“Objection!” the Mason brothers exclaimed in unison.
The judge pointed across the bench at me.
“Not another word, Mr. Haller,” she barked.
I raised my hands, palms up, in surrender. The judge then sent the jury out for an early lunch and instructed the lawyers to follow her to chambers. We did so silently, because we were close on the judge’s heels. As we entered her chambers, she shook off the black robe and, with sharp, angry moves, put it on a hanger and hooked it on the coatrack. She then turned and fixed me with a withering stare.
“Mr. Haller, what the hell do you think you’re doing, provoking a witness like that?” she asked. “And making an inflammatory statement in front of the jury?”
I held my hands up again, this time in what I hoped was a calming manner. I spoke without raising my voice.
“‘I don’t even know what they are,’” I said. “I believe those were the exact words the witness said when I asked about two well-known and established sites frequented by men who advocate violence against women.”
“Oh my God, what bullshit,” Marcus Mason said.
We were all still standing, too upset for different reasons to sit down.
“Language, Mr. Mason,” Ruhlin said. “Mr. Haller, where are you going with this?”
“Your Honor, the witness is an incel,” I said. “His misogyny and other biases infected the programming of Project Clair and directly led to Wren espousing those views to Aaron Colton. He then—”
“And you can prove this?” Ruhlin asked.
I didn’t hesitate.
“By the time we get to rebuttal, I’ll be able to prove it,” I said. “The username wiseacre-twenty-three is all over screen captures from those sites going back at least seven years. I have a digital linguistics expert comparing the wording of those posts to those Whittaker just acknowledged posting on Reddit. I walked him right into it. It’s him, and his bias is that he hates women. That hate ended up in the code in Clair. Garbage in, garbage out, Your Honor. Hate in, hate out. You end up with a chatbot that says, ‘Get rid of her.’”
Both Masons looked ashen. Both knew, as did the judge, that every case hit a point of no return, when the pendulum has swung too far to one side or the other and is not coming back. This was that point.
Mitchell was the first to recover and respond. Weakly.
“Your Honor, counsel has obviously crossed so many lines in the rules of discovery that these questions cannot be allowed,” he said.
“It didn’t become discoverable until Whittaker sat up there and lied on the stand,” I said. “I’d be happy to turn over copies of his hate screeds after lunch.”
“You mentioned something called Dirty-four,” Ruhlin said. “What is that?”
“It was a site on the dark web that was shut down by law enforcement four years ago,” I said. “Subscribers could download the identities of women whose DNA carried a genetic combination linked to promiscuity and risky lifestyles.”
“This is pure science fiction,” Marcus Mason said.
“The FBI didn’t think so after several murders were linked to the site,” I said.
“And you have evidence that this witness was involved?” Ruhlin asked.
“I have evidence that wiseacre-twenty-three was a subscriber,” I said.
There was no comeback from either of the Masons. Even the judge was silent for a long moment before looking directly at the twins and speaking.
“In light of these developments, I believe you two need to huddle with your client,” she said. “I’ll have the deputy marshals pass the word to the jurors that we are in recess until nine o’clock tomorrow morning. You’ll have till then to determine whether we continue the trial with this witness... or not.”
She paused to see if there would be any pushback from the Masons. They offered none.
“Very well, then,” she said. “You may all go.”
We did the silent single-file exit again, the Masons leading the way with their heads down. When we got to the courtroom, Marcus Mason started gathering his folders and notepads from the defense table. He spoke without looking at me.
“I know you’re bluffing, Haller,” he said. “You don’t have shit.”
“Keep thinking that,” I said. “I want this to go to a verdict. Based on the Wall Street valuation of the company, I put the over-under on punitive damages at four hundred. Million, that is. What’s that going to do to the stock?”
Marcus scoffed.
“Keep dreaming,” he said.
I grabbed a paper-clipped document out of a folder on my table and walked it over to them.
“Here’s your lunchtime reading assignment,” I said. “Sorry I have only one copy.”
Marcus took it from me and scanned it. Mitchell leaned over his shoulder to get a look.
“What’s this, more bullshit?” Marcus asked.
“You are really a one-note guy, aren’t you?” I said. “It’s a motion I’ll submit as soon as I finish destroying Whittaker.”
This time it was Mitchell who scoffed as he read, apparently faster than his twin.
“You think she’s going to let you put Wren up as a witness?” he asked incredulously. “An AI witness?”
“You can’t even put it under oath,” Marcus said, catching up.
“Well, that’s the plan,” I said. “The malice here originates with the guy who infected the code with his hate, but the entity is a coconspirator. The jury has a right to hear what it says, how it supposedly thinks, and how it came to advocate murder. It’s a novel argument now but it won’t be for long. As Mr. Wendt told me when he tried to bribe me, the company is called Tidalwaiv because there is no stopping this. I see a future where AI entities are regular witnesses at trial.”
They said nothing. Mitchell continued to read the motion, his face growing whiter as he realized it had a chance. I wasn’t so sure about that myself but had written it as a final salvo to launch after the Whittaker testimony wrapped. It might not get past the judge, but it would probably make some headlines.
I put all my own paperwork into my briefcase and snapped it shut.
“Tomorrow, boys,” I said.
At the gate, I stopped and looked back at them.
“Remember,” I said. “Front steps of the courthouse, all media invited. Accountability, action, and apology. The money in my escrow account before it starts.”
“We’re past that now,” Marcus said.
“In light of what came out today and what will come out tomorrow?” I asked. “That’s a decision above your pay grade, Marcus.”
I pushed through the gate and headed toward the door under the clock. But then I stopped and turned to them once more.
“Oh, and the number now is fifty-two,” I said.
“The last offer was fifty,” Marcus said.
“Yeah, but now it’s fifty-two. The fifty you offered and the two your boss tried to bribe me with. In escrow, before the press conference, or no deal.”
“Bullshit. It’ll never happen.”
“Somehow, I knew you’d say that. Have a good night, boys. You know where to reach me.”
I walked out the courtroom door.
48
I was hoping there would be a whole phalanx of media spread across the front steps of the federal courthouse, but only the reporters that had been covering the trial showed up. It was them plus one freelance videographer who had been around for twenty years. I knew him simply as Sticks because he always had a collapsible tripod that he placed his camera on, even though handheld cameras with gyros were the way of the media world now. Sticks might have been old-fashioned and unattached to a specific news channel, but he had solid connections to all the national cable outlets, and that made him the most important media rep in attendance.