Page 15 of Overruled

Eight

Dani

“Are you nervous?”

Bianca arches one thin brow from her seat beside me. “No. You will ask questions. I will listen. What is there to be nervous about?”

I feel myself grin. I should have known better than to ask. I’ve learned in the weeks since I met her that there is very little that seems to ruffle Bianca Casiraghi. “I wanted to do this back at my firm,” I tsk. “I should have known they’d push to do it here on their own turf.”

“Does it matter?”

“Not in the grand scheme of things,” I tell her, checking the time on my phone as we step off the elevator. “But I hate knowing that they’re probably just trying to intimidate you.”

“They can try,” Bianca chuckles.

“That’s the spirit.” I wave to Maggie at the front desk as we pass her.

“Remember, you won’t be able to say anything unless you’re being deposed, and when you are, you can answer all questions asked of you even if there’s an objection.

This is all preliminary. A judge will decide if they’re admissible or not. ”

“I know the rules, Danica,” she says primly.

I smirk over at her as we head down the main hall. “Just making sure there are no more surprises in store for me.”

“You are being cute,” she says, sounding amused. “I will be good.”

“I appreciate it.”

When we reach the chosen conference room, I open the door to follow Bianca inside.

My eyes find Ezra immediately, not only because they seem to be hardwired to pick him out in a room, but also because he seems to be in a quiet but heated discussion with an older man that I haven’t seen before.

He’s almost as tall as Ezra, his salt-and-pepper hair combed back and his mustache neatly trimmed.

His bright blue eyes land on me when we enter the room, piercing and calculating as they hold mine.

I make sure to hold his gaze, having no intention of being intimidated.

Ezra turns to follow the older man’s line of sight, and where he would normally shoot me a playful grin that would make my stomach swoop in that frustrating way I’ve come to know—right now he looks almost pained. Apologetic, even. It’s strange.

“Ezra,” I say in greeting, my eyes flitting between him and the older man. “Cocounsel again?”

There’s a thin-lipped smile on the older man’s mouth, one that does nothing but stir a sense of unease. “My apologies, Ms. Pierce.” He steps forward to close the distance between us, offering his hand. “I asked if I might sit in today. Alexander Hart. Managing partner.”

Ah. I see it now. There really is a striking resemblance between him and his other son. Ezra must take after his mother, because the differences between him and the other men in his family are night and day.

I manage to keep the wariness I’m feeling off my face, the idea of Alexander Hart wanting to listen in not sitting well with me. Mostly because there’s no good reason for it.

“Has something happened that I’m unaware of?”

Alexander waves his hand casually. “No, no. Nothing like that. Such a potentially high-profile case…we like to stay on top of things in my office.” Another smile that more closely resembles a leer. “You understand.”

“Of course,” I answer tightly.

I notice Lorenzo sitting at the far end of the table then, pointedly not looking at us. There’s a middle-aged man behind him setting up a camera and another man about my age on the other side, tucked away in another chair looking nervous. I have to assume that’s my first witness.

“Ezra has had such nice things to say about you, Ms. Pierce,” Alexander says sweetly. “?‘Capable’ and ‘headstrong’ were the words he used, I believe.”

I don’t give him anything, keeping my expression passive. “Ezra is too generous.”

“Oh, I don’t think he is,” Alexander answers. “I can always tell, you see. Always been able to sift out the sharp ones.”

I’m not sure how to answer that, so I decide not to answer at all, the silence lingering between us with nothing more than my pursed mouth and Alexander’s leering grin. I can’t say what it is exactly that I don’t like about Alexander Hart—but it’s there.

“I guess we can begin now that we’re all here,” Ezra chimes in hesitantly. “Dani?”

I turn to regard him. Have I ever heard him hesitant before? He looks…withered, somehow. Like a caricature of his normal self. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his body language is tense, like he’s too tightly wound.

“Of course,” I tell him, grateful to be done with these threadbare pleasantries. It’s surprising, but there’s a fleeting urge to pull Ezra aside and ask if he’s okay. I ignore it. “Ready whenever you are.”

I lead Bianca to the side of the table opposite Ezra and his party, helping her into her seat before turning my attention to the nervous-looking man near Lorenzo. “Mr. Andrews?”

“Yes,” he says quickly, sitting up straighter. His eyes dart to his employer, Mr. Casiraghi, for a brief moment, then back to me. “That’s me.”

I gesture to the chair at the head of the mahogany table we’re all sitting around. “If you can just have a seat there, we can get started.”

“Right,” he says, shooting out of his chair and smoothing his tie in what definitely seems like a nervous gesture. I guess if I was being asked questions about the guy who paid my salary, I’d be nervous too. He points at the chair in question. “Here?”

“That’s good.” I glance at my notes, moving closer to Mr. Andrews. “Thank you for coming, by the way.”

Another quick glance at Lorenzo. “Of course.”

“You’ve worked at Casiraghi Development for”—I check my notes—“eight years now, correct?”

“That’s right. I was hired in 2016.”

“And what is your position there?”

“I work as Mr. Casiraghi’s personal assistant.”

I pretend to study my notepad, wanting to appear aloof. “And what are your responsibilities in that position?”

“I…” He licks his lips, flicking his gaze to Lorenzo briefly before answering. “I manage Mr. Casiraghi’s schedule and his correspondence, mostly.”

“So it’s fair to say you have access to his emails, correct?”

“Objection,” Ezra interrupts. “Speculation.”

I don’t look back at him, keeping my focus on the witness. “You can answer. A judge will decide later if it’s admissible or not.”

“Oh.” Mr. Andrews nods, swallowing. “I…yes. I have access to his emails.”

“Are you aware of anyone else having access to them besides you and Mr. Casiraghi?”

Mr. Andrews’ lips form a thin line. “Not to my knowledge, no.”

“So by the defense’s own speculation, the lascivious emails suggesting an affair sent from his computer would have to have come from either you or Mr. Casiraghi himself, correct?”

He looks behind me. “I…”

“Objection,” Ezra sighs. “Leading the witness.”

“Strike that. I’ll rephrase,” I counter. “To the best of your knowledge, is it possible for someone other than Mr. Casiraghi or yourself to enter his office and gain access to his personal computer?”

“I…Maybe? It’s not like he keeps it locked at all times.”

“Does anyone else work on the floor where his office resides?”

“Well, no. Not on our floor.”

“So for the most part, it’s just you and Mr. Casiraghi on the top floor.”

“That’s…correct.”

“I imagine Mr. Casiraghi’s computer is password protected though, correct?”

“All company computers are password protected.”

“And the only people with access to Mr. Casiraghi’s computer are you and him, yes?”

“Objection,” Ezra calls. “Asked and answered. We’ve already established that Mr. Andrews has access to Mr. Casiraghi’s computer and email.”

I grit my teeth, exhaling through my nostrils slowly. “Mr. Andrews, in your opinion, would it not be incredibly difficult for someone other than Mr. Casiraghi or yourself to gain access to Mr. Casiraghi’s personal computer without the password?”

“Foundation,” a voice other than Ezra’s cuts in with a menacing edge. “Lacks foundation. Do you have any IT experience, Mr. Andrews?”

I turn to regard Alexander, who looks less collected now—giving me a hard stare from his seat at the table.

“Well, no,” Mr. Andrews starts. “I—”

I raise a hand to stop him, still holding Alexander’s gaze. “You don’t have to answer that, Mr. Andrews,” I say pointedly. “One riot, one ranger, Mr. Hart. Ezra is taking the deposition of the defendant. You have no grounds to speak here.”

I see something dangerous flash in the old man’s eyes, but he remains dutifully silent.

I hope that my eyes say what I can’t, that I’m not intimidated by him, however much he’d like me to be.

I notice a quirk of Ezra’s mouth that might be the beginnings of a smile when I spot him in my peripheral, but it’s gone as quickly as it came.

I hear his echoed objection after, but I’ve already got a redirect ready.

If Alexander Hart takes anything away from this little sit-in, I hope it’s that I am not a woman to be fucked with. Regardless…he doesn’t say another word for the remainder of the deposition.

···

It takes five hours for us to cycle through the list of witnesses we’ve lined up (most of them mine), and by the time we’ve reached the end of the agenda on which Ezra is to question Bianca, I don’t feel half bad about the progress we’ve made today.

Between the various employees speaking as character witnesses and household staff who came in for questioning, I’ve been able to make quite a few points in our favor.

Unfortunately, so has Ezra.

It’s already been forty-five minutes of him pulling at various threads as he prods Bianca on everything from her honeymoon to her last fight with Lorenzo—but much to my delight, Bianca doesn’t seem ruffled in the slightest. She really might be made of iron, this woman.

“Mrs. Casiraghi,” Ezra says politely. “I just have one more thing to discuss, if that’s okay.”

She gives him a stiff nod. “Go on then.”

“Just to be clear, we’re here today because you are formally accusing your husband of breaching the infidelity clause in your prenuptial agreement, therefore entitling you to half of all marital assets, correct?”