“I don’t need coffee,” I said. “I’m jacked from that hearing. Do I know you? Are you a journalist?”
“Uh, a writer, yes. I wanted to talk to you about something that could be mutually beneficial.”
“What kind of writer?”
“I write books about technology. And how it can be turned against us. I also write a Substack column. Same subject.”
I looked at him for a long moment.
“And you want to write about this case?”
“I do.”
“And what’s the part that would be beneficial to me?”
“Well, if we could sit down for a few minutes, I could lay it out for you.”
“Where? I’ve got a meeting across the street in”—I raised my wrist to check my watch — “twenty minutes.”
It was a lie. I just wanted to put a time limit on this conversation in case it wasn’t to my liking. I was planning to go across the street to the district attorney’s office, but I had no appointment. I intended to talk my way in.
“Give me ten minutes,” the writer said.
“Do you need coffee?” I asked.
“Not if you don’t.”
“Okay, let’s go into one of the attorney rooms down the hall here. That would be quickest and quietest.”
“Lead the way.”
I started down the hall, then stopped.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Jack McEvoy,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”
He held out his hand and I shook it. He had a strong grip and met my eye without hesitation. My impression at that moment was that this might be the start of a good thing.
3
The attorney rooms in the federal courthouse were tiny and furnished with only a small table and four chairs. They were designed for lawyers to confer with clients and witnesses before entering court. I found one that was empty and slid the red OCCUPIED placard across the AVAILABLE sign. I opened the door and signaled McEvoy in first. We sat on opposite sides of the table. I took a notebook out of my briefcase and started the meeting by asking him to spell his last name. He did.
“That name and the spelling are familiar,” I said. “Should I know your work?”
“I’ve published three nonfiction books in the past twenty or so years,” McEvoy said. “They hit bestseller lists. Briefly. But they all have L.A. connections.”
“What are the titles?”
“The Poet was my first one. It was about the internet.”
He paused in case I was going to exclaim that I’d loved the book. I said nothing.
“Uh, then a lot of years went by before I did a book called The Scarecrow,” he continued. “That was about data mining. And then my last book was called Fair Warning. That was a few years ago. It was about the unregulated DNA industry.”
I nodded.
“Fair Warning. Yes, I remember that,” I said. “That was the one about the killer who used DNA to find his victims. I know some of the attorneys who were mentioned in that one.”
“All my books deal with technological advances,” McEvoy said. “Advances that were taken advantage of by criminals and other unscrupulous people.”
“And it was like a magazine or something, right? Fair Warning, I mean.”
“It was based on a news site focused on consumer protection, but the owner-editor retired and it shut down. But I bought the brand rights to the name. Now it’s a Substack that I write.”
“Of course you have a Substack. It’s called Fair Warning?”
“That’s right. It’s about the follies of technology. The Substack, I mean.”
I nodded and studied him. I was more than interested but didn’t want to show it yet.
“I’m beginning to see why you want to be involved in this case,” I said.
“I thought you would,” he said.
“So, what is this case to you? A Substack or a book?”
“It could be both,” he replied without hesitation. “And a podcast. And a movie. Your case encapsulates everything I’ve been researching and writing about generative artificial intelligence. There are new lawsuits filed against AI systems every week, but this is the case that is going to trial, it seems. I think it brings everything together, the good and bad of this world-changing technology. It’s a home run, if you ask me.”
“Okay, so you get a home run out of it. What does my client get?”
“My research. My expertise. I have connections that I think can help you. Bring me inside the case and let me work for you. I won’t write a word about it until there’s a verdict.”
I tried to keep a skeptical look on my face, but what McEvoy didn’t know was that I was drowning. I was overwhelmed by discovery and lacked the wherewithal and expertise to deal with it. By that, I mean I lacked time and understanding. Much of the science sailed over my head. It left me scared that I would stumble into trial uninformed and unready.
I already had an investigator, and he was great at finding witnesses and conducting field investigations. But he was not great at wading through terabytes of code and Silicon Valley memos. It had recently dawned on me that I was in over my head with this case. In the courtroom I was a killer, but I needed weapons to kill with. What McEvoy was presenting to me seemed like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man. I was trying not to give anything away but knew that if I let McEvoy spend just fifteen minutes at the warehouse, he would understand my situation and how dire it was.
“Let you work for me — what does that mean?” I asked. “I took this case on a contingency basis. I don’t win, I don’t get paid. Right now, there’s no money for a researcher.”
“I’m not asking to be paid,” McEvoy said. “Just let me inside the wire. Let me be a fly on the wall. I help you and you help me.”
“I have to talk to my client.”
“Of course.”
“How do I reach you?”
McEvoy was ready with a business card. I noticed that the logo for his Substack underlined its focus: The ai in Fair Warning was embossed in red.
Tidalwaiv did the same thing with their logo, though the ai in Tidalwaiv was in a soothing blue tone. I put the card in my pocket and told McEvoy that I’d think about his proposition and be in touch after discussing it with Brenda Randolph.
4
The entrance to the CCB was across the street and down a half block from the federal courthouse. On my way, I called my investigator, Cisco Wojciechowski, who had stuck with me during the transition from criminal to civil practice even though there was a steep drop-off in the work I required from him. He answered the phone with a question instead of a greeting.
“How’d we do?”
“The judge took both motions under advisement and will issue her rulings Monday.”
“Damn. You want me to call Patel? He was hoping to know today.”
“No, I’ll call him. I want you to run somebody down for me.”
“A witness?”
“No, a writer. Jack McEvoy. He wants to help us.”
“Help us how?”
“He writes about technology. Has a blog or a Substack or whatever you call it these days. He’s also written books. He wants to be a fly on the wall — our wall — and then write a book about the case, with the larger story being about unchecked AI. He says in exchange, he’ll be part of the team and help us weed through the discovery download.”
“Mick, you really want to bring a stranger into this? That’s risky.”