“Right.”
I continued, “As a design engineer?”
“Yes.”
“And not as a computer programmer?”
“No,” she admitted, “that wasn’t her area.”
“So back to my original question. To your knowledge and based on your company records, does Marisa Dupree have any education or background specifically in the field of computer science or programming?”
“No, not that I’m aware of.”
Flipping a page of my legal pad, I asked, “And whoever stole the files and hacked your mainframe to cover up this crime must have had a deep understanding of computer programming, correct?”
“Yes, I suppose so, but I’m not entirely sure,” Dr. Patel replied. “Again, I’m in operations. Our cyber staff will answer those questions better than I can.”
I tapped my pen gently on the edge of the podium. “Sticking with your personal knowledge of employee records, Dr. Patel, did the other defendant, Richard Kostas, have a background in computer programming?”
“Yes. That was his degree and where he started for us. But he transferred to R&D over a decade ago. That’s a very long time in the programming field.”
I asked, “Now if Benton Dynamics is not sure what was downloaded, then you can’t say for certain if those files were proprietary?”
She shook her head. “All our files are proprietary.”
The time had arrived to take a risk, so I asked, “And would any of those missing files be related to an underwater drone called the Remora Shadow?”
“Objection,” E.J. Nielsen said loudly across the courtroom. I kept my eyes on Sanjana Patel. Her brow furrowed and her mouth opened slightly, not in surprise or indignation that I had mentioned a classified research project in open court. She was puzzled, as if she had never heard the words “Remora Shadow” before now.
Nielsen continued, “Your Honor, I urgently ask to be heard. My client’s research projects and proprietary data have already been established as highly valuable to Benton Dynamics and covered by Ms. Dupree’s nondisclosure agreement. I honestly did not think opposing counsel would deign to try to expose confidential research in court, but in light of my colleague’s questions, I strenuously move this Honorable Court for a protective order covering all research and data owned and developed by my client. I prepared a legal brief for the court’s consideration.”
Charlayne O’Malley handed Nielsen a massive stack of papers. He dismissively passed a motion for a protective order to me. The pleading had a table of contents and complete copies of legal precedents indexed at the back for the judge’s convenience. I could have done arm curls with the motion and gotten a good bicep workout. Nielsen handed another copy to the bailiff, who delivered it to the bench.
Judge Arnetti scanned the motion. “Mr. Seagraves, before I hear you in response to the motion, the court will take its mid-morning recess. We’ll return in fifteen minutes or so. That will give you and me a chance to read over this submission.”
“All rise,” the deputy announced. Everyone in the courtroom stood up as Judge Arnetti stepped off the bench and returned to her chambers.
E.J. Nielsen leaned over toward me. “What do you think you’re doing? You know the judge won’t let you get into my client’s confidential data.”
I shrugged, knowing he was right. Marisa seemed fully aware that the case was not going well, at least not at this point. When the door closed to the judge’s chambers, spectators in the galley started to stir and move toward the exit.
Hailey leaned over the rail to hand me a note. “I got into watching the trial and forgot to give you this.”
I unfolded the note. In cursive, Hailey had written, “No Julian or Yulian in the credits of any of your girlfriend’s videos.”
24
A connection. That was all I needed.
I had to draw some link between the murder of Richard Kostas, the stolen files, foreign spies in Bridgeford, and Marisa’s involvement in this lawsuit. We were almost halfway through the hearing, and I had failed to make the connection. Hoping for a flash of insight was no strategy. The answer might have been sitting right next to me, but Marisa sat motionless and in silence. Her eyes remained fixed on the empty witness stand.
While everyone else in the courtroom shuffled about and chatted during the break, I flipped through Nielsen’s legal brief. The first few pages showed where my opponent was going. Nielsen wanted to shut down all questions about confidential research at Benton Dynamics. His motion cited dozens of precedents in support of a protective order. If the judge granted his request, I would learn nothing more about the Remora Shadow.
Tossing the large, bound document to one side, I leaned toward Marisa. “How’re you doing? Any questions so far?”
“I can’t do this,” she replied without taking her blank stare off the witness stand.
“What do you mean?”
“I just can’t.”
Without speaking, I waited for her to continue and studied her reactions, trying to interpret her thoughts and emotions. She was as closed up as a blue mussel at low tide.
Then light reflected in minute tears in the corners of her tired, desperate eyes. “I can’t go up there and testify.”
“You don’t have to. I don’t have to call you as a witness.”
She lowered her shoulders and head. “Then we’ll lose. We’re going to lose anyway.”
E.J. Nielsen and Charlayne O’Malley had taken an interest in our conversation, failing to hide their smug confidence as they pretended not to eavesdrop.
I suggested to Marisa, “Let’s go out in the hallway for a few minutes. The judge will be reading for a while. At this point in the case … you know, the plaintiff’s presentation … it always looks bad. This is the time for Benton Dynamics to shine, but we haven’t even started yet.” I hoped Nielsen overheard that last part.
Listless and compliant, Marisa followed me out into the hallway and said, “I need some air.”
Although we would have to go through the metal detector again when we returned, I did not argue with my client. We could stay outside the courthouse for only a
