Chapter 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.”
“Well, let’s see. If you started last year in the new position, then were you told of the transfer before, say, December 2023?”
“To be honest, I don’t remember. Like I said, one thing didn’t have anything to do with the other.”
“Then let me ask you this, since you say you are being honest. When did—”
Mitchell Mason was quickly up on his feet and objecting to the sarcastic tone I had employed in my unfinished question.
“Mr. Haller, you have been warned,” Ruhlin said. “Be civil and on point with your questions. No innuendo needed.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” I said. “My apologies if I got carried away.”
I glanced at the jury to make sure they were still paying attention before going back at Whittaker. If Mitchell Mason was upset with my sarcasm now, he was going to go ballistic with where I went next.
“Mr. Whittaker, were you aware that in December 2023, a month before your lateral transfer took place, a lawsuit was filed against Tidalwaiv claiming gross negligence and product liability in the death of Rebecca Randolph?”
“No, I was not!”
Whittaker said it a little too loudly, a little too sharply, and a little too self-righteously for it to be taken as anything but a rehearsed answer. It was what I had hoped for.
“Then, when did you learn about this lawsuit?” I asked.
“Um, I don’t remember exactly,” Whittaker said.
“So you remember quite well that your transfer had nothing to do with the lawsuit, but you don’t remember when you first learned of the lawsuit—do I have that right?”
Mitchell objected again, claiming that I was badgering the witness, but Ruhlin shot it down quickly and told the witness to answer.
“I just don’t remember exact dates,” Whittaker said. “Why are the dates such a big deal?”
“Mr. Whittaker, the way it works is I ask you the questions,” I responded.
“Right. Then ask a question.”
“Okay, here’s a question. Were you told that you were being moved out of Project Clair because you were a liability in this lawsuit and—”
“No, I was not!”
“That they were trying to hide you from scrutiny?”
“That’s a lie!”
Both Mason brothers jumped up to object and the judge called for silence in the courtroom, then signaled the lawyers up for a sidebar. She turned on the white-noise device so the jury would not hear our words.
“Okay, we have some high temperatures here,” she began. “I don’t want things to get out of hand in front of our jury.”
“Your Honor, he’s baiting the witness with every question,” Marcus Mason said.
“I’m asking questions that need to be asked,” I said. “This man is at the heart of this case, Judge. I’m not going to take it easy on the guy who—”
“Okay, okay,” Ruhlin said, cutting me off. “I understand the importance of this witness, but he also is quite volatile. You are walking a fine line, Mr. Haller. I am not going to turn this trial into a free-for-all fight. Is that understood?”
“Judge, I understand,” I said. “But I have a lot to ask this man, and some of these questions he’s not going to like. And neither will his lawyers.”
“We’re not his lawyers!” Marcus exclaimed.
“You prepped him,” I said. “He’s yours.”
“Okay, stop right there,” Ruhlin said. “We’re not going to get into a dispute over that. I’m going to break now, and hopefully cooler heads will return to the courtroom afterward. Step back, please.”
We went back to our respective tables and the judge called for a fifteen-minute recess.
“I’m sorry that is not enough time to get out of the building to get some fresh air,” Ruhlin said to the jury.
“But stretch your legs, use the facilities if you have to, and be back in fifteen minutes so we can continue testimony. Remember the cautions: Do not discuss the case with each other or anyone else. Thank you.”
I remained sitting with my client as the courtroom cleared.
“This man—you think he’s responsible?” Brenda asked me.
I turned to look at her.
“I do, yes,” I whispered.
“But there must have been many programmers on the project,” she said. “How could he be the only one responsible?”
“He’s not the only one, Brenda. But he represents the company’s carelessness. That’s all we need to get across to the jury. It’s the rotten-apple theory. We are saying that one bad apple—Whittaker—spoils the whole barrel. If we get that message through to the jury—”
“We win?”
“That’s right. We win.”