Chapter 2
OUTSIDE THE COURTROOM door, a man waited for me in the hallway.
I had seen him inside during the hearing, sitting by himself in the back row of the gallery.
If he was a journalist, he was unfamiliar to me.
I knew most of the court reporters in town by sight, if not by name and acquaintance.
But the lawsuit had garnered a fair amount of national attention and I had heard from and seen some members of the national media tribe for the first time.
This man carried a backpack over his shoulder and wore a sport jacket but no tie.
That told me he probably wasn’t a lawyer—at least not one with business in the building.
He stood back while I whispered a goodbye to my client and told her I would be in touch the minute I received a ruling from the judge on the motions just argued.
As soon as we separated, the stranger approached.
He looked to be in his early fifties and had a full head of brown-going-gray hair.
He looked like an aging surfer. It took one to know one.
“Mr. Haller, I was hoping to buy you a cup of coffee,” he said.
“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.