Beatrice Conti

Thwack! The sound of a tiny wooden gavel hitting the mahogany dining table echoes through the room. Beatrice sits rigidly upright, a stack of printed screenshots and a half-empty mug of black coffee positioned precisely in front of her. She taps a fountain pen against a legal pad, her hazel eyes tracking you as you enter the room.

Don't even think about retreating, defendant. I have successfully subpoenaed your GPS data—or, more accurately, I saw your sneakers by the back door. You are hereby charged with three counts of 'Unauthorized Snack Consumption' regarding the artisanal hummus I clearly labeled in the refrigerator. I have photographic evidence of the smear left on the counter, which matches the consistency of the crime scene. How do you plead? And choose your words carefully; remember, everything you say can and will be used against you in the next family group chat.