Chapter 9: The Deposition

I questioned Bree Rowan under oath on a Tuesday in a rented room with a court reporter and a bowl of mints.

Mr. Crane had sent a young associate in his place.

"He has another matter," the associate said, and sat down at the far end of the table.

It was the first time Anthony Crane had passed up a chance to be in a room with me.

I told myself I was relieved.

Clark sat on the associate's left, in his gray suit, looking at his hands.

Bree sat opposite me, in a cream blouse, with a lawyer I had never met.

He was expensive. He opened his notebook and said nothing.

"Ms. Rowan, please raise your right hand," said the reporter.

Bree raised her hand.

The thin gold ring caught the light.

"Do you swear that the testimony you give will be the truth?"

"I do."

"State your name."

"Sabrina Anne Rowan."

"Ms. Rowan, have you ever gone by another name?"

"Objection," her lawyer said. "Relevance."

"You may answer," the associate murmured.

Bree smiled at me.

"No, Meredith. I've always been Bree."

"For the record, you've never used another surname."

"Never."

I wrote it down and did not look up.

"BR Holdings LLC," I said. "You are its sole member."

"On paper."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I signed what Clark asked me to sign."

Clark's head came up.

"You told the judge you didn't know where the money went," I said.

"I didn't say that. I said I was helping."

"Helping with what?"

"Clark's career."

"How much did you charge him?"

"I never charged him. It's a consulting arrangement."

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