The Stamford Superior Courthouse is a massive glass-and-brick building—all atriums and soundproof hearing rooms—in the center of that bleak booming town. The surrounding streets are dominated by low-slung apartment developments, highway interchanges, fast-food joints, and government buildings that hum with traffic. The fact that the court is sleek, ultra-modern, and seems toothachingly new belies the nature of the scenes unfolding inside. Take, for example, the trial of Michelle Troconis, the last day of which most of the people lined up for the metal-detector machines have come to witness as participants, reporters, or gawking aficionados. This is real old-time biblical shit, as ancient as David and Bathsheba.
Michelle Troconis, the 49-year-old Venezuelan socialite who was convicted on Friday for conspiracy to commit murder, is tall, willowy, and as beautiful as a newscaster. Her trouble started when she met Fotis Dulos at the Greater Miami Ski Club in Doral, a center of the water-ski world a few dozen miles from South Beach. She fell for the married man, a builder of luxury Connecticut homes who was estranged from his wife, the brilliantly rich, fabulously connected Jennifer Farber Dulos.
