"Exhibit A: the chaos, the noise. He was running industrial machinery at all hours, aimed specifically at my bedroom window to deprive me of sleep."
"We have timestamped video proving all work was done between 8:00 a.m. and 6:00 p.m.," Saul interjected smoothly.
"Fabricated!" Brenda yelled.
"And the brick?" Mr. Henderson asked gently.
"Yes, a brick went through his window. But who's to say it wasn't an act of God or a vagrant, or, as I suspect, Jack himself in a desperate bid for attention?"
"Brenda," Mr. Henderson said, "there is 4K video of you throwing the brick. The police have it. We have it. The judge will have it."
Brenda froze. She seemed to reboot her brain.
"Well, if I did throw it, which I don't admit, it was justified self-defense. The noise was assaulting me. It was a preemptive strike against sonic violence."
Saul leaned back, grinning. "So your argument is that you threw a brick in self-defense against hammering at 2:00 p.m.?"
"You're twisting my words!" Brenda snapped, then turned on the mediator. "And you? You're biased. I can see it in your eyes. You're part of the construction cabal."
"Mr. Henderson is a retired family-court judge, Brenda," Saul said.
"He's a patriarchal stooge."
Brenda gathered up her binders. "This mediation is a sham. I will see you in real court, where real justice prevails. I will not be silenced by the drywall-industrial complex."
She stormed out, knocking over a potted plant on her way. Mr. Henderson sighed, pulled a flask from his jacket pocket, poured a shot into his coffee, and looked at Saul.
"See you at trial, counselor."
The trial was less a legal proceeding and more a public execution of Brenda's ego. It took place in a civil courtroom before Judge Ramirez, a no-nonsense woman who looked like she didn't suffer fools, gladly or otherwise.
Brenda showed up wearing an outfit that I think was supposed to look professional, but looked more like she was auditioning for a role as a quirky, whimsical baker in a Hallmark movie. Lots of scarves and jingling bracelets.
Saul's opening statement was brief. "Your Honor, the defendant threw a brick through my client's window because she doesn't like construction noise during business hours. We have it on video. She then refused to pay the bill and threw feces at my client's property. We have that on video, too. We ask for full damages."
Brenda's opening statement lasted twenty minutes. It covered the history of property rights dating back to the Magna Carta, her severe allergy to dust vibrations, a conspiracy theory about Tony the contractor being an ex-CIA operative, and a claim that my house was built on an ancient ley line that I was disrupting.
Judge Ramirez looked at her over her reading glasses multiple times. "Ms. Johnson, do you have a legal point to make related to the broken window?"
"It's all connected, Your Honor. You have to see the tapestry," Brenda insisted.
Then came the evidence phase. Saul simply hooked up his laptop to the courtroom screen and pressed play. The jury, yes, Brenda demanded a jury, thinking they would sympathize with her plight, watched the brick video.
They watched it in regular speed. They watched it in slow motion. They watched it zoomed in on Brenda's determined face. Then Saul played the dog-waste video.
A collective gasp went through the jury box. One juror actually covered her mouth. Brenda, sitting at the defendant's table, looked incredibly smug.
"See? He was harassing me with envelopes," she whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear.
It was time for cross-examination. Saul approached the stand where Brenda was sitting, looking like a cat about to toy with a particularly slow mouse.
"Ms. Johnson," Saul began, "you stated in your opening monologue, sorry, statement, that you didn't throw the brick, but if you did, it was self-defense. Which is it?"
"It's both. It's Schrodinger's brick, counselor. It exists in a state of quantum uncertainty until observed by true justice."
The judge rubbed her temples.
"Okay," Saul said. "Let's look at the video again. Is that you in the bathrobe?"
"It looks like me, but it could be a doppelganger or a clone."
"A clone. Right. And the note taped to the brick that said 'Satan's Spawn.' Did a clone write that, too?"
"I often call Jack Satan's spawn in my head. Perhaps the clone is psychic."
Saul let the silence stretch out, allowing the sheer absurdity of her answers to hang in the air.
"Ms. Johnson, isn't it true that you simply lost your temper because you couldn't control what your neighbor was doing on his own property, so you resorted to violence?"
"I am the victim here!" Brenda slammed her hand on the witness stand. "He invaded my peace. He deserves worse than a brick. I should have burned that eyesore down."