Chapter 19 - The Deposition
Three months later.
The federal courthouse in downtown Chicago was an imposing fortress of gray stone and security barriers.
Emily and I sat in a private conference room on the twelfth floor, waiting for the formal video deposition. Because Ryan’s legal team had filed an eleventh-hour competency challenge, the federal judge had ordered a recorded pre-trial evidentiary hearing to establish Ryan’s mental fitness.
The double doors opened.
Ryan was led in by two armed federal marshals.
He was shackled at the wrists and ankles, wearing an orange jumpsuit with *FEDERAL PRISONER* stenciled across the back. His beard had been shaved, revealing his hollow, gaunt cheeks. The handsome, charming young executive was completely gone. In his place sat an empty, shriveled husk of a man.
He sat down across the long conference table, the chains clinking against the wood.
When his eyes met Emily’s, he didn't look down. He glared at her with an intensity that burned with pure malice.
“Are you satisfied, Emily?” Ryan rasped, his voice raw. “You destroyed my mother. You destroyed my career. You destroyed everything I built.”
Emily didn't flinch. She sat tall, wearing a tailored navy blazer, her dark hair pulled back neatly, her posture commanding and steady.
She looked at him not with fear, not with hatred, but with the cold, detached pity you reserve for a venomous insect trapped in a glass jar.
“Claire Morrison,” Emily said, her voice ringing clear through the conference room.
Ryan’s eyes flickered. A tiny crack appeared in his arrogant facade.
“Claire Morrison and her little boy, Liam,” Emily continued, leaning forward. “You thought nobody would ever look at Seattle again. You thought you were so clever, Ryan. But you left the records in Brenda’s basement. Just like you left the Warfarin in my purse.”
Ryan’s jaw worked silently. The federal prosecutor and court reporter sat completely motionless, letting Emily speak.
“You’re not a criminal mastermind, Ryan,” Emily said, her voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper. “You’re a pathetic, sloppy coward who couldn't even make an honest living without murdering the women who loved you.”
“I gave you everything!” Ryan hissed, lunging against his chains. The marshals instantly clamped their hands onto his shoulders, shoving him back into his chair. “You were nothing until I married you! A miserable, broke art teacher living in a roach-infested studio!”
“And now I have Chloe,” Emily said, a quiet, brilliant smile touching her lips. “I have my daughter. I have my mother. And you have four concrete walls and a lethal injection gurney in Terre Haute.”
Ryan stared at her, his chest heaving, his face contorting into an expression of pure, impotent fury.
He had no words left. No lies. No legal motions. No charming excuses.
He was entirely, permanently defeated.
The judge leaned toward his microphone. “Let the record reflect the defendant is fully lucid, oriented, and competent to stand trial. Bail remains permanently denied. Take him away.”
The marshals hauled Ryan to his feet.
As he was dragged toward the holding cells, his chains dragging across the linoleum, Emily didn't watch him leave.
May you like
She turned her back on him, picked up her briefcase, and took my hand.
***
