Chapter 4 - The Deposition of Warren Baker
Three weeks later.
The deposition took place in the grand conference room of Pendelton’s law firm on the twelfth floor of the First National Bank building.
Sitting on one side of the long mahogany table was Warren, wearing a tailored charcoal suit, flanked by Arthur Pendelton and two junior associates. He looked older than he had at Mabel’s birthday party, the deep lines around his mouth tight with anger.
Sitting across from him was me. Beside me sat Daniel, who had taken two weeks of emergency leave from Baker Landworks.
The court reporter adjusted her stenotype machine. "We are on the record in the matter of Baker Landworks v. Rosalie Baker."
Pendelton offered a tight, condescending smile. "Mrs. Baker, before we begin, my client is prepared to offer a full walk-away settlement. We will dismiss our complaint, and in exchange, you agree to execute a mutual release of all claims."
"No," I said smoothly. "We are proceeding with the deposition."
Pendelton frowned. "Very well. Mr. Baker is ready."
I adjusted my glasses, opening my litigation binder.
"Mr. Baker," I began, my voice steady, clear, and ringing with professional authority. "State your full name and position for the record."
"Warren Thomas Baker. Chief Executive Officer of Baker Landworks Incorporated."
"Mr. Baker, I direct your attention to Exhibit 4—the purported Purchase Option dated March 14. Did you personally instruct your notary, Kevin Vance, to affix his seal to this document?"
Pendelton interjected, "Objection. Form."
"Answer the question, Mr. Baker," I stated.
Warren leaned forward, resting his heavy forearms on the polished wood. "Kevin Vance is an independent contractor. He handles corporate filings according to standard industry practice."
"Is 'standard industry practice' notarizing a document when the signatory is four hundred miles away in San Antonio, Texas?" I asked, sliding Exhibit 6 across the table—Daniel’s hotel receipts and flight manifests.
Warren’s jaw clenched. "Daniel gave his verbal consent before he left."
"Verbal consent to encumber real estate owned by an active-duty military spouse during overseas deployment?" I leaned forward slightly. "Are you aware of the Servicemembers Civil Relief Act, Mr. Baker?"
Warren glared at me, saying nothing.
"Let’s move to Exhibit 12," I continued smoothly, pulling out a thick stack of certified emails pulled via subpoena from the State Highway Department. "This is an email thread between you and Chief Rights-of-Way Officer Gregory Vance dated four months prior to Mabel’s birthday party. In this email, you state, and I quote: 'Do not worry about the Ridge Road parcel. The owner is my daughter-in-law, a housewife with no business experience. She will sign whatever option I place in front of her for $150,000.'"
Pendelton’s face went completely pale. He looked at Warren, then looked down at the paper.
"Mr. Baker," I asked, my voice dropping into a lethal, quiet register. "When you sat in my yard, ate my daughter’s birthday cake, and told me to 'let the grown-ups handle the land,' you had already offered to sell four acres of that land to the state for $620,000, hadn't you?"
Warren’s face turned a violent, dark purple. He slammed his hand against the mahogany table, making the water glasses rattle.
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"That land belongs in the family!" Warren shouted, his composure completely shattering. "Your mother bought it for pennies! My company built this town! You think because you wear a suit and play lawyer for the Army you can come in here and tear down forty years of my hard work?!"
"My mother bought that land with twenty-six years of cafeteria work, Warren," I said, my voice echoing cold and clear through the room. "And you tried to steal it."
