Chapter 4 - The Deposition
The deposition took place on the 24th floor of a glass skyscraper overlooking Michigan Avenue.
The conference room was blindingly bright, dominated by a long polished mahogany table, leather chairs, and a certified court reporter sitting at the end with her stenography machine.
I arrived early with Evelyn Reed. I wore a tailored dark navy suit, a crisp white shirt, and a dark tie. My hair was neatly trimmed. I looked like what I was: a successful, composed corporate executive who operated in facts, figures, and reality.
At 9:55 AM, the door opened, and my family walked in.
Mandy came first, wearing a cheap business outfit she had clearly bought for the occasion. Her hair was pulled back, and she was clutching a designer handbag—one I remembered paying for two Christmases ago. Behind her was our mother, looking pale, nervous, and angry, followed by their attorney, Gary Vance.
Gary Vance looked rattled. His suit was slightly rumpled, and he was carrying an armful of messy, unorganized folders. He had clearly realized over the last forty-eight hours that he was no longer dealing with a bitter family dispute—he was facing Evelyn Reed and a mountain of rock-solid financial evidence.
Mandy looked at me as she sat across the table. She tried to glare, tried to project the same dismissive contempt she had used at the birthday party.
"Jake," my mother snapped softly, leaning across the table before the recording began. "How could you do this to your sister? Serving papers at our house in front of the neighbors? Have you lost your mind?"
"Quiet, Mrs. Mercer," Evelyn Reed commanded instantly, her voice slicing through the air like a razor. "You are on the record in three minutes. Save your emotional appeals for someone who cares. Today, we discuss the law."
My mother flushed bright red, shocked that someone had spoken to her with such absolute authority. She looked to Gary Vance for help, but Vance was sweating, furiously flipping through his papers.
"This deposition of Amanda Mercer is now on the record," the court reporter announced smoothly.
Evelyn didn't waste a second. She didn't raise her voice. She didn't show emotion. She simply opened a thick black binder and looked at my sister.
"Ms. Mercer, state your full legal name for the record," Evelyn began.
"Amanda Lynn Mercer," Mandy muttered.
"Ms. Mercer, in paragraph 14 of your complaint, you state under oath that my client, Jacob Mercer, entered into an explicit oral contract to cover your monthly living expenses, including your vehicle lease, cell phone service, and household utilities. Is that correct?"
"Yes," Mandy said, leaning forward proudly. "He promised when I moved home after my divorce that he would take care of us. He said he had plenty of money and wanted to help family."
"I see," Evelyn said smoothly. She pulled a piece of paper from the binder. "I am handing you Exhibit C. This is a text message exchange between you and Jacob Mercer dated August 14th of last year. Can you read line four out loud for the court?"
Mandy looked at the paper. Her eyes flickered. She hesitated.
"Read it, Ms. Mercer," Evelyn pressed coldly.
Mandy swallowed hard. "'Jake, can you please lend me $300 for the electric bill? I promise I’ll pay you back as soon as my child support check comes in next week.'"
"Thank you," Evelyn said. "Now, Ms. Mercer, if my client was under a legal obligation through an explicit oral contract to pay your utilities, why were you asking him for a loan and promising to pay him back?"
Mandy’s face turned sallow. "I... well, that was just how I phrased it."
"You phrased a binding contract as a desperate request for a temporary loan?" Evelyn asked, raising an eyebrow. "Let's move to Exhibit D."
For the next two hours, Evelyn systematically dismantled my sister piece by piece.
Every single claim Mandy had made in her lawsuit was countered with her own text messages, where she repeatedly begged for "favors," promised to "pay him back," or thanked me for "saving her life again."
Evelyn produced the cell phone contract. She proved that the line had been opened under my name, that I paid every bill, and that Mandy had never contributed a single cent.
Then came the hammer.
Evelyn pulled out a thick blue folder.
"Ms. Mercer, I direct your attention to Exhibit R. This is an application for a personal credit line worth $30,000 with Chase Bank, executed on November 12th, 2021."
Gary Vance sat up straight. "Objection—this is outside the scope of the civil complaint!"
"It goes directly to my client's counterclaim for fraud and identity theft, Mr. Vance," Evelyn countered without looking at him. "Ms. Mercer, is that your handwriting on the co-applicant signature line?"
Mandy looked at the paper. Her hands began to visibly shake. "I... I don't remember this."
"Let me refresh your memory," Evelyn said, leaning across the table. "The IP address used to complete this digital application matches the Wi-Fi router at your parents' home—a router paid for by Jacob Mercer. The verification email was sent to a private Gmail account registered under your name. And the $30,000 drawdown was deposited directly into an account you control."
My mother gasped, turning to look at Mandy. "Mandy? What is she talking about?"
"Mom, shut up!" Mandy snapped, her composure completely cracking.
"Did Jacob Mercer ever sign this document, Ms. Mercer?" Evelyn asked, her voice dropping into a terrifyingly quiet register. "Did he give you permission to use his Social Security number to obtain a $30,000 credit line?"
Mandy stared at the paper. Tears of panic began to fill her eyes. She looked at her attorney, but Gary Vance was staring at the floor, realizing his client had committed outright felony identity theft and brought him along for the ride.
"I... I was going to pay it back!" Mandy sobbed, burying her face in her hands. "He has so much money! He makes six figures! He didn't even notice the payments! Why does he get to have everything while I have nothing?!"
The room went dead silent.
The only sound was the clicking of the stenographer's keys, recording my sister's full confession into the permanent legal record.
I sat across the table, watching her weep. I felt no anger. I felt no joy. I only felt a deep, profound sense of liberation.
May you like
Evelyn closed her binder with a crisp, final thud.
"We are done here today," Evelyn said calmly. "Mr. Vance, I suggest you take your client into the hallway and explain to her the criminal ramifications of perjury and bank fraud. My client will see you in court."
