The clerk reached the edge of the platform, her chest heaving as she placed herself firmly between the aggressive deputy and the elevated desk. She shot a look of pure, unadulterated disbelief at the bailiff.
"That's Judge Bennett," she declared, her voice echoing off the high oak ceilings, "and you're standing in his courtroom."
The words struck the bailiff with the concussive force of a physical blow. The mottled, angry red color drained instantly from his face, leaving behind a sickly, pale white. The heavy midnight navy uniform, which just moments ago had felt like an impenetrable suit of armor, suddenly felt like a suffocating straitjacket.
He slowly turned his head back toward the bench.
The man in the off-white shirt had not moved. He had not gloated. He simply sat there, observing the complete and total destruction of the bailiff's arrogant reality. Armed with the clerk's revelation, the bailiff’s perception violently shifted. He no longer saw a trespassing thug in a tight shirt. He saw the sharp, brilliant mind that controlled the destiny of everyone who stepped into this room. He saw the Honorable Judge Bennett, a man renowned for his uncompromising intellect and heavy gavels.