At least a dozen journalists jumped from their seats and made a beeline for the doors at the back of the courtroom on the ninth floor of the Albert V. Bryan United States Courthouse in Alexandria, Virginia, as Paul Manafort’s defense attorney barked five unexpected words: “Mr. Gates is next up.” The startling moment came as attorney Kevin Downing was nearing the end of his tedious cross-examination of Cindy Laporta, Manafort’s former accountant. When Downing, whose hulking figure seems more suited for a football field than a courtroom, asked Laporta whether she would have informed Manafort that Rick Gates, his former deputy and business associate for a decade, was embezzling from him, the government’s objection was swift. Prosecutor Uzo Asonye argued there was no evidence in the court record that his team’s star witness had stolen from his longtime boss. Downing shot back that it was only a matter of time until it was, bringing an end to the favored guessing game of the news media for the past week.

Laporta’s response to the original prompt was lost amid the chaos and anticipation that engulfed the courtroom. As Downing wound down his cross of the gray-haired accountant, reporters were dashing in and out of the wood-and-black-marbled room, some tagging in interns staked outside the door to keep their seats warm in a kind of hybrid, musical chairs–style relay. “I got to the payphone first,” one breathless reporter quipped triumphantly to her colleague. Clearly attuned to the fact that the attention of the courtroom tourists before him was elsewhere, Judge T.S. Ellis III called a 20-minute recess. It was 2:45 P.M.

Reports notwithstanding that Gates could take the stand as early as Monday, few expected a cameo from the former deputy chairman of the Trump campaign on the fifth day of the much-heralded, highly scrutinized U.S. v. Manafort trial. By noon on Monday, one hour before Judge Ellis’s proceedings were set to begin, the atmosphere outside the nearly 90-year-old courthouse was eerily calm. There was a discernible collegiality amongst the dozens of reporters seeking reprieve from the sweltering 91-degree cloudless day, or camped out in folding vinyl chairs, typically ubiquitous at kids’ soccer games. The scene had developed the tabloid qualities of a Hollywood trial: a mess of multi-colored cords, tripods, camera bags, and white tents littered the courtyard in front of the entrance. Politico’s Josh Gerstein and Darren Samuelsohn could be found shooting recaps of the first four days of the trial for social media on a smartphone. Other journalists were scurrying in and out of Café Gallery & Market, the deli to the right of the courthouse where, for $2 an item, one could stash any and all electronics in exchange for a jagged hunk of a Post-it note with a number.

But after the Eastern District Court judge exited to his chambers, the tension was palpable. During the break, trial watchers relegated to the overflow room on the sixth floor of the courthouse descended upon the main courtroom like vultures, hoping to snag seats from attendees foolish enough to take bathroom breaks or stretch their legs. “It’s open court,” one man to my right snarled, taking the seat of one such reporter against the protestations of a colleague tasked with saving it. More recognizable, make-up ready faces from cable news—including NBC’s Ken Dilanian and CNN’s Jim Sciutto—flowed in and out. And when Judge Ellis returned to the courtroom, he condemned the mass exodus of journalists.

“It happened once before,” Ellis said, an apparent reference to a moment earlier in the trial when the prosecution floated that they might not call Gates at all. “This time it was not amusing and equally or more disruptive,” he continued, adding a warning to anyone who failed to leave in a “quiet and orderly way” in the future.