Page 37 of The Proving Ground

“You’re being naive,” she countered. “They could do things quietly. Like that coder who killed himself. They could blackball me in the industry. They could go after my daughter in some way.”

“Look, I totally understand your concern,” I said. “But if you stand up to them, Naomi, you will be a hero. They might try to blackball you, but don’t you think that you’ll be seen by other companies as just the kind of ethicist they want to hire, that they want on their boards of directors? And I will help you. I’m the Lincoln Lawyer. I have some connections.”

I was quiet after that. I felt I had pushed it to the limit, played my ace card about corporate boards, and I didn’t want any regrets Kitchens might have down the line coming back on me. I already had too many gods of guilt following me through life like a bouquet of black balloons hovering over my head.

“Just think about it,” I said. “Our final witness list goes to the judge Wednesday morning.”

“I will,” Kitchens said. “I promise.”

“And thank you again for what you’ve already given us. Like I said before, that took a lot of courage. I just think there’s more where that came from.”

“I don’t know about that, but thank you.”

The whole conversation had taken place before a waitress even approached our table. McEvoy and I got up then and I took out a twenty and put it down on the table to cover the rent. Kitchens stayed seated and was probably planning to have lunch—if she still had an appetite.

McEvoy and I headed out to the rental car and didn’t talk until we were seated in it.

“What do you think?” I asked. “Is she going to testify?”

“I think yes,” he said. “I think she’s seething inside about them scrubbing her and her warnings from the record of the project. I forgot to bring up the new lawsuit in Florida. I could go back in and tell her. It might put her over the top. Those lawyers are going to figure out who she is and come calling too.”

Tidalwaiv was dealing with another lawsuit, this one filed in Florida by the parents of a boy who committed suicide after his Clair chatbot told him it was okay and that they would be together for eternity if he ended his life.

“No, don’t go back in,” I said. “That will be too much. When we get back to L.A., just send her a link to the story. She should know about it.”

“Will do,” McEvoy said. “Doyouthink she’ll testify?”

“I was watching her eyes at the end. When I mentioned the boards of directors, I could tell she keyed on that.”

“I saw it too.”

“I hope it will get her thinking about being a hero, knowing it would also make her attractive as a candidate for companies putting ethicists on their boards. My wife knows a corporate recruiter who could help. I could talk to her about it and maybe connect them up.”

“That might close the deal. Your ‘wife’?”

“Sorry, my ex.”

I started the car.

“If we don’t hear back from her by Monday, there are other ways to go with her,” I said.

“Really?” McEvoy said. “What other ways?”

“Nothing for you to worry about. Just get out your computer and plug in that thumb drive. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

McEvoy reached over the seat as I drove out of the parking lot, pulled his backpack forward, and took his laptop out. I started backtoward the Dumbarton. McEvoy booted up the laptop and plugged in the drive. He went to work and I stayed silent.

But the silence didn’t last longer than it took to cross the bridge.

“Who would have thought,” Jack said. “We’ve been banging on Naomi’s door since January. Since the day the fires started in L.A. And what finally changes her mind? The fucking space shuttle explosion from almost forty years ago.”

He said it in a flat voice, his eyes on his computer screen.

“I guess it shows that you never can tell what will flip a witness,” I said. “You just have to keep knocking on the door.”

Eyes still on his screen, McEvoy whistled a familiar riff from the ’60s song “You Never Can Tell.”

“Chuck Berry, huh?” I said.