Chapter 17: The Deposition Room

The deposition room was on the nineteenth floor of a law firm that smelled of carpet cleaner and old coffee.

A stenographer sat at the end of a long table with her hands on her machine.

My lawyer took the chair on my left.

Eli took a seat behind me against the wall, where I could not see him.

Bryce sat at the far end in the charcoal suit.

He had shaved, and he was smiling at me the way he used to across the dinner table.

His lawyer sat beside him with a laptop and a leather folder.

His lawyer was the same man who had stood behind me at the funeral home with a pen.

I had known it from the moment I saw the video.

"Ms. Prescott," he said, "I'd like to begin with the week your father passed."

"All right."

"Do you remember signing a power of attorney that week?"

"I remember signing several things."

"Would it surprise you to learn that we have a recording of the occasion?"

"No," I said. "My husband's mistress gave me a copy."

Bryce's smile did not move, but a muscle under his eye twitched.

His lawyer opened the laptop and turned it so I could see.

"For the record, I'm playing the video of March fourteenth, two years ago."

The small private room appeared.

My own back, bent over the table.

Bryce's lawyer's voice: "Just here, and here, Mrs. Danner."

My voice, cracked and young: "Yes, whatever you need."

He let it run to the end, and I watched myself put my hand over my mouth.

Then he paused the screen.

"Ms. Prescott, would you say you were in a clear state of mind on that day?"

"No," I said.

Bryce looked up.

"I had not slept in six days," I said. "My father was in a box down the hall."

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