An attorney telephoned the governor just after midnight, insisting that he talk to him regarding a matter of utmost urgency. An aide eventually agreed to wake up the governor. "So, what is

An attorney telephoned the governor just after midnight, insisting that he talk to him regarding a matter of utmost urgency. An aide eventually agreed to wake up the governor. "So, what is so monumentally urgent, Mr. Peterson," the governor grumbled into the phone, his voice thick with sleep and annoyance, "that it couldn't possibly wait until sunrise? Is there an alien invasion? Has the state mascot escaped and started a small-town rebellion? Because frankly, anything less than that had better come with a really, really good explanation, and possibly a fresh pot of coffee."

The attorney, clearly oblivious to the governor's displeasure, launched into his tale, his voice frantic and full of self-importance. "Governor, it's a matter of life and death! Well, legal life and legal death! My client, Mr. Bumble, was wrongly accused, wrongfully convicted, and wrongfully sentenced to death! He's innocent, I tell you! Innocent as a newborn lamb… who definitely didn't steal that flock of sheep!"

The governor rubbed his temples. "Mr. Peterson, are you telling me you're calling about a death row inmate at this ungodly hour? Don't you lawyers have, you know, appeals processes? Last-minute filings? A well-timed dramatic courtroom monologue?"

"We've tried everything, Governor!" the attorney wailed. "The appeals are exhausted! The courts are closed! The execution is scheduled for dawn! There's literally no other option! You're his last hope! His only hope! If you don't grant a stay of execution, an innocent man will be… well, executed!"

The governor sighed, a long, weary sound. "Alright, Mr. Peterson, calm down. Let's get the facts straight. What exactly is the 'incontrovertible proof' of his innocence that has suddenly materialized at 12:30 in the morning?"

The attorney paused, and the governor could hear him rustling papers on the other end of the line. Then, with a triumphant gasp, the attorney declared, "Governor! I just found it! I've been poring over the case files for weeks, pulling all-nighters, fueled by lukewarm coffee and existential dread, and I finally found the crucial piece of evidence that exonerates my client beyond a shadow of a doubt!"

The governor, now fully awake and intrigued despite himself, leaned forward. "And what is this earth-shattering evidence, Mr. Peterson? A confession from the real culprit? A surveillance video showing the crime being committed by a rogue squirrel?"

"Even better, Governor!" the attorney practically shrieked with excitement. "It's the victim's missing wallet! It was in my client's other jacket! The one he lent to his cousin! This proves he couldn't have been at the scene of the crime! He was clearly framed!"

There was a stunned silence on the governor's end of the line. After a long moment, the governor's voice, now dangerously calm, broke the quiet. "Mr. Peterson," he said, slowly and deliberately, "are you telling me you woke me up in the middle of the night, risking the wrath of my sleep-deprived spouse, because you found your client's wallet... in his own closet?"

The attorney, seemingly unaware of the precipice he was standing on, chirped, "Exactly, Governor! It was a miracle! A legal breakthrough! Now, about that stay of execution…"

The governor slowly hung up the phone, then buried his face in his hands. He knew he had a long day ahead of him, starting with explaining to his wife why he was awake, and then figuring out how to explain to the state's prison warden why the governor's office was suddenly requesting a psychological evaluation for a very enthusiastic attorney.