“I’ll be asking for an emergency hearing.”
“What are our chances of getting that?”
“Those are long odds, but I have another plan too. If you’re willing, we go to the media. We find someone who gets this stuff, we give them everything we have and let them interview your doctors, and we get a story that puts pressure on the DA’s office to reconsider their decision.”
“Who are you thinking of going to?”
“Well, there’s a bunch of people covering the trial I’m in right now. I could go to one of them. I just have to figure out which one. I’m also working with a guy on my team who’s a writer and did some of the research for the petition I filed. He’s been in media and has some connections. He said yesterday that he knows a producer for CBS News who might be able to get it to Sixty Minutes.”
“Does anybody really care about those kinds of shows anymore? Trust in media is at an all-time low.”
“That might be true, but the story wouldn’t have to have a high viewership to have an impact. Believe me, the district attorney’s office is as political as it gets in this town. Somebody from Sixty Minutes calling up about this case would freeze them in their tracks and make them think twice about their decision to reject the petition.”
“Do you think that will work?”
“If Sixty Minutes or the right media comes on board, it couldn’t hurt. Are you okay with me pursuing it? You’d obviously have to be part of the story.”
“You know I’ll do anything if it helps get my father out.”
I nodded solemnly.
“I will too,” I said.
46
All parties to the Tidalwaiv lawsuit sat at the courtroom tables for forty-five minutes Monday morning while Judge Ruhlin spoke privately in chambers with juror eleven. It was only when the juror came through the door into the clerk’s corral and crossed the courtroom to the door to the jury assembly room that I got an idea of how the judge was going to rule on the matters before the court.
At ten a.m. Ruhlin took the bench and quickly dispensed with the issues before calling in the jury to proceed with trial.
“I have interviewed juror eleven and am satisfied that there has been no damage to the integrity of the jury,” she announced. “She will remain on the jury. The defense motion for a mistrial is also denied by this court. Juror eleven tested negative for COVID as of yesterday morning and no other jurors have tested positive. The deputy marshal will bring the jurors in so we can continue in the case of Randolph versus Tidalwaiv LLC.”
I turned and nodded to Brenda Randolph, then glanced back at the first row of the gallery, where Lorna and Jack sat. I gave Lorna the nod, meaning she should tell Cisco to bring the next witness in. As I turned back, Mitchell Mason stood to address the court.
“Your Honor, can I be heard?” he asked.
“No, you cannot, Mr. Mason,” Ruhlin said. “We are not going to relitigate the matter. I’ve made my ruling and trial will continue. The jury is coming in.”
Five minutes later, I had Nathan Whittaker sworn in and seated in the witness chair in front of the jury. This was what I had prepared for since the moment Naomi Kitchens had mentioned him as a coder on Project Clair. I believed the case could swing on Whittaker’s testimony alone. He was part of a one-two punch at the end of my case that I hoped would lead to a knockout.
Whittaker looked to be in his early thirties, with glasses, slick black hair pulled up into a topknot, and shaved sidewalls. He gave the impression of being a man who spent a lot of time in front of a mirror, working on his look.
“Mr. Whittaker, thank you for being here,” I began. “Can you tell the jury what you do for a living?”
“I’m an artificial intelligence programmer,” Whittaker replied.
“Could you pull the microphone a little closer so we make sure everybody can hear you?”
Whittaker did so.
“An AI programmer,” I said. “Is that the same as a coder?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Whittaker said. “Coding is a big part of programming overall.”
“And who are you employed by?”
“Tidalwaiv.”
“Tidalwaiv is located in Palo Alto. Is that where you reside?”
“No, I live in San Mateo. Not too far away.”
“How long have you worked at Tidalwaiv?”
“Eleven years.”
“And how old are you?”
“Thirty-three.”
“Is Tidalwaiv the only place you’ve worked since finishing school?”
“It is, yes.”
“Where did you go to school?”
“Stanford.”
“Are you married?”
“I don’t know what that has to do with anything, but no, I’m not married.”
“Now, were you a coder on Project Clair?”
“I was, yes.”
“For how long?”
“Almost seven years.”
“Was that from the inception of the project?”
“No, I came in after. The architecture was already built, and I started during the programming phase.”
“Is that also known as the training phase?”
“Some people call it that. Training and testing.”
“Now, Project Clair continues, correct? It never stops.”
“It continues to be monitored and maintained, if that’s what you mean.”
“It’s exactly what I mean. But you are not part of Project Clair anymore, correct?”
“Correct again. It’s like you’re asking questions you already know the answers to.”
He smiled and I smiled back. If what I had asked had already gotten under his skin, then Whittaker was in for a long day. I checked the jury to make sure they were all paying attention. Only one juror had his head down, and that was because he was writing something in his notebook. Hopefully it was a note on his negative impression of Whittaker.
I turned back to the witness, ready to take things up a notch.
“Mr. Whittaker, why were you removed from Project Clair after seven years?”
“I wasn’t removed, I was transferred to another project where coders were needed.”
“So it was a promotion?”
“It was a lateral move but a more important project.”
“Really? What was more important than an AI companion being programmed for children?”
“I mean it was financially more important to the company.”
“And what was that project?”
“The answer to your question would reveal proprietary information, which I am not allowed to do publicly unless given permission by Tidalwaiv.”
He said it in a clearly rehearsed way that I was sure the jurors picked up on.
“We wouldn’t want you to give up company secrets, Mr. Whittaker,” I said. “Let’s move on. When were you laterally transferred from Project Clair to this secret project you’re on now?”
“It’s not a secret project within the company,” Whittaker responded.
“Got it. Just secret from the public. Can you—”
Mitchell Mason objected to the commentary I was supposedly injecting into my questions. Judge Ruhlin advised me to make sure the sentences I directed to the witness had question marks at the end.
“Will do, Your Honor,” I said. “Mr. Whittaker, could you answer the question? When were you laterally moved from Project Clair to your current position at Tidalwaiv?”
“It would have been almost two years ago,” Whittaker said.
“Can you be more precise than that?”
“Uh, I began 2024 in the new position.”
“That would be about four months after the killing of Rebecca Randolph, correct?”
“If you say so. I don’t know the date of that, because it had nothing to do with my transfer to the new project.”