Page 136 of The Proving Ground

“Does it signify the twenty-third of May 2014, when a man named Elliot Rodger, an incel like yourself, killed several young women outside a sorority house in—”

“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 thejudge’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 everycase 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.