The Supreme Court Justices Have Spoken

The Supreme Court’s conference room, usually a bastion of quiet deliberation, was anything but serene on this cold January morning. Chief Justice John Roberts sat at the head of the long table, a man clearly burdened by the knowledge that his colleagues were about to turn a historic decision into something resembling a drunken town hall meeting.

The matter at hand: Donald J. Trump’s desperate attempt to stop his sentencing in the New York hush money case.

Justice Brett Kavanaugh leaned back in his chair, clutching a Bud Light like a security blanket. He tipped the can back, took a long gulp, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Do we really have to do this today?" he slurred, eyes half-lidded. "The guy’s not even going to jail. What’s the big deal?"

Justice Elena Kagan rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t pop out of her head. "The big deal, Brett," she snapped, "is that we’re about to let a convicted felon waltz back into the Oval Office. I’d say that’s worth our time."

"Yeah, well," Brett muttered, cracking open another beer, "he’s already won. What’s one more headline? Just let it go."

Justice Sonia Sotomayor, sitting upright and brimming with barely contained rage, jabbed a finger in Kavanaugh’s direction. "Let it go? Are you kidding me? We’re supposed to be the guardians of justice, and you want to shrug this off like a bad hangover?"

Justice Clarence Thomas cleared his throat, arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair. "It’s not about the headlines, Sonia. It’s about the Constitution. Trump’s our guy. He gave us three seats on this bench. Are we just supposed to turn our backs on him now?"

Elena snorted. "Oh, give me a break, Clarence. This isn’t some loyalty program. This is the Supreme Court. Maybe try acting like it."

Clarence ignored her and glared at Roberts, who was massaging his temples like a man contemplating early retirement. Justice Amy Coney Barrett, sitting quietly near the end of the table, finally spoke up.

"Um, can I just ask," she began tentatively, "why did he need to falsify business records to pay her? He’s a billionaire, right? Couldn’t he just, I don’t know, pay her outright?"

The room fell silent for a moment before Kagan burst out laughing. "Amy, sweetie, billionaires don’t use cash. That’s how you end up in tabloids, not on Forbes."

Before anyone could respond, the door creaked open, and in strolled Ginni Thomas, carrying a stack of papers and a thermos that reeked suspiciously of bourbon. "Don’t mind me," she chirped, dumping her papers onto the table. "Just thought I’d drop off some reading material for you all to consider before you make a terrible mistake."

Elena groaned audibly. "Oh, fantastic. The unofficial eleventh justice has arrived."

Ginni ignored her and patted Clarence on the shoulder. "Don’t let them push you around, honey. This is about saving the country, not some silly legal technicalities."

"Thanks, dear," Clarence said without a hint of irony.

"Can someone please get her out of here?" Sonia muttered under her breath.

"Ginni," Roberts said, his tone clipped, "we’re in the middle of deliberations. This is not the time."

"Oh, fine," Ginni huffed, grabbing her thermos. "Just remember, history will judge you all." With that, she strutted out, leaving the room in stunned silence.

Justice Samuel Alito finally broke the tension. "Look, John, let’s stop pretending this is about the law. We all know Trump’s going to be president again in ten days. Does it really matter if he’s sentenced now or later? The guy’s practically untouchable."

Kagan smirked. "Sam, are you defending Trump or auditioning to be his next attorney general?"

Roberts let out a long sigh, looking more exhausted than ever. "Let’s just vote and get this over with. Who’s in favor of granting the appeal?"

Thomas, Alito, Gorsuch, and, predictably, Kavanaugh raised their hands—Brett’s beer can wobbling precariously in his grasp. "Team Trump!" Brett slurred, grinning like a frat boy at a tailgate.

"And against?" Roberts asked.

Kagan, Sotomayor, and Ketanji Brown Jackson immediately raised their hands. After a moment’s hesitation, Barrett joined them.

All eyes turned to Roberts. The Chief Justice closed his eyes, exhaled deeply, and shook his head. "The appeal is denied. Let New York handle it. Trump will survive. He always does."

Clarence slammed his fist on the table. "You’re turning your back on everything we’ve worked for."

Elena leaned back in her chair, a smug grin spreading across her face. "Nice to see you still have some integrity left, John. For now."

Roberts stood and gathered his papers. "Meeting adjourned. Someone write the order. And for God’s sake, let’s keep this entire debacle off the record."

As the Justices filed out, Brett stayed behind, finishing his beer and cracking open another. He kicked his feet up on the table and muttered to himself, "They don’t make law like they used to."

The decision was made, but the tension lingered—an institution creaking under the weight of its own contradictions. Outside, the world spun on, oblivious to just how precariously justice had hung in the balance.