Chapter 13 - THE LAST LIEPreston chose to testify.
His attorneys advised him not to.
But Preston had never accepted a world in which other people spoke while he remained silent.
He believed one final performance could save him.
He told the jury he had placed the phone in Sophie’s pocket as a joke.
He claimed he intended to retrieve it privately.
He said I overreacted and caused a confrontation.
He said the board slipped while he was moving it.
The prosecutor played the footage again.
Preston crossing the ballroom.
Preston lifting the board.
Preston swinging with both hands.
“Where does it slip?” she asked.
He stared at the screen.
“It happened quickly.”
“You carried the board more than twenty feet.”
“Yes.”
“You raised it above your shoulder.”
“I was angry.”
“You aimed it toward an eight-year-old child.”
“I did not aim.”
“You shouted that this was what happened when someone raised a thief.”
“I do not remember saying that.”
The prosecutor played the violinist’s recording.
His own voice echoed around the courtroom.
Preston shifted in the witness chair.
The prosecutor displayed his messages to Cassandra.
“You wrote that Evelyn would sign once she understood what happened to her little thief.”
“It was a figure of speech.”
“You planted the phone.”
“It was a prank.”
“You publicly accused Sophie.”
“I expected Evelyn to cooperate.”
“You struck the child when her mother refused.”
“It was an accident.”
“You contacted a public-relations employee to publish Sophie’s school photograph.”
“I did not control everything my staff did.”
“You went to Evelyn’s home while prohibited from contacting her.”
“I wanted my property.”
“You attempted to break through her door.”
“I was emotional.”
The prosecutor stepped closer.
“Every time you make a decision, Mr. Vale, someone else becomes responsible.”
“My sister provoked you.”
“Your employee misunderstood you.”
“Your wife betrayed you.”
“Your staff acted independently.”
“A child caused you embarrassment.”
“Is there anyone in this courtroom responsible for your actions except you?”
Preston looked toward my father.
It was automatic.
A child seeking rescue.
My father could not save him from the witness stand.
“No further questions,” the prosecutor said.
The defense rested the following day.
The jury deliberated for eleven hours.
We returned to the courtroom shortly before nine at night.
Sophie waited with Rachel in a private room.
I sat between Naomi and Detective Ortiz.
Preston stood.
The clerk read the first verdict.
Guilty.
Then the second.
Guilty.
Planting evidence.
Filing a false report.
Assaulting a child.
Witness intimidation.
Attempted burglary.
One guilty verdict followed another.
Preston’s shoulders dropped.
My father closed his eyes.
My mother began crying silently.
I felt no triumph.
Only a strange, heavy relief.
The system had finally said the word my family had avoided for thirty years.
Guilty.
Preston turned before the deputies led him away.
Our eyes met.
“You did this,” he said.
The courtroom heard him.
Even after the verdict, he needed someone else to carry the blame.
I stood.
“No, Preston.”
“You did.”
He stared at me as though the concept were written in a language he could not understand.
Then the deputies escorted him through the side door.
I went to tell Sophie.
She was sitting on the floor drawing with Rachel.
When I entered, she looked up.
“What happened?”
“The jury believed the truth.”
“Is it over?”
“The trial is.”
“What happens to Uncle Preston?”
“The judge will decide.”
Sophie thought for a moment.
“Does he finally know I’m not a thief?”
“He always knew.”
That answer surprised her.
“He lied because he knew the truth would not give him what he wanted.”
She looked down at her drawing.
“Then the video wasn’t for him.”
May you like
“No.”
“It was for everybody else.”
