Chapter 10 - The Deposition of Lies
Six weeks later, the air inside the United States Federal Courthouse in Lower Manhattan was quiet, heavy, and absolute.
I sat on the witness side of a long mahogany conference table in Deposition Room 402. Beside me sat Detective Vance and the lead federal prosecutor, Assistant U.S. Attorney David Chen.
Across the table sat Cresa, dressed in a coarse, orange correctional jumpsuit, stripped of her extensions, her jewelry, and her vanity. Beside her was a court-appointed federal public defender whose eyes looked completely exhausted.
Declan Cross had already pleaded guilty two weeks prior, taking a thirty-year plea deal to avoid life imprisonment under the federal biological weapons statute. In exchange for the avoidance of a maximum-security penitentiary sentence, Declan had handed over three unencrypted hard drives containing five years of recorded transactions, emails, and text messages.
He had surrendered everything on Cresa and Rowena.
“State your full legal name for the official record,” Chen said, leaning back in his leather chair.
“Cresa Evelyn Lindell,” my sister whispered. Her hands were cuffed to a heavy steel ring anchored into the center of the wooden table.
“Ms. Lindell,” Chen began, clicking on a high-definition monitor mounted to the wall. “On screen is an email sent from your personal iCloud account to Declan Cross dated September 14th, three weeks before your wedding. In this email, you write: *‘Maeve won't sign the deed transfer over to Mother. She says the property is for the community clinic. Can we use the showcase trap to put her out of commission? If she’s in a hospital bed, Mother gets the conservatorship within twenty-four hours.’* Did you write this email?”
Cresa closed her eyes. Tears leaked down her hollow cheeks.
“I didn't think the spike was poisoned,” she sobbed, her voice breaking into ragged, ugly gasps. “Declan told me it would just cut her! He told me it would bleed a lot for the cameras! He said the European site paid ten times the ad revenue of YouTube if there was visible facial trauma! I just wanted my house in the Hamptons, Maeve! I just wanted the life everyone on Instagram already had!”
“And the deed?” Chen pressed relentlessly. “Who ordered the burglary of your sister’s home while she was undergoing emergency reconstructive surgery?”
“Mother,” Cresa cried, completely breaking down, pointing her chained hands toward the adjacent interrogation room where Rowena was being held. “It was Mother! She had Arthur’s old keys! She stole the notary stamp three months ago! She told Declan that if Maeve died from the infection, we’d split the six million dollars three ways! Please... Maeve, please tell them! I’m only twenty-four! I can’t spend twenty years in a federal prison! Tell them you forgive me!”
I looked across the table at the girl who shared half my DNA.
The swelling in my cheek had subsided, leaving behind a raised, pale-pink crescent scar that ran from the corner of my eye down to the edge of my upper lip. The nerve damage was permanent; I would never feel a soft touch on that side of my face again.
“I spent thirty-two years forgiving you, Cresa,” I said softly, my voice devoid of anger, containing only an infinite, sorrowful finality. “I forgave you when you stole my savings. I forgave you when you told our father he was a failure on his deathbed because he didn't buy you a luxury car. But I cannot forgive you for treating my life as something you could throw into broken glass for likes.”
I stood up from the conference table.
“Mr. Chen,” I said, turning to the prosecutor. “I have reviewed the victim impact statements. The government has my full consent to seek the maximum sentencing allowable under the statutory guidelines.”
“Maeve! No! Maeve, don't leave me!” Cresa shrieked, lunging forward against her chains as the marshals moved in to restrain her. “Maeve!”
May you like
I didn’t turn back. I walked through the heavy mahogany doors into the bright, marble rotunda of the courthouse, leaving the screams of my sister behind in the quiet machinery of federal justice.
***
