Chapter 71
“Are you aware of the reputation you’ve cultivated? Some describe you as a ruthless mercenary who will abandon any shred of ethics to win,” Windsor began, his voice steady. “Others paint you as a parasite, a lawyer who leeches off the powerful while trampling the vulnerable. Tell me, which of those descriptions do you find more accurate?”
Parker’s lips thinned into a hard line. He forced a slow, deliberate breath, fighting to suppress the white-hot irritation bubbling in his chest.
When he spoke, his tone was freezing.
“You will restrict your comments to answering my questions, Lord Preston.”
Windsor gave a slight, dismissive nod and pressed on.
“My point is that neither of those rumors is true—much like the gossip surrounding me. Does that clarify things for you?”
Parker’s brow twitched. He fixed Windsor with a look of pure animosity, but Windsor remained unruffled, his voice as dry as parchment.
“Furthermore, this chamber is a venue for establishing facts, not for entertaining idle hearsay. Try to remember that you are a legal professional, not a tabloid journalist. Though I imagine a man of your standing hardly needs me to remind him of his own job.”
A wave of muffled chuckles rippled through the gallery. The sound pricked at Parker’s vanity, and he ground his teeth together.
He realized he had grossly underestimated Windsor. The barb he’d aimed at the Marquess had been caught and flung back with twice the force.
His partner, Archer, caught his eye and signaled a silent offer to take over the questioning. Parker ignored him. To step down now would be a public admission of defeat, a retreat with his tail between his legs.
He doubled down, his competitive streak ignited. He would dismantle Windsor’s composure if it was the last thing he did.
Taking a moment to settle his nerves, Parker donned a mask of professional calm. A sharp, pointed question hissed through his teeth.
“Am I to take it, Lord Preston, that you believe your conduct is beyond reproach? That you possess the full measure of noble decorum? And how, exactly, do you intend to prove that?”
“Counsel.”
Windsor still pointedly refused to use Parker’s name. He adjusted his spectacles with a crisp, efficient motion and looked up.
That simple movement was enough to draw every eye in the room toward him. Whatever one thought of the man, he possessed an innate, magnetic authority.
Parker’s expression soured. “…Yes?”
“It is not my burden to prove I am virtuous. It is yours, Counsel, to prove that I am not. I suggest you stop neglecting your fundamental duties.”
Parker’s face flushed a deep, angry crimson. It wasn’t embarrassment; it was the sheer, suffocating frustration of having every offensive maneuver effortlessly parried.
He was supposed to be the one putting Windsor on the defensive, yet he was the one feeling cornered. What galled him most was that Windsor was legally correct.
The man missed his calling, Parker thought bitterly. He should have been a barrister rather than a naval officer. Even if he were drowning, his silver tongue would probably stay afloat.
Parker straightened his posture, forcing himself to ignore the internal sting. He turned toward the gallery, seeking to regain his momentum by addressing the audience.
“Very well, let us return to the facts. Lord Preston, you are the illegitimate son of the late Marquess Bentley Preston. Had Lord Jeffrey Preston—Benjamin’s father—not met his untimely end, your life would have remained entirely separate from the Preston estate.”
Parker turned back to Windsor, a mocking glint in his narrow eyes.
“On the other hand, we have His Majesty the King, Benjamin’s maternal grandfather. Their bond is one of direct royal blood, and His Majesty’s devotion to the boy is well-documented. Between a distant uncle and a doting royal grandfather, who do you truly believe offers the better future for the child’s upbringing and education?”
Windsor fell silent for the first time. Sensing a crack in the armor, Parker allowed a small, smug smile to touch his lips.
“Would young Master Benjamin Preston truly prefer your company over that of His Majesty? Would he choose you over a life within the royal fold?”
Ever since the discovery of Jeffrey’s will, Windsor’s sole focus had been protecting his nephew. Yet, in the quiet of his own mind, he wondered if he was providing what the boy actually wanted.
Benjamin was a pawn in a game played by giants; did the child have a voice of his own?
Slowly, Windsor raised his gaze. He spoke with measured, unhurried precision.
“That is not a question for me to answer. You should put it to Benjamin himself.”
Parker finally felt he had the upper hand. He gave a theatrical, irritating shrug.
“The answer is self-evident, isn’t it? Any child would jump at the chance to join the royal family. You are the only thing standing in the way of Benjamin’s illustrious future, Lord Preston.”
Parker drove the point home, his voice ringing with feigned triumph. He paused for effect, his expression turning dark and suggestive.
“Tell me—had you even met young Benjamin before Lord Jeffrey’s passing?”
“No.”
“Then there is no real connection between you, is there? Why, then, are you so desperate to claim guardianship? Why go to such lengths to oppose the King himself?”
“Because it was my brother’s final request. I intend to honor his wishes.”
Parker let out a sharp, derisive laugh—a sound carefully calibrated for the audience.
“And it has nothing to do with your desire to control the Preston family fortune, I suppose?”
The courtroom went deathly still. The accusation breathed life into the oldest rumor in the city: the story of the predatory uncle plotting to steal a child’s birthright.
“Poor Benjamin,” someone whispered from the back.
Parker shrugged again, his eyes urging Windsor to defend the indefensible.
Windsor turned his head slowly. His gaze was devoid of heat, yet it carried a crushing, invisible weight.
When he spoke, his voice was heavy with an authority that commanded total silence. Every person in the room leaned in, waiting for the Marquess to address the charge of greed.
“Counsel.”
“…Answer the question, Lord Preston.”
The way Windsor said “Counsel” made Parker’s skin crawl. He braced himself, determined not to let the man slip away again.
“I had heard rumors that you were a man of considerable talent,” Windsor remarked.
“I am flattered.”
“It seems the rumors were exaggerated.”
Parker’s jaw tightened. Windsor raised an eyebrow, his composure absolute.
“If you intend to accuse me of embezzling the Preston estate, you might have started by investigating the actual state of those assets.”
Parker balled his fists, maintaining a brittle, trembling smile.
Windsor was dismantling him piece by piece, highlighting his lack of preparation in front of the entire court. It was Parker who was losing his grip.
“An excellent point, Lord Preston—if the records were accessible. I attempted to audit the estate, but your security is impenetrable. Even the estate steward refused to speak with us. One has to wonder…”
He paused, a sneer curling his lip.
“Is there a reason for such absolute secrecy? Perhaps because you’ve already siphoned the coffers dry?”
A sharp intake of breath echoed through the gallery.
Windsor spared a brief glance toward the spectators before looking back at Parker.
“One of my first acts upon succeeding the title was to move the entirety of the Preston holdings into a blind trust. The vast majority of our real estate and liquid capital is now legally designated as Benjamin’s inheritance. It is locked away, untouchable until he reaches his majority.”
A murmur of shock swept through the room. Journalists began scribbling frantically, their pencils scratching against paper in a rhythmic blur.
“To be clear,” Windsor added, “I have no personal access to the family wealth.”
Parker stared at him, his eyes cold and hard. He hadn’t just failed to land a blow; he had provided Windsor with a public platform to clear his name once and for all.
Damn him.
Choking back a curse, Parker stammered, “We would need… evidence.”
“You are welcome to summon the estate steward. He will confirm the trust’s existence under oath.”
Windsor’s gaze remained fixed on Parker—the man who had so ruthlessly intimidated Jacqueline.
“And Counsel, I suggest you apply more rigor to your future cases. Your lack of preparation is frankly embarrassing for a man of your supposed repute. I find myself wondering how much longer your career will survive such incompetence.”
Windsor paused. “Do you have any further inquiries?”
“…Nothing further.”
With one final, venomous look, Parker retreated to his bench. The room was thick with tension, the spectators silently acknowledging who had won that exchange.
Archer briefly took over, and when he finished his segment, Parker stood once more, his face set in a mask of determination.
“I call Mayor Gallup to the stand.”
“Permission granted,” Judge Harrison replied.
A man stepped forward, notable for his thick, unruly brown curls and a beard that bled into dense sideburns.
After swearing his oath, the man sat down, looking visibly anxious. Parker gave him a reassuring, practiced smile.
“Thank you for being here, Mayor.”
“Yes, sir.”
“There is no need for nerves. Simply tell us the truth as you remember it.”
“I will.”
In the pews, Evan’s brow darkened. He leaned in close to Windsor, whispering, “That’s Mayor Gallup—the ninth tutor.”
Windsor gave a stoic nod. Evan’s expression was grim.
“We’ve had Fisher, Robinson, and Goodman already. We can claim they’re lying, but if a fourth man stands up and tells the exact same story, the sheer weight of it will crush us. If enough people say there’s a fire, the world will see smoke, whether it’s there or not. This is where the tide could turn. We have to be extremely careful.”
Windsor nodded again, his eyes fixed on the witness.
Parker began his questioning, following the same clinical rhythm he had used with the previous instructors. It was a well-oiled machine.
Evan knew this had been choreographed to the last detail. Parker would have left nothing to chance.
“Is it your testimony, then, that Lord Preston mistreated his nephew, Master Benjamin?”
“If you consider total neglect to be a form of mistreatment, then yes,” Gallup answered with a firm nod.
The gallery hummed with renewed energy, falling hushed as the witness prepared to elaborate.
