Chapter 13 — The Trial of a Golden Son
Chapter 13 — The Trial of a Golden Son
By sunrise, Preston was no longer the golden son.
He was a defendant.
The same man who had stood beneath crystal chandeliers and shouted that my eight-year-old daughter was a thief was now sitting behind a sheet of courtroom glass.
His wedding tuxedo was gone.
His confidence was gone.
Even the expensive watch his father had given him was gone.
For the first time in thirty years, Preston had nothing protecting him.
No family name.
No money.
No mother standing between him and the consequences.
No father whispering instructions in his ear.
And no crowd willing to applaud when he demanded it.
I sat across the courtroom from him.
Sophie held my hand.
She was wearing a small blue sweater and the pink hair clip she refused to take off.
She leaned against my shoulder.
"Mommy?"
"Yes?"
"Is Uncle Preston going to jail?"
I looked toward the defendant's table.
Preston was staring at us.
His face was pale.
"I don't know."
He heard me.
His expression tightened.
The judge entered.
Everyone stood.
And the trial began.
The prosecutor's first exhibit was the hotel footage.
The screen came alive.
There was the ballroom.
The wedding.
The missing phone.
Preston walking toward my daughter's chair.
His hand entering the pocket of her jacket.
The phone appearing in his hand.
The crowd reacting.
Then the menu board.
His arm rising.
The impact.
Sophie falling.
I closed my eyes.
I had watched the footage once.
That had been enough.
I didn't need to watch it again.
But Preston did.
He couldn't look away.
The courtroom remained silent as the recording played.
Then the prosecutor stopped the video.
"Mr. Preston Carter," she said, "did you plant the phone?"
Preston looked at his attorney.
His lawyer leaned toward him.
Preston finally answered.
"Yes."
A murmur spread through the courtroom.
I looked at him.
He lowered his eyes.
"Did you know the person you were framing was an eight-year-old child?"
"Yes."
"Did you strike that child?"
Preston swallowed.
"Yes."
"Why?"
He looked at me.
"I was trying to protect the trust."
The prosecutor stared at him.
"You assaulted a child to protect an inheritance?"
"No."
His voice cracked.
"I thought I was protecting my family."
"You thought an eight-year-old girl was your enemy?"
Preston didn't answer.
The prosecutor walked toward the jury.
"Mr. Carter spent thirty years being told that he was entitled to everything."
She pointed toward Preston.
"Then he discovered that he wasn't."
Preston looked down.
"And when the inheritance was threatened, he attacked the one person who couldn't defend herself."
My hand tightened around Sophie's.
She squeezed back.
The next witness was Michael.
He walked to the stand slowly.
Preston looked at him.
For several seconds, neither man spoke.
The prosecutor asked:
"Mr. Bennett, did you know the defendant?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"We grew up in the same family."
Preston looked at the floor.
The prosecutor continued.
"Did you know Preston wasn't biologically related to the Carter family?"
"Yes."
"Did you know he was Victoria's son?"
"Yes."
"Did Preston know?"
Michael hesitated.
"Not until recently."
The prosecutor turned toward Preston.
"When did you discover your true identity?"
Preston answered quietly.
"Three days before the wedding."
"Who told you?"
"Victoria."
"Your biological mother."
"Yes."
"And how did you react?"
Preston laughed bitterly.
"I thought she was lying."
"Why?"
"Because my whole life, I had been told my mother was Teresa."
The courtroom went quiet.
"Did you believe your father?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Preston looked at me.
"Because I had no reason not to."
I remembered him as a child.
My mother holding his hand.
My father putting his arm around him.
The family photographs.
The birthday parties.
Every celebration.
Preston had always stood in the center.
I had always stood at the edge.
Now I understood why.
He wasn't simply the favored son.
He was the son my father had built an entire lie around.
The prosecutor asked:
"What did your father tell you when you discovered the truth?"
Preston's face hardened.
"He told me to stay silent."
"Why?"
"He said the trust would collapse if people learned who I was."
"What would happen to you?"
"I'd lose everything."
"So you obeyed."
"Yes."
"Even after learning your biological mother had been hidden from you?"
Preston's voice became quiet.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I was afraid."
The prosecutor paused.
"Afraid of your father?"
Preston nodded.
"What did he threaten?"
"Everything."
"Your money?"
"Yes."
"Your position?"
"Yes."
"Your life?"
Preston looked toward the jury.
"Yes."
The prosecutor returned to her table.
"No further questions."
Then came the witness I had been dreading.
Victoria.
She entered the courtroom wearing a plain gray suit.
No jewelry.
No makeup.
Nothing that resembled the woman who had stood beside me at the wedding.
She took the oath.
Then looked at Preston.
Her eyes filled with tears.
"Tell the court who you are."
Victoria swallowed.
"My name is Victoria Vale."
"Your relationship to Preston Carter?"
"I'm his biological mother."
Preston closed his eyes.
Victoria continued.
"I was sixteen when I gave birth to him."
"Who took your child?"
"Teresa."
My mother's name seemed to echo.
"Did Teresa raise him?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because my son was supposed to be the heir."
"And you?"
"I was supposed to disappear."
"Why did you remain?"
Victoria looked at Preston.
"Because I couldn't abandon my child."
She began crying.
"I watched him from a distance."
"Did Preston know?"
"No."
"Did you ever attempt to contact him?"
"Several times."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because every time I tried, Teresa threatened me."
"What did she threaten?"
"To have me arrested."
"For what?"
"Anything she could invent."
The prosecutor paused.
"Did you assist Preston in framing Sophie?"
Victoria closed her eyes.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because Teresa promised me she would finally acknowledge Preston as her son."
I looked toward Preston.
His face had collapsed.
The golden son.
The favorite.
The heir.
He had spent his entire life fighting for a family that never actually belonged to him.
The prosecutor placed a photograph on the screen.
Victoria holding a newborn.
The baby was wrapped in a white blanket.
"Is this Preston?"
Victoria nodded.
"Yes."
"Where was this photograph taken?"
"The hospital."
"Who took it?"
"Teresa."
"Why?"
"To prove that the baby belonged to her."
The prosecutor showed another photograph.
Teresa holding the same baby.
Then another.
A birth certificate.
Then a third document.
A medical record.
The jury watched.
The prosecutor turned toward Preston.
"Mr. Carter, did you ever see these photographs?"
"No."
"Did you know your mother was not your biological mother?"
"No."
"Did you know your biological mother was alive?"
"No."
"Did you know your father had paid to keep her silent?"
"No."
The prosecutor nodded.
"No further questions."
At lunch, I went outside.
Sophie sat beside me on a bench.
"Mommy?"
"Yes?"
"Why is everyone sad?"
I looked at her.
"Because sometimes adults make very bad choices."
"Like Uncle Preston?"
I hesitated.
"Yes."
"Is he bad?"
I thought about it.
"I think he did bad things."
She nodded.
Then asked:
"Does that mean he's always bad?"
I looked at her.
"No."
She considered that.
"Then can people change?"
"Sometimes."
"Can Grandma change?"
My heart tightened.
"I don't know."
Sophie looked toward the courthouse.
"Can you?"
I smiled sadly.
"I hope so."
She leaned against me.
"You changed."
"How?"
"You used to cry when Grandma yelled."
I stared at her.
"Did I?"
"Yes."
"You remember that?"
"Yes."
She took my hand.
"You don't cry anymore."
I kissed her forehead.
"Because I have you."
She smiled.
And for the first time in days, I felt something close to peace.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
"Hello?"
A boy's voice whispered:
"Mom?"
I froze.
Sophie looked at me.
"Mommy?"
I couldn't speak.
The boy continued.
"Are you coming?"
My heart stopped.
"Samuel?"
Silence.
Then:
"Please."
The call ended.
I stood.
Michael came outside.
He saw my face.
"What happened?"
I showed him the phone.
He stared.
"Was that him?"
I nodded.
"Where is he?"
"I don't know."
Michael took out his phone.
"We'll find him."
I looked at him.
"Together?"
He nodded.
"If you'll let me."
I didn't answer.
But I didn't walk away.
The trial resumed.
This time, my father was brought into the courtroom.
He entered in handcuffs.
His expression was calm.
Too calm.
He looked at me.
Then at Sophie.
He smiled.
I felt sick.
The prosecutor called him to the stand.
He refused to answer.
"On advice of counsel."
Question after question.
The same answer.
Until she showed him the trust agreement.
He looked at it.
Then smiled.
"You still don't understand."
The prosecutor frowned.
"Understand what?"
"The trust isn't about the children."
"Then what is it about?"
He looked toward me.
"Evelyn."
My stomach tightened.
"The trust was designed to identify the rightful owner."
"Your daughter?"
"No."
"Anna?"
"No."
"Then who?"
My father smiled.
"You."
The courtroom went silent.
I stared at him.
"What?"
He continued.
"Your grandfather knew what would happen."
"What?"
"That I would eventually try to take everything."
"So?"
"He created the trust around you."
I shook my head.
"Why?"
"Because you're the only person who can legally control the entire estate."
The prosecutor stepped forward.
"Are you saying Evelyn Carter is the rightful trustee?"
"No."
My father smiled.
"I'm saying she's the owner."
I felt the room disappear.
The prosecutor looked at the documents.
"That's impossible."
My father laughed.
"Read the final clause."
She did.
Her face changed.
I looked at Daniel.
He whispered:
"I didn't know."
"What does it say?"
He stared at the page.
"All assets held in dispute revert to the eldest surviving descendant of Eleanor Vale."
I froze.
"Eleanor."
My grandmother.
"The eldest descendant..."
Daniel looked at me.
"That's you."
I couldn't breathe.
The inheritance had never belonged to my father.
Or Preston.
Or Michael.
Or even Sophie.
It belonged to me.
But there was a catch.
The prosecutor found it.
She read the next line.
"Unless the designated heir voluntarily relinquishes control."
I stared at the document.
"That's what the signature was for."
My father smiled.
"Exactly."
He had never needed to steal my money.
He needed me to give it away.
He needed my signature.
My entire life had been a preparation for one moment.
And I had almost signed.
The prosecutor looked at my father.
"Why did you need Evelyn's signature?"
"Because without it, I could never legally control the trust."
"Then why did you harm her children?"
"To force her hand."
I felt sick.
"You used my children."
"Yes."
"You threatened Sophie."
"Yes."
"You erased Samuel."
He looked at me.
"Samuel was necessary."
"Necessary?"
"He was the first heir."
"He's my son."
"He was a liability."
I stood.
"You stole my child."
My father didn't blink.
"Yes."
The courtroom erupted.
The judge ordered silence.
I looked at him.
"Where is Samuel?"
He smiled.
"You'll find him."
"Where?"
"Where all inconvenient children end up."
My blood ran cold.
"Where?"
He leaned toward the microphone.
"With the person who created this entire system."
I stared.
"Who?"
My father's eyes moved toward the courtroom doors.
The doors opened.
An elderly woman entered.
Eleanor.
My grandmother.
Everyone turned.
She walked slowly toward the witness area.
My father stopped smiling.
For the first time, he looked afraid.
Eleanor looked directly at him.
"You were always a coward."
My father's face went white.
She turned toward me.
"Evelyn."
I stood.
"Grandma."
She smiled.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For leaving you alone."
She reached for my hand.
"I thought your grandfather could protect you."
"Why didn't he?"
"He tried."
"What happened?"
Eleanor looked at my father.
"He failed."
Then she looked at me.
"Because we made one mistake."
"What?"
"We trusted Teresa."
I froze.
"My mother?"
Eleanor nodded.
"Your mother wasn't the mastermind."
"Then who?"
She turned toward the courtroom entrance.
A man stood there.
Gray hair.
Expensive black coat.
Calm expression.
I recognized him.
My father's lawyer.
But he wasn't looking at my father.
He was looking at me.
Eleanor whispered:
"The real architect."
My heart stopped.
The lawyer smiled.
Then he said:
"Hello, Evelyn."
I couldn't move.
Because suddenly, I remembered something.
The first time I had seen him.
The wedding.
He had been standing beside Preston.
Watching.
Waiting.
And when Sophie was struck, he hadn't moved.
He had simply looked at the security camera.
As if he already knew what it had recorded.
Now he walked toward us.
And behind him were two police officers.
But they weren't arresting him.
They were protecting him.
He placed a folder on the prosecutor's table.
"The Carter estate has been built on fraud."
The prosecutor stared.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm providing evidence."
"Against whom?"
He looked at my father.
Then at Eleanor.
Then at me.
"Everyone."
I felt cold.
He opened the folder.
Inside was a birth certificate.
A photograph.
And a DNA report.
He pushed them forward.
"Before this trial continues, there is something the court needs to know."
I looked at the report.
The name at the top wasn't mine.
It wasn't Michael's.
It wasn't Sophie's.
It wasn't even Eleanor's.
It was Samuel's.
And beneath his name was a line that made my heart stop.
PATERNITY: UNKNOWN.
The lawyer smiled.
"Your first son may not be Michael Bennett's child."
Michael went completely still.
I stared at the document.
Then at the lawyer.
"Who is his father?"
The lawyer closed the folder.
"That is the question that will determine who owns everything."
And across the courtroom, my father finally stopped smiling.
May you like
Because whatever secret was inside Samuel's blood...
even he was afraid of it.
