Chapter 6 - The Deposition
The state circuit courtroom on the fourth floor of the county courthouse was silent and sterile, smelling of old wax, leather-bound law books, and cold air conditioning.
Judge Harrison sat at the raised mahogany bench, reviewing the confidential medical packets presented by both legal teams.
I sat at the prosecution table alongside Daniel and our lead forensic investigator. I looked calm, elegant, and completely composed in a cream wool blazer, my dark hair falling neatly over my shoulders.
Across the central aisle sat Grant, Vivian, and Celeste, accompanied by their court-appointed legal aid attorney—a young, overworked man who looked like he wished he were anywhere else on earth.
Grant looked terrible. He had shaved, but his cheap off-the-rack suit hung loosely on his thin frame, and his eyes were hollow and bloodshot. Vivian sat stiffly beside him, clutching her faded leather purse like a shield.
Celeste sat at the end of the table, wearing a loose maternity sweater, her hands trembling continuously in her lap.
"We are here on Record Item 402," Judge Harrison announced, his deep voice echoing through the quiet chamber. "Paternity verification and motion for emergency trust asset freeze, filed by petitioner Claire Mercer-Sterling."
Grant’s young attorney stood up nervously. "Your Honor, my clients maintain that the asset freeze is unwarranted. Mr. Sterling served as Chief Executive Officer of Sterling Holdings for six years and holds equitable marital claims to the trust's real estate portfolio—"
"Mr. Sterling was a contract employee who signed an explicit non-ownership executive agreement in 2018," Daniel interrupted smoothly, standing up and placing a blue leather file on the clerk's desk. "An agreement that explicitly excludes all trust-funded residential and commercial properties from marital division."
Judge Harrison waved his hand to silence both attorneys. "I have reviewed the corporate structure documents, Mr. Mercer. The trust language is explicit and absolute. The properties belong solely to the Mercer Heritage Trust. Mr. Sterling's claim to those assets is denied in full."
Vivian let out a strangled gasp, her hands flying to her mouth. Grant sat motionless, staring blankly at the polished wooden table.
"Now," Judge Harrison continued, picking up a sealed yellow envelope with an official state forensic stamp across the flap. "We move to the results of the court-ordered non-invasive prenatal paternity examination, conducted by the State Forensic Genetics Laboratory on November twelfth."
The courtroom went so silent you could hear the soft ticking of the wall clock near the entrance.
Grant slowly leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the wooden table so hard his knuckles turned stark white. He stared at the yellow envelope in the judge's hands as if his very soul were contained inside it.
Celeste squeezed her eyes shut, her head dropping low over her chest, tears silently falling onto her sweater.
Judge Harrison pulled a pair of reading glasses from his breast pocket, slipped them onto his nose, and sliced open the yellow flap with a silver letter opener.
He pulled out the two white summary sheets, scanned the bold text at the bottom of the first page, and slowly lowered the paper.
He looked across the courtroom, his eyes settling directly on Grant.
"The genetic analysis conducted by the state laboratory," Judge Harrison read aloud, his voice steady and completely devoid of emotion, "has evaluated the fetal cell-free DNA extracted from the mother, Celeste Vance, against the reference DNA profile provided by Grant Sterling."
He paused, adjusting his glasses.
"The probability of paternity for Grant Sterling is zero point zero percent," Judge Harrison declared clearly. "Grant Sterling is definitively excluded as the biological father of the unborn child."
Zero point zero percent.
The words hung in the air of the courtroom like a heavy iron weight dropping from the ceiling.
Grant didn't scream. He didn't jump up.
He simply froze, his eyes staring wide at the judge, all the air rushing out of his lungs in one long, silent gasp.
Vivian turned her head slowly toward Celeste, her face twisting into an expression of pure, monstrous horror.
"You..." Vivian whispered, her voice rising into a shrill, hysterical screech that shattered the silence of the room. "You lying, scheming little tramp!"
Vivian lunged across the table, reaching out with her manicured nails toward Celeste’s face.
"Order in the court!" Judge Harrison roared, slamming his heavy wooden gavel down onto the block. BANG! BANG! BANG! "Bailiffs, secure the defense table!"
Two heavy-set court bailiffs instantly rushed forward, grabbing Vivian by her arms and pulling her back into her chair as she screamed wildly at Celeste.
"You ruined us!" Vivian shrieked, her face purple with rage, her grey hair pulling loose from her bun. "We gave up everything for you! We threw away our family for a bastard!"
Celeste burst into hysterical sob, covering her face with her hands, sliding off her chair onto her knees on the cold marble floor. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Grant! I didn't know... I thought it was yours! I was seeing someone else before we started... I didn't know!"
Grant slowly turned his head toward the floor where Celeste lay weeping.
He looked at her small belly. He looked at her fake tears. He looked at the woman he had paraded through the St. Regis ballroom, the woman he had called the bearer of his true heir.
Then, Grant turned his head across the aisle and looked at me.
I was sitting quietly in my chair, holding a framed photograph of three-month-old Lily in my hands—a beautiful, healthy baby girl with vibrant blue eyes and a soft, radiant smile.
May you like
Grant looked at the photograph of his true daughter.
And for the first time since this nightmare began, I saw tears spill over Grant's eyelashes, running down his stubbled, hollow cheeks as the utter, total reality of what he had done crushed him into the dust.
