Chapter 21 - PRESTON RETURNS TO A COURTROOM
The Judicial Conduct Commission reviewed Preston after eighteen months.
Counseling completed.
Probation completed.
No additional incidents.
Strong evaluations from treatment providers.
Letters from attorneys who practiced before him before the incident.
Criticism from victim advocates who argued a judge who kicked a woman on the ground should never return.
Both perspectives belonged in the record.
Preston testified.
“If reinstated, what assurance does the public have that you will not act violently again?” a justice asked.
“No absolute assurance. The public has my conduct since, treatment records, accountability, and the fact that I now recognize the warning signs I ignored.”
“Would you respond differently if someone attacked your wife again?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Stop immediate danger, call trained responders, preserve evidence, and step away once the threat ends.”
The state supreme court reinstated him under monitoring and a public censure.
One justice dissented and would have removed him permanently.
Preston read the dissent.
Kept a copy.
Returning to the bench did not mean everyone agreed he deserved it.
His first week back, a defendant shouted at him.
The bailiff moved.
Preston remained seated.
Later he told me:
“I noticed my hands.”
“What about them?”
“They wanted to clench.”
“And?”
“I put them flat on the bench.”
Tiny behavior.
Large meaning.
He eventually transferred away from family-related civil matters to a criminal docket that reduced possible overlap with Reed litigation.
He recused whenever our family history could reasonably raise concern.
His career recovered.
Not unchanged.
I preferred it that way.
Elise learned to walk at thirteen months.
She took four steps toward Preston and fell onto her diaper.
He applauded as if she had won election.
I shouted:
“Do not tell her she controls fifty-two percent!”
He looked offended.
“I was going to tell her she controls this household.”
“Also dangerous.”
Our home contained photographs of Mom.
None of Robert.
Not because I planned permanent erasure.
Because I was not ready.
At eighteen months, Elise pointed at Elaine’s photograph.
“Who?”
“Grandma Elaine.”
“Where?”
“She died before you were born.”
Elise accepted that and demanded crackers.
Children gave grief reasonable proportions.
My father remained alive in prison.
His attorneys sent annual trust challenges.
The courts rejected most.
One succeeded in correcting an overbroad forfeiture order.
The return of a legitimate asset made headlines as though his convictions had collapsed.
They had not.
May you like
Accuracy required saying so anyway.
We were building a family where legal defeat and moral truth did not need to align perfectly every time.
