In the dream, every page of the file is blank

I'm standing in the courtroom and the ceiling fans have stopped. The jury's chairs are empty, but I can still feel them watching. My client's hands are folded on the table, knuckles pale, and when I open the file to speak, every page is blank — the testimony, the transcript, the evidence I'd read a hundred times, all of it white. I keep turning pages and the room keeps emptying, and the blankness becomes its own kind of verdict.