He should hit mute on the annoying prosecutor

In a flourish, he produced a sleek, black remote from within his coat and pointed it directly at her. Before anyone could react, he pressed a button marked with a small speaker icon.

Vivian’s mouth moved in reply, her face twisting into indignant expressions as she continued her rant—but no sound came out. The room froze in collective shock.

The silence was deafening, broken only by the gasps of the spectators and the soft clicking of Helen Sainz’s stenography machine as her fingers hesitated, unsure whether to keep typing.

Vivian’s furious, soundless gesticulations grew more animated, her hands flailing as if trying to pull words from the air.

Judge Sinclair leaned forward, frowning deeply. “What is the meaning of this?”

Mr. Jester shrugged with a disarming smile. “Your Honor. Just a demonstration of my so-called ‘scam.’” He clicked the same button again, and Vivian’s voice abruptly returned mid-sentence.

“...a fraud! A liar! A—” She paused, blinking in confusion, realizing that everyone in the room was looking at her with a bewildered expression. Her eyes darted around the courtroom, noting the stunned expressions. “What happened?”

“Do go on, Ms. Hart,” Mr. Jester said.

Vivian’s confusion morphed back into anger. She slammed her hand on the table and pointed at Mr. Jester. “I demand to see that remote right now! I have documents here that prove how many people you’ve scammed selling that remote, however no one was able to provide one to submit into evidence.”

Her heels clicked against the floor as she stormed toward him. But before she could take more than a few steps, Mr. Jester calmly pointed the remote at her again and pressed another button.

This time, her body froze mid-stride. Her face remained locked in an expression of outrage, her arm outstretched, her entire form as still as a statue. She didn’t blink. She didn’t breathe.

The room erupted into chaos.

“What in the—?” Judge Sinclair stood, her gavel in hand but momentarily forgotten.

The jury exchanged panicked whispers, and Helen Sainz stopped typing altogether, her hands covering her mouth. Tina Collins, seated among the jurors, leaned forward in her chair, her face a mix of disbelief and curiosity.

At the back of the courtroom, Officer Grace Lin sprang into action.

Grace had been watching the trial with her usual detached professionalism. A no-nonsense officer in her early thirties, she was known for her unflinching discipline and unwavering sense of duty. Her short, slicked-back hair and sharply pressed uniform gave her an air of quiet authority. She was the kind of person who always seemed ready to act, and this bizarre situation was no exception.

Reaching for her holstered sidearm, Grace began to approach Mr. Jester with measured but deliberate steps. “Alright, that’s enough. Put the remote down, now.”