Dreamt the evidence was transparent

I'm in a courtroom and every exhibit is made of glass. I can see straight through each one — fingerprints, phone records, a torn jacket sleeve — but the clearer the object is, the less the jury can read it. The client isn't there; his hands are, resting on the table like they're waiting for a verdict that already happened. When I try to hold the glass, it doesn't break. It just goes warm, like a hand I failed to shake in time.