The Inheritance of Dust

The Depositions

The war room now has a coffee machine that never stops and a couch where I sleep sometimes because the LIRR is too expensive to take every day.

Brown says lawsuits are 90% paper and 10% theater. We are in the theater part now. It's called depositions. Everyone has to sit under oath and answer questions while a court reporter types every "um" and "like." Sullivan & Cromwell flew in a partner from New York who bills $2,200 an hour. His name is Whitmore. He wears cufflinks that are actual tiny gold hammers, which I think is supposed to be ironic because he has never held a hammer.

We deposed Vivian first. Brown let me sit in. Vivian came in full Greenwich armor: Chanel suit, pearls, hair blow-dried like she was going to a gala, not a deposition. She brought her own lawyer and a publicist, which is insane; who brings a publicist to a deposition?

Whitmore started soft.

Whitmore: Mrs. Hawthorne, how long were you married to Thomas Hawthorne?

Vivian: Twenty beautiful years. He was the love of my life. He built me a beautiful home.

Brown, whispering to me: She called him a hoarder in 2019 to her tennis friends. We have the text.

Whitmore: And did Thomas ever mention Nevada land to you?

Vivian: Never. He hid things. He was secretive at the end. The painkillers made him paranoid. He hid money, he hid land. He hid himself in that workshop.

Brown stood up. "My turn to ask."

Brown: Mrs. Hawthorne, do you recall texting your demolition contractor on August 12th, 2024, saying "Tear down the workshop Saturday when town hall is closed, I'll pay cash"?

Vivian: I don't recall.

Brown: We have the text. Would you like to see it?

Vivian's lawyer: Objection. Context.

Brown: He slid the printout across the table. It's on her phone. Her number.

Vivian looked at it.

Vivian: My stepson... Jack... he had an unhealthy attachment to that dirty shed. I thought it was unsafe. I was protecting property values.

Brown: Mrs. Hawthorne, did you obtain a demolition permit?

Vivian: I... I assumed Chase handled it.

Brown: You paid $8,500 cash on a Saturday to avoid a permit. That's not an assumption, that's a plan. Did you know that workshop was where Thomas taught Jack to build?

Vivian started crying. On cue. No tears, just face crumpling. Publicist handed her a tissue.

Vivian: I was grieving! Thomas died! I was overwhelmed! Jack was never around, he lived in Queens, he didn't care about us!

I wanted to stand up and yell, "You made me eat in the kitchen!" But Brown put his hand on my knee under the table. Hard.

Brown: Mrs. Hawthorne, you are suing your stepson for $1.05 trillion, claiming the $8,000 used to buy the land in 1988 was marital funds. Can you show me a single bank statement from 1988 showing that $8,000?

Vivian: My lawyers have that.

Brown: No, they don't. Because in 1988 Thomas was married to Emily, not you. You didn't meet him until 2002. So how can money from 1988 be your marital funds?

Vivian's lawyer: Objection, argumentative.

Vivian: I... I was told... Whitmore told me...

Whitmore went red.

We broke for lunch. Vivian left crying, publicist filming her walking out like it was a movie.

Next day, Chase.

Chase came in a suit that was too tight and a new haircut that was trying to be humble but wasn't. He brought his contractor Ryan as a "character witness," which is not a thing in depositions.

Whitmore tried to prep him, but Chase talks too much.

Brown: Mr. Hawthorne, did you build the pool house at 12 Elm Hill Road?

Chase: Yes, I project-managed it. My father's company built it.

Brown: Did you use interior sheetrock in a pool house?

Chase: ...We used... we used what was available. Supply chain issues.

Brown: Supply chain issues. So you used interior sheetrock, which molds, to save $4,000, on a $400,000 building, that had 5 women doing yoga in it the day before it collapsed?

Chase: It didn't collapse. It settled.

Brown: Mr. Hawthorne, I have the town inspector's report. It says CONDEMNED, DO NOT OCCUPY, STRUCTURAL FAILURE, UNDERSIZED BEAM, 24-INCH ON CENTER INSTEAD OF 16. Did you authorize 24-inch centers to save lumber?

Chase: My engineer said it was okay.

Brown: What is your engineer's name?

Chase: ...I... I don't remember.

Brown: Because you didn't hire an engineer. You used your father's old stamp without permission. We subpoenaed the engineering firm. They said they never reviewed the pool house. Did you forge an engineer's stamp, Chase?

Silence. The court reporter's fingers stopped. Even Whitmore looked down.

Chase's lawyer: We need a break.

Chase stood up, face purple: "This is bullshit! My brother is a CAD monkey who lives above a laundromat! He doesn't know how to build! I built 15 houses last year!"

Mike Russo, who was waiting in the hall because Brown called him as our next witness, heard that and walked in.

Mike: "You built 15 houses? I built those 15 houses, Chase. You were in Aspen. I have the timesheets. You signed them from Aspen."

Chase sat down.

Last deposition: Sloane.

Sloane came in without a lawyer, just her mom's lawyer who she clearly didn't want. She wore no makeup, which made her looked 19.

Brown was gentle with her. He has a daughter.

Brown: Sloane, did your mother tell you to delete the post where you apologized to Jack?

Sloane: Yes.

Brown: Did your mother tell you that if you didn't stand with her, she would cut you off and not pay your rent?

Sloane: Yes. She pays my apartment in Tribeca. $6,800 a month. She said she'd stop.

Brown: Sloane, did you ever believe Jack forged anything?

Sloane, crying for real this time: No. Jack... Jack is the only one who ever fixed my bike when Dad was busy. He never forged anything. He doesn't even know how to forge. He can't even fake a signature for a late slip.

I laughed from the corner, and Sloane laughed through tears.

Sloane looked at me.

Sloane: Jack, I'm sorry. I posted that mean thing. Mom made me. She said if I don't, we lose the house. And Chase... Chase said if we get the trillion, he'll buy me a brand. Like a real brand, not flat-tummy tea.

Me: What brand?

Sloane: I don't know. Like... clothes.

Me: Sloane, You can build any brand you want.

She nodded.

Whitmore stood up after Sloane left. He has been losing for two days.

Whitmore: Mr. Brown, my client is willing to reduce demand to 15%. $315 billion. Final offer before trial. Your client walks with $1.785 trillion and avoids a Greenwich jury that might hate a Queens kid who got lucky.

Brown looked at me. This is a lot of money. $315 billion to make them go away.

I thought about the workshop they tore down on a Saturday. I thought about interior sheetrock. I thought about my dad teaching me to hammer in that workshop while Vivian told him it was a waste of space.

I stood up. I was in my work boots. I had sawdust on my jeans from building the new workshop replica in Brooklyn that morning.

"Tell Vivian," I said to Whitmore, "that my dad bought that dirt in 1988 for $8,000 when everyone called him an idiot. He paid taxes on it for 35 years while she called it worthless junk land. She doesn't get 15% for calling it junk. She gets 0%. And tell her the new workshop in Brooklyn is free for any kid in Greenwich who wants to learn how to build a house that doesn't fall down. Even Chase."

Whitmore packed his gold hammer cufflinks and left. No settlement.

Tomorrow, trial starts. Greenwich Superior Court. Judge: Hon. Patricia McAllister, who lives three houses down from Vivian and plays tennis with her on Tuesdays.

Box Boy vs. Greenwich.

Let's go.