Chapter 4 - The Deposition of Lies
Two weeks later, the physical rehabilitation wing of the hospital smelled of rubbing alcohol, fresh paint, and sweat.
I stood between two long parallel bars, my knuckles white as I gripped the smooth metal railings. My legs trembled under my weight, the lumbar brace holding my spine rigid, but my feet—both of them—were planted firmly on the rubber floor mat.
"Slow steps, Claire," the physical therapist, Sarah, encouraged gently. "Shift your weight to the right, then lift the left heel. You're doing great."
I took a breath, gritted my teeth against the dull ache in my lower back, and moved my left foot forward three inches.
One step.
Two steps.
"That's it!" Sarah smiled. "That's five feet further than yesterday!"
In the doorway of the rehab room, my father stood watching. He was holding two cups of takeout coffee, tears glistening in his eyes as he watched me walk. When our eyes met, he gave me a proud, emotional nod.
At 2:00 PM that afternoon, we moved to a private conference room on the legal floor of the hospital.
Because I was still unable to sit in a standard vehicle for long periods, the prosecutor, Assistant District Attorney Marcus Vance, had arranged for Madison's preliminary bail hearing and deposition to take place via a secure video link in the hospital's legal annex.
My father sat on my left. My attorney, Arthur Pendelton, sat on my right.
The large video monitor on the wall flickered to life, showing a stark, sterile room at the Franklin County Judicial Center.
Sitting at the defense table was Madison.
She no longer looked like the polished, glowing influencer who had hosted a luxury engagement party fortnight ago. She wore an orange county jail jumpsuit. Her hair was pulled back into a messy, unwashed ponytail, her makeup was gone, and her eyes were red and swollen from days of crying.
Beside her sat a high-priced criminal defense lawyer, Richard Hayes, whom my mother had secretly hired using her personal savings account.
When Madison saw my face appear on the video screen, she burst into dramatic, loud sobs.
"Claire!" Madison wailed, pressing her hands against the screen. "Claire, oh my God! Look what they're doing to me! Please tell them to let me go! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you! It was just a stupid joke!"
I sat entirely still, watching her performance with a calm, unyielding clarity.
"Miss Vance," ADA Marcus Vance spoke firmly, leaning toward his microphone. "This deposition is being recorded for the grand jury record. Please refrain from emotional outbursts."
Madison's lawyer, Richard Hayes, cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. "Your Honor... ADA Vance... my client is a distraught twenty-three-year-old girl with no prior criminal record. This was a tragic domestic accident—a lapse in judgment during a festive celebration. We are requesting an immediate reduction in bail and the dismissal of the felony assault charges in favor of a misdemeanor probation agreement."
"A tragic accident, Mr. Hayes?" Arthur Pendelton, my civil attorney, interjected smoothly, pulling a stack of certified documents from his briefcase.
Arthur tapped a key on his laptop, projecting a series of documents onto the shared screen.
"On May 14th," Arthur stated into the record, "three weeks before the engagement party, Miss Madison Vance opened a supplemental personal liability insurance policy under her household account, specifically listing her sister, Claire Vance, as an covered party under 'accidental injury premises liability.'"
I turned my head sharply to look at Arthur. "What?"
Arthur looked at me, his face grave. "Two days before the fall, Madison contacted the insurance provider to inquire whether a slip-and-fall injury occurring on private residential property during a filmed commercial broadcast would trigger a payout under the liability rider."
The conference room went dead, suffocatingly silent.
On the video screen, Madison's defense lawyer went completely pale. He turned his head slowly to look at his client. "Madison... what is he talking about?"
Madison's jaw worked frantically. "I... I was just setting up a safety policy for my content creation business! Influencers do that all the time! I didn't know she was going to fall!"
"You didn't know she was going to fall?" ADA Vance asked, his voice dropping into a lethal, quiet register. "Miss Vance, we have retrieved the deleted video file from your phone's cloud storage. The file you recorded forty-five seconds before your sister entered the patio."
The prosecutor pressed play on his tablet.
Madison's voice echoed through the conference room speakers, crisp, loud, and chillingly clear:
“Okay guys, Claire is about to walk out the back door. The oil is right on the step. If she falls right, this is easily going to hit two million views on Reels, and the insurance claim will cover the rest of the wedding venue deposit. Watch this!”
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The recording cut off just as the sound of my foot slipping and my spine snapping echoed across the audio track.
On the video screen, Madison buried her face in her orange-clad arms and began to scream hysterically. Her lawyer simply closed his laptop, slid his chair back, and looked at the ceiling, realizing that no legal defense on earth could save his client from what she had done.
