Alina’s POV
The conference room where they’d scheduled my deposition was deliberately intimidating—all dark wood and leather chairs, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Chicago’s skyline like a reminder of how far I could fall. Hart’s legal team had arrived early, spreading their materials across the massive table with the territorial confidence of predators claiming their hunting ground.
Three lawyers. Two paralegals. One stenographer. All of them watching me enter with expressions that ranged from professional neutrality to barely concealed hostility.
Patricia Morrison squeezed my hand once before we sat. “Remember—answer only what’s asked. No elaboration. No emotion. Just facts.”
I nodded, smoothing down the navy suit we’d chosen specifically for this—professional, composed, the vi
