Chapter 12 - Preston Faced Me in Court
Preston looked smaller without an audience he controlled.
The courtroom was full.
Reporters occupied every available seat.
His attorneys surrounded him.
I sat with prosecutors waiting to testify.
Roman remained in the second row.
Not beside me.
That had been my decision.
This trial belonged to Preston and me.
I did not want anyone telling the story as mafia boss versus wealthy fiancé.
It was simpler.
A man engineered financial ruin, coercion, arson, kidnapping, and fraud because he believed a woman’s refusal was an obstacle rather than an answer.
When I took the stand, Preston looked directly at me.
I looked back.
His attorney began gently.
“Ms. DuPont, you once loved my client?”
“Yes.”
“You intended to marry him?”
“Until he assaulted and publicly humiliated me at the altar.”
Objection.
Sustained.
The attorney continued.
“You voluntarily accepted his proposal.”
“Yes.”
“You continued your relationship for nearly two years.”
“Yes.”
“During that period, Mr. Kensington assisted your family financially.”
“No.”
He paused.
“No?”
“He purchased debt created partly through companies he controlled.”
The jury watched.
His attorney shifted.
“You are now romantically involved with Roman Moretti.”
“Yes.”
“A man associated with organized crime.”
“I’m romantically involved with a shipping executive who has publicly acknowledged wrongdoing inside his family businesses and cooperated with federal investigators.”
Roman almost smiled.
The attorney did not.
“Did Mr. Moretti encourage you to end your engagement?”
“No.”
“He interrupted your wedding.”
“Yes.”
“Rather dramatically.”
“Less dramatically than Preston tearing my dress.”
A few people laughed.
Judge warned the gallery.
Then prosecutors took over.
They showed photographs.
The torn dress.
My bruised arm.
The warehouse fire.
The threat to Chloe.
Dad’s abandoned vehicle.
Preston holding the gun.
The Northstar documents.
My mother’s ledger.
Henry Sloane testified.
Matteo testified.
Malcolm Voss testified regarding Charles.
Preston’s own emails were worst.
One to his father years earlier:
Met Eleanor. Trusting. Family pressure works exactly as expected.
Another:
Once married, Northstar becomes manageable.
Another, months before the wedding:
Robert will fold before she does. Keep squeezing company cash flow.
I thought reading those would destroy me.
They didn’t.
The woman he described no longer existed.
Maybe she never had.
Preston testified against his lawyers’ advice.
That was his final mistake.
He was charming initially.
He explained everything.
Business competition.
Misunderstood messages.
Threats taken out of context.
Roman manipulating evidence.
Then the prosecutor asked about the wedding.
“Did you tear Ms. DuPont’s dress?”
“It ripped during an argument.”
“Did you laugh?”
“I was shocked.”
Video played.
A guest had filmed the altar.
There was Preston.
My dress ripping.
My hands covering myself.
His laugh.
The courtroom became silent.
The prosecutor asked:
“Does that sound shocked?”
Preston’s face changed.
Then came the audio from the Harbor Club.
Then the kidnapping call.
Then his voice:
You always come back when you understand consequences.
The prosecutor stood before him.
“What consequence did you believe Ms. DuPont deserved for refusing to marry you?”
“I never said she deserved anything.”
“You burned her company records.”
“I did not.”
“Your employee testified otherwise.”
“He lied.”
“You threatened her sister.”
“No.”
“Your employee testified otherwise.”
“He lied too.”
“You kidnapped her father.”
“That was not kidnapping.”
The prosecutor paused.
“What would you call restraining a man and demanding property for his release?”
Preston looked toward me.
“A negotiation.”
That word convicted him before the jury ever left.
They deliberated nine hours.
Guilty.
Kidnapping.
Conspiracy.
Arson.
Wire fraud.
Coercion.
Evidence tampering.
Several financial counts.
Not every charge.
Enough.
Preston stood motionless while the verdicts were read.
Then he looked at me.
For one second, I saw the man I had once believed I would grow old beside.
That was the strangest grief.
Not losing him.
Losing the imaginary future I had once assigned to him.
After court, reporters surrounded me.
“Eleanor!”
“Do you feel vindicated?”
“What happens to Northstar?”
“Are you marrying Roman Moretti?”
That last one made me laugh.
Roman waited beside the courthouse steps.
He did not intervene.
I answered one question.
“What happens now?”
I looked toward the cameras.
“Now I go back to work.”
And I did.
Northstar construction began six months later.
DuPont Atlantic partnered with three companies, including Moretti Maritime.
Roman owned no controlling interest.
That had been important to both of us.
Dad became chairman emeritus.
Which meant he attended meetings, complained about PowerPoint fonts, and took long lunches.
Chloe finished Harvard Law.
She announced she intended to become a prosecutor.
Nobody was surprised.
Roman continued changing his organization.
Some men left.
Some threatened him.
One attempted to take control.
Roman handled it without bodies disappearing.
Progress.
Not perfection.
We had learned the difference.
Preston received twenty-seven years.
His father’s reputation collapsed posthumously.
My mother’s death was officially reclassified as a homicide resulting from criminal pursuit.
There was no clean justice.
Charles was dead.
Vincent was dead.
Mom remained dead.
But truth entered the record.
Sometimes that was all justice could still give.
A year after the trial, Roman took me to Gloucester.
Same house.
Same ocean.
He stood on the porch holding a small box.
I immediately said, “No.”
He froze.
“You haven’t opened it.”
“I know exactly what that is.”
“You might not.”
“It’s ring-shaped.”
“Could be earrings.”
“It isn’t.”
Roman sighed.
“I practiced this.”
I smiled.
“That’s adorable.”
“Please stop talking.”
I laughed.
Then he opened the box.
A ring.
Simple.
Elegant.
Nothing like Preston’s enormous diamond.
Roman did not kneel.
Not yet.
He looked at me.
“I’m not asking because I protected you.”
“I know.”
“Or because your mother asked me to.”
“I know.”
“I’m asking because you are the most exhausting woman I have ever met.”
“Strong opening.”
“And because every life I imagine without you feels smaller.”
My eyes filled.
Then he knelt.
“Eleanor Evelyn DuPont, will you marry me?”
I stared at him.
At the sea.
At the house where Mom left the first clue that gave me my life back.
“Yes.”
Roman exhaled.
Then I added:
“But I’m buying my own dress.”
May you like
He laughed.
“Deal.”
