“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury.” His voice carried none of its usual performative warmth. Instead, it resonated with a quiet intensity that made several jurors tilt in his direction unconsciously. “Thank you for your time and attention these past days.”

He moved from behind the counsel table with measured steps, each movement suggesting the weight of what was to come. The gallery fell silent - even the international observers set aside their tabs, sensing the shift in atmosphere.

“I know, I know,” a ghost of his familiar smile flickered across his features, “I may have come across these past few days as… well…” He paused, allowing a soft ripple of knowing chuckles to pass through the jury box. “A little much.” His gaze drifted toward the floor, something almost sheepish crossing his face. “You may not be able to tell, but I do kind of feel bad…” His hand lifted vaguely toward the plaintiff’s table, a gesture that didn’t quite land. “…being juxtaposed to such individuals so delicate.” The sheepishness vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by a small shrug. “But somebody’s gotta do it.”

At the plaintiff’s table, Juniper’s eyes narrowed slightly as she studied this transformed version of their opponent. Gone was the showman who had dominated the courtroom with manufactured charm. In his place stood someone whose intensity felt almost dangerous in its authenticity.

“But given my time with you today,” Roma continued, his voice dropping to that intimate register that made every word feel like a personal confession, “I seek to share with you not just the Department of Justice’s perspective, but my own journey to understanding what truly lies at stake.”

He began to pace, not with his usual swagger, but with the restless energy of someone wrestling with profound truths.