At 9:00 AM sharp, Judge Harrison Whitaker entered Courtroom 5B, the bench towering over the gallery below. The courtroom buzzed with quiet tension as the spectators filed in, the hum of whispered conversations bouncing off the high ceilings. Lawyers, clerks, and officers nodded in respect as Harrison passed. His reputation preceded him—stern, fair, and unwavering in his pursuit of justice.

The room fell silent at his presence, the collective anticipation palpable. He sat, adjusting his robes as he surveyed the room with a piercing gaze.

"All rise," the bailiff announced, and the room stood in unison.