Chapter 14 - The Deposition in Orange
The fluorescent lighting in Conference Room 4B of the SeaTac Federal Detention Center hummed with an irritating, low-frequency buzz.
The room smelled of stale floor wax, industrial disinfectant, and the palpable stench of institutional confinement.
Sitting across the metal conference table was Lucas Reed.
His wrists were chained to a heavy leather security belt around his waist, the stainless steel links clinking with every slight movement.
His orange uniform was stamped with bold black letters across the chest: **BUREAU OF PRISONS.**
Beside him sat a court-appointed federal public defender named David Chen, who looked entirely overwhelmed by the towering stacks of forensic binders Grace Harper had placed on the table.
I sat directly opposite Lucas, wearing an immaculate navy tailored suit, my laptop open and running real-time financial models.
Lucas stared at me, his eyes hollow and ringed with dark circles, his breathing shallow and erratic.
“Sam,” Lucas whispered, his voice cracking with dry, pitiful desperation.
“Please look at me.”
“Please tell me we can settle this between us.”
“We spent ten years together.”
“We built a life together.”
I did not answer; I simply adjusted my glasses and turned the laptop screen slightly so he could see the display.
Grace Harper leaned forward, pressing the record button on a small digital dictaphone resting between the files.
“This is the preliminary deposition and proffer conference in the matter of Samantha Reed versus Lucas Reed, Case Number 24-CV-8910,” Grace announced for the record.
“Present are petitioner Samantha Reed, counsel Grace Harper, respondent Lucas Reed, and federal public defender David Chen.”
Chen cleared his throat nervously and touched Lucas’s arm.
“Mr. Reed is participating in this session under a limited proffer agreement,” Chen stated.
“We are seeking a global civil settlement that may be presented to the United States Attorney’s Office for sentencing mitigation.”
Grace gave a sharp, humorless nod.
“There will be no mitigation, Mr. Chen, until Mr. Reed accounts for every cent of stolen equity.”
Grace opened the first heavy binder and slapped a series of high-resolution bank records onto the metal table.
“Exhibit Forty-Two,” Grace stated coldly.
“The complete transaction ledger for Apex Horizons LLC, registered in the state of Delaware.”
“Authorized signatory: Lucas Reed.”
“Over a fourteen-month period, seventy-two million dollars of drawn capital from the forged Pacific Crest facility was moved into Apex Horizons.”
“From that account, four point eight million was wired to Mercer Island Title for the waterfront mansion.”
“One point two million was wired to Eleanor Reed’s personal wealth management account.”
“Eight hundred and fifty thousand was spent on luxury vehicles, designer clothing, and high-end retail purchases for Chloe Ward.”
“And forty-eight million was wired directly to Blue Meridian Capital in the Cayman Islands.”
Lucas flinched at each number, his cuffed hands trembling against the edge of the steel table.
“I did it for the family, Sam!” Lucas burst out, leaning forward until the chain at his waist pulled taut against the chair.
“You have to believe me!”
“The German conglomerate was never going to buy a company with a dual-class voting structure where an inactive co-founder controlled fifty-two percent!”
“Vander and Cole demanded clean consolidation under a single operational CEO!”
“I only structured the Cayman vehicles to hold the secondary proceeds until the acquisition closed!”
“I was going to protect you and Lily!”
“I was going to set up an irrevocable trust for Lily with fifty million dollars in cash!”
I closed my laptop with a soft, decisive click and looked directly into the eyes of the man I had loved for a decade.
“Do not speak my daughter’s name in this room, Lucas.”
My voice was low, measured, and colder than the rain falling outside the barred windows.
“You did not do this for Lily.”
“You did not do this for our family.”
“You did this because your fragile, bloated ego could not stand the truth.”
“You could not stand the fact that the entire venture capital world knew I was the technical engine behind Beacon.”
“You hated knowing that every smart-mesh algorithm, every automated system, and every single valuable asset Beacon owned came from my mind.”
“You wanted to stand on the stage in Munich and take the credit for a two-point-four billion dollar buyout.”
“You wanted to parade your twenty-six-year-old marketing employee around tech galas to prove to the world that you were a youthful conqueror.”
Lucas looked down at his chained wrists, tears dripping off his stubbled chin onto the orange fabric of his jumpsuit.
“Sam... I made a mistake,” he sobbed, his voice breaking into pieces.
“I got caught up in the hype.”
“The venture capitalists, the magazine covers, the private jets... it made me lose my mind.”
“Chloe meant nothing to me.”
“She was just someone who made me feel like I was still twenty-five.”
“I love you, Sam.”
“I have always loved you.”
“Please do not let them send me to a federal penitentiary for thirty years.”
“I will die in there.”
“If you sign a declaration stating that the Pacific Crest loan was authorized under our marital partnership, the federal prosecutors will drop the identity theft charges.”
“They will reduce the bank fraud to a civil regulatory infraction!”
“We can still save the family fortune!”
I stared at him with complete, unwavering disdain.
“You stood in the driveway of a four-point-eight million dollar mansion on our tenth anniversary and handed me divorce papers.”
“You told me I hadn't worked in years and warned me not to expect a single dollar.”
“You told me I was irrelevant.”
“You stood by while your mistress laughed in my face and told me to be grateful for our old family home.”
“And now you want me to commit federal perjury to save you from the prison sentence you earned?”
Grace Harper slid a final legal document across the table directly in front of Lucas and his public defender.
It was a comprehensive, ironclad Marital and Corporate Dissolution Agreement.
“Here are your options, Lucas,” Grace outlined with lethal clarity.
“Under this agreement, you surrender one hundred percent of your remaining Class A common stock in Beacon Home Technologies back to the corporate treasury for cancellation.”
“You forfeit all claims to any marital property, including all domestic residences, vehicles, and personal bank accounts.”
“You execute an unconditional power of attorney directing the Cayman authorities to repatriate all forty-eight million dollars in Blue Meridian Capital directly to Beacon.”
“In exchange, Samantha will agree not to request an upward sentencing departure at your federal trial.”
“The United States Attorney will recommend twelve years in federal custody rather than the statutory maximum of thirty-five.”
Lucas stared at the document, his breath catching in his throat.
“Twelve years?” he whispered in horror.
“Twelve years in a cage?”
“I will lose everything.”
“I will be fifty-three years old when I walk out of prison.”
“I will have no money, no company, no house, and no career.”
David Chen leaned over and whispered urgently into Lucas’s ear.
“Lucas, if you do not sign this agreement, the government will add eighteen counts of money laundering and foreign asset concealment tomorrow morning.”
“Samantha has the complete audit trail.”
“If you go to trial in front of a federal jury in Seattle, you will be convicted on every count within forty-eight hours.”
“You will spend the rest of your natural life behind bars.”
“Sign the papers, Lucas.”
Lucas looked at the document, then looked up at me one last time, hoping to see a flicker of the soft, accommodating woman he had married ten years ago.
He saw only the Executive Chairwoman of Beacon Home Technologies, watching him with surgical precision.
Slowly, with his chained hands shaking uncontrollably, Lucas Reed picked up the black ballpoint pen.
The metal handcuffs clinked against the table as he scratched his signature at the bottom of the final page.
He dropped the pen, buried his face in his hands, and began weeping uncontrollably.
I stood up, picked up my laptop, and smoothed the fabric of my navy jacket.
May you like
“Goodbye, Lucas,” I said quietly.
I turned and walked out of the conference room without looking back once.
