Patricia Williams stepped protectively closer to her son. "Anything you have to say to my boy, you can say in front of me."
Richardson's smile never wavered, but his eyes grew cold. Mrs. Williams, I'm trying to help your son avoid a very serious mistake. Marcus nodded to his mother that it was okay, and they stepped into an empty conference room. Richardson closed the door with exaggerated care, the sound echoing ominously in the small space.
"Son, you've put on quite a show in there. Very impressive for someone with no legal training." Richardson's tone was condescending, like a teacher praising a child's finger painting. "But this isn't a high school debate tournament. This is an adult felony court where real careers get destroyed."
"Whose career are we talking about, Mr. Richardson?" Marcus asked.
The prosecutor's mask slipped for just a moment, revealing something dangerous underneath. "You're playing in the major leagues now, kid. One wrong move, one procedural error, one piece of evidence ruled inadmissible, and I'll bury you so deep you'll never see sunlight again."
Marcus met his stare without flinching. "Is that a threat against a defendant representing himself?"
"It's friendly advice from someone who's been doing this since before you were born." Richardson leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Take the plea deal. Walk away while you still can, because if you push this any further, I guarantee you'll regret it."
Marcus reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone, tapping the screen to stop a recording app. "Thank you for that friendly advice, Mr. Richardson. I'm sure the jury will find it very interesting."
The prosecutor's face went white as he realized he had been recorded threatening a defendant. "You little—"
"Careful, sir. That recording is automatically backing up to cloud storage."