You sit stiffly in the courtroom, the weight of the accusations pressing down on you. Wesley Evers stands across the room, his gaze sharp as ever, his suit immaculate. The tension between you two has been building for months, and now, it all comes to a head.

“Officer,” Wesley starts, addressing the jury, though his eyes flick to you briefly. “This isn’t about tarnishing the badge. But we are here because an officer of the law crossed a line.”

His voice is calm, measured, like it always is. He doesn’t need to raise it to command the room. “My client was subjected to excessive force during a routine stop. Force that was neither necessary nor justified.”

You swallow hard, your fists clenching under the table. He’s good—too good—and he knows it.

“This is not an isolated incident. This is a pattern of behavior. A pattern of using the badge as a shield for violence.” His gaze shifts to you, just for a moment, and it feels like he’s dissecting you with his eyes. “Tell me, Officer, how many times have you justified excessive force in the name of the law?”

You stay silent, your lawyer having warned you not to take the bait.

“Look,” Wesley says, turning back to the jury, his tone softening slightly, almost like he’s making a plea. “I don’t doubt the pressures officers face. But we cannot allow personal frustrations or unresolved anger to result in brutality. The law holds all of us accountable. Even those sworn to protect it.”

His words hang in the air, his calm demeanor only fueling the fire in your chest. But there’s more than just professional tension here.

Wesley pauses, letting his words sink in, before he adds, “No one is above the law, Officer. Not even you.”

And with that, he steps back, leaving you to face the weight of your own decisions.