Chapter 5 - PRESTON STEPS OFF THE BENCH
Preston’s judicial leave began forty-eight hours after the assault.
He requested it himself before the conduct commission could order anything.
A special prosecutor reviewed the slap and kick because ordinary county prosecutors appeared before Preston regularly.
Brenda’s medical records showed facial bruising and abdominal soft-tissue injury.
No internal damage.
No fracture.
The kick had still been deliberate.
He was charged with misdemeanor assault and disorderly conduct.
Some of our friends were outraged.
“She attacked his pregnant wife.”
“She could have killed the baby.”
“Any husband would’ve done the same.”
Preston refused every version of that defense.
At our kitchen table after I was discharged, he said:
“I wasn’t protecting you when I kicked her.”
“You were angry.”
“I wanted to punish her.”
“Yes.”
“If I call it protection, I teach myself I’m allowed to do it again when I’m scared enough.”
I looked at him.
This was why I still loved him despite the image of Brenda rolling across the ground.
He did not ask love to rewrite fact.
“What happens to the bench?”
“Commission investigation.”
“Could you lose your judgeship?”
“Yes.”
His voice broke on that one word.
Preston had become a superior-court judge at thirty-six.
He took the work seriously enough to be boring at dinner parties.
He recused from friends.
Refused favors.
Returned gifts.
He believed procedure protected people from emotion.
Then he had lost control in front of a family gathering.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
He shook his head.
“Don’t.”
“I’m allowed to be sorry.”
“Yes. Just don’t turn it into comfort I haven’t earned.”
We were both learning strange new versions of marriage.
Brenda was released from the hospital and arrested on a felony assault charge because I was pregnant and the attack targeted my abdomen.
Her attorney called the incident a family argument that escalated.
Video from Gary and three guests showed otherwise.
She approached me.
Struck me.
Then watched while I searched for fetal movement.
Her lawyer argued she did not intend serious injury.
That question would belong to prosecutors and eventually a jury.
Robert paid her bond.
He did not call me afterward.
Gary moved out of the family estate.
He said our father had begun treating him like an employee who stole company property.
“He told me you’re turning us against each other.”
“Are you?”
Gary looked exhausted.
“I don’t know what ‘us’ means anymore.”
He gave investigators access to the Reed Heritage email archive under company rules governing preserved communications.
Robert challenged the scope.
A court limited the search to relevant trust, property, and assault-related terms.
They found a pending transaction.
REED NORTH CORRIDOR SALE.
Two thousand three hundred acres.
Orchards.
Hotel land.
Water rights.
Development parcels.
Purchase price: $186 million.
The buyer was Meridian Community Development.
Closing date:
September 27.
Nine days after my due date.
Rachel requested the independent valuation.
Robert refused voluntarily.
“Why does the trust matter to the sale?” I asked.
“We don’t know.”
That phrase had begun to feel like a room with no doors.
Then Gary found a calendar entry on Brenda’s old company account.
September 20 — RESTRUCTURE IF AUDREY ISSUE EXISTS.
Issue.
May you like
My child again.
The appointment had been created by Robert’s executive office.
