive makeup, no tailored silk, no diamond bracelets. Her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, and dark, hollow circles framed her eyes. Sitting beside her was a young, visibly nervous court-appointed public defender holding a single thin manila folder.
A high-definition video camera on a tripod sat at the end of the table, its red recording light glowing steadily.
"This is the official deposition of Juliette Mercer," the prosecutor announced clearly for the recording. "Case number 2026-CR-8891. State of New York versus Juliette Mercer. Charges include attempted murder in the first degree, kidnapping, grand larceny, and corporate fraud."
The prosecutor looked at Juliette. "Miss Mercer, before we begin, your legal counsel has indicated you wish to make a statement regarding the events of October 14th, 2022."
Juliette didn't look at the prosecutor. She stared across the table at me. Her eyes were red, filled with a terrifying mix of exhaustion, hatred, and unravelling sanity.
"She took everything from me," Juliette spoke, her voice raspy and dry.
"Miss Mercer," her public defender warned softly, touching her arm. "Please, stick to the prepared statement—"
"Shut up!" Juliette spat, jerking her arm away from the defender, her chains rattling loudly against the glass table. She glared at me, her chest heaving. "She took everything! From the moment she was born, our father looked at her like she was made of glass and gold! 'Caroline is the smart one. Caroline will inherit the logistics division. Caroline is our mother's true legacy!'"
I sat entirely still, my hands folded gracefully on the table, watching my sister break apart.
"I worked twice as hard!" Juliette screamed, her voice cracking as tears spilled down her pale cheeks. "I spent ten years building corporate relationships! I brought the Sterling family to the table! And what did Dad do?! He planned to give fifty-one percent of the voting shares to her on her twenty-fifth birthday!"
"So you bought a body from a morgue," I said softly, my raspy voice cutting through her hysterical screaming with absolute precision. "You hired a disgraced security team to lock my bedroom door from the outside. You opened the gas line, lit a match, and watched our family home burn."
"You were supposed to die!" Juliette wept, slamming her chained fists against the glass table. "It was so simple! You die, I save the company, I marry Julian, and everyone lives happily ever after! Why couldn't you just die?!"
The room went completely silent.
The court reporter’s fingers froze over her machine. The state prosecutors exchanged slow, incredulous glances. Her public defender dropped his pen, staring at his client in absolute horror.
She had just confessed to attempted premeditated murder on live, certified court video.
I leaned forward, looking into her bloodshot eyes.
"Julian Sterling handed over your private text messages two days ago, Juliette," I said smoothly. "The State Attorney has your wire transfer logs. The director of St. Jude’s signed a full confession this morning. And five minutes ago, your own mouth gave the grand jury everything else they needed."
Juliette froze. The realization of what she had just done slowly crept over her face. She looked down at the glowing red light of the video camera at the end of the table.
"You... you set me up," she whispered.
"No, Juliette," I said, standing up from my chair, my navy blazer fitting impeccably, my scars shining proudly under the fluorescent lights. "You set yourself up the day you assumed pain would make me weak."
I looked at the state prosecutor. "I believe we’re finished here, Director."
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"We are, Miss Mercer," the prosecutor said, standing up and closing his laptop. "Guards, escort the defendant back to the holding cell."
As the two uniformed officers stepped forward and grabbed Juliette’s arms, she didn't scream or fight this time. She let them pull her out of her chair, her eyes fixed on me in terror, realizing that the sister she had tried to bury had become a force she could never hope to control.
