Chapter 12 - THE DEPOSITION
Two days later, the federal courthouse in downtown Atlanta stood tall and imposing under a dark autumn sky.
In a windowless, soundproof conference room on the sixth floor, Daniel Voss sat in a orange jumpsuit, his wrists handcuffed to a steel ring anchored in the center of the oak table. Beside him sat Arthur Vance, looking thoroughly defeated, his expensive briefcase replaced by a thin folder of plea negotiations.
On the other side of the table sat Marcus Vance, two court reporters, and Samuel Reed.
Samuel sat quietly, wearing his cleanest denim jacket and a ironed flannel shirt. He kept his hands folded on the table, his weathered face completely calm, his gray eyes fixed on the young man across from him.
Daniel couldn't look Samuel in the eye. He stared at his own cuffed hands, his shoulders hunched, shivering slightly under the cold air conditioning.
"This is a recorded deposition in United States v. Warren Voss, Daniel Voss, et al.," Marcus began, tapping the microphone on the table. "Present are lead prosecutor Marcus Vance, defendant Daniel Voss, defense counsel Arthur Vance, and key witness Samuel Reed."
Marcus opened a thick binder.
"Mr. Daniel Voss," Marcus said. "On the night of October 14th, at approximately 1:30 AM, did you physically strike your wife, Claire Reed Voss, with an open hand and a closed fist inside your residence?"
Arthur Vance touched Daniel’s arm. "You may assert your Fifth Amendment rights, Daniel."
Daniel swallowed hard, his throat dry as paper. He looked up, catching Samuel’s steady, unblinking gaze. There was no hatred in Samuel’s eyes—only the cold, immovable weight of absolute judgment.
"Answer him, Daniel," Samuel said softly.
The simple sound of Samuel’s voice caused Daniel to shudder. The arrogance, the wealth, the protection of his father's name—all of it had evaporated, leaving behind a frightened, weak boy who had built his confidence on bullying people who couldn't fight back.
"Yes," Daniel whimpered, a tear slipping down his nose. "Yes... I hit her."
"Did you push her out of the front gate into the gravel while she was bleeding?" Marcus asked coldly.
"Yes..."
"And did you tell her that no one would believe her because her father was 'nobody'?"
Daniel buried his face in his cuffed hands, his shoulders shaking with quiet, pathetic sobs. "I... I was angry... I didn't mean it... please..."
"Look at him," Marcus commanded, his voice sharp as a whip. "Look at Samuel Reed."
Daniel slowly raised his head, his face red and wet with tears, staring at the old hay farmer across the table.
"That 'nobody'," Marcus said, leaning across the table, "just signed the civil asset seizure order that liquidates your house, your vehicles, your investment accounts, and every acre of land your family stole in Hartwell County. Every cent of it is being transferred into a permanent victim's trust fund for Claire Reed."
Daniel sobbed harder, dropping his head back down onto the cold table.
May you like
Samuel slowly stood up from his chair. He adjusted his collar, looked down at Daniel for three long seconds, and turned toward the door.
"You were wrong about one thing, Daniel," Samuel said quietly before stepping out into the hallway. "A nobody doesn't hide behind money. A nobody hits a woman."
