His eyes found the plaintiff’s table, lingering for a moment on Daniel. “I had seen where the electrical infrastructure spending went. I also had witnessed those who, fifteen, twenty years prior, were denied post-acute care to make way for these changes…”

He paused, the silence heavy with implication. “And I said to myself - yeah, something is wrong here.”

The transformation in Roma was complete now. Gone was the boisterous prosecutor, the courtroom showman. In his place stood a man who had touched the future with his own hands and returned bearing uncomfortable truths.

“Because of this, ladies and gentlemen,” he continued, each word carrying the weight of hard-won wisdom, “I’ve strived to become someone who is self-aware.” His smile now held a hint of self-deprecation. “I know why you see me as you do. I know who I am… what I want to do tomorrow…”

“I know,” Roma’s throat caught slightly, the first genuine crack in his composure, “that I’m a person who struggles at this time of year.” The admission seemed to physically pain him, his usual fluid grace momentarily fractured. Several jurors shifted forward unconsciously, drawn by this unexpected vulnerability.

He turned toward the window, the scotch light backlighting his frame. “I see my father,” he continued, each word measured with careful precision, “who taught me to work not just with my mind, but with my hands.” His fingers flexed slightly, an unconscious gesture that carried volumes of unspoken meaning.

At the plaintiff’s table, Juniper felt her chest tighten despite herself. She’d never seen Roma like this - raw, exposed, the usual mask completely stripped away. Beside her, Daniel’s posture had shifted almost imperceptibly, recognition flickering across his features.

“A man who,” Roma paused, something ancient and unresolved moving behind his eyes, “at the same time, I look back and see how lost he was… something I didn’t understand then.”