My bots follow Lin a long way out, all the way to the airstrip. With my hundred eyes I see her and Song board their plane. I’m tempted to let her know I’m watching, but I can’t come up with a good way to do it without seeming creepy. The plane door closes and I mentally say goodbye one more time and start pulling my bots back, feeling every centimeter of the long strip of desert road between her and me.
Meanwhile, Back in my office, I do my best to get my mind back on track for what I need to do. I still need to get my final prep done for my meeting with the legal team. There’s got to be something we can do about Dorothy stealing our tech. I scan through documents and commit them to my digital memory until the reminder for the meeting pops up in my console.
It’s time. I get up and head to the small conference room. Mr. Smith is already there, down from his office in Las Vegas along with three of his fellow suits. I silently take a seat at the conference table, not really wanting to talk to any of them until I have to. Evan and Louise come in a couple of minutes later, just making it in time for the meeting to start. They usually skip this kind of thing, but I wanted them here to talk about options for Dorothy. We invited Andrea too, but I feel her way across campus listening to music with Lisa from the Geologist class, so I don’t think she’s coming.
We get started with the reports on the work that the legal team has done over the last week. The only interesting part of that is the prep for the Mekong trip. All the big legal hurdles are cleared now, except for getting permission from the Chinese. Hopefully Lin’s recovery will take care of that.
From Evan: Is it always this boring?
To Evan: Yeah, why do you think I wanted to kill myself? I’ve been doing these every week.
He gives me a sharp glance.
From Evan: Still too soon.
Finally, we get to the part of the agenda about Dorothy.
“We’ve done some investigations,” Mr. Smith declares in his deep and authoritative voice, “and it appears that Ms. James is running an operation funded by billionaire Antonio Campos. The technology is closely held, but the financial and legal trail leads us to believe that she has a significant technical development operation underway in Campos’ native country of Brazil.”
The slide on the screen shows a handsome, dark-haired man in his late forties or early fifties. Facial recognition clicks and I check my index. It’s the man that was on the boat with Dorothy.
“The tech is closely held because it’s our tech,” I say, even more forcefully than I had intended. “Are they claiming they developed it independently?”
“They’re not making any claims yet,” Mr. Smith responds calmly. “As I said, their technology is closely held. They make significant claims about their results, but none about their methods. They released public relations materials which I will send to each of you, claiming that they are solving the crises of plastic in the ocean and of deforestation in Brazil. The latter claim is somewhat ironic, as Campos made most of his fortune from exploiting and destroying large swaths of the Amazon with agricultural and strip-mining operations.”
“So what can we do about it?" Evan demands. "We can’t just let them have our bots.”
“There is very little that can be done from a legal standpoint. As I explained to Ms. Butler,” his nod indicates Louise, “the difficulty of proving that their technology derived from yours is considerable, especially given the lack of unbiased expert witnesses in the field. Their operations using nanotechnology thus far have been entirely charitable, so there are no profits to lay claim to. Additionally, jurisdiction is a significant hindrance to any action we might take. Their operations have been in international waters and in Brazil, where the courts will have a strong bias towards them.”
The evenness of his tone is infuriating. Like he was reporting the number of billed hours for the week instead of the pirating of our family’s most important asset. Like he doesn’t care about this at all.
“Even if we are able to convince a court to impose an injunction to stop them,” he continues. “It would almost certainly be after the patents protecting your technology have expired. Pursuing legal action in this matter would be both expensive and unadvisable.”
Something is off about Smith. Even if he’s right, he’s usually tenacious. This defeatist attitude is out of character for him. I start monitoring his vitals. Pulse and blood pressure are elevated, but maybe that’s just him. Eyes are dilated more than the light in the room should account for.
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“So you’re saying that we should do nothing?” I ask. “Just let Dorothy James walk all over us?”
There. Right when I mentioned her name. His face, voice, and body language are perfectly controlled, but he can’t hide his pulse, blood pressure, and pupils from my cloud’s senses. Under that calm exterior, he’s got strong emotional reactions trying to jump through to the surface.
“That would be the most prudent course,” he says, his deception nearly perfect. “You wouldn’t want to waste your Father’s dwindling funds on unnecessary legal fees.”
To Evan, Louise: Turn on your polygraph functions, you need to see this.
“Is that a reference to our cutting your team, Mr. Smith?” I ask.
“Of course not, Mr. Kimball. It is my considered legal opinion, advising you to conserve your family’s resources. There is no point squandering them in a fight that cannot benefit you.”
His face and tone say calm, but his vitals say seething rage.
“Do you know Dorothy?” I ask. “That is, did you know her when she worked for my father?”
“She was a casual acquaintance,” he answers, glancing down at the fat stack of papers in front of him on the table. “Our realms of responsibility rarely intersected.”
From Louise: He might as well have big red sign shouting LIAR over his head.
“Has Dorothy approached you since she left Father’s organization?”
“I haven’t seen her in years,” he says calmly, looking up to meet my gaze. Another lie. I maintain the eye contact with him. He’s a masterful deceiver.
“Mr. Smith, are you being paid by either Dorothy or Antonio Campos?”
“Certainly not!” he snorts incredulously.
From Evan: I’m afraid his pants might light on fire any second.
I break my staring contest with Mr. Smith and quickly look up the other three suits with him in my index. Robert Maxwell is the most senior of the three. He stands there behind Smith, his thick black glasses framing his dark eyes over his calm brown face. He has a good track record and he’s been friendlier to work with than most of Smith’s staff. He joined the team well after Dorothy was cut out of SynTech, so the likelihood that he’s also compromised is lower.
“Mr. Maxwell,” I say, looking his way. “Have you had any contact with Dorothy James or Antonio Campos or anyone representing them?”
He looks a little surprised to be addressed directly. Usually Mr. Smith does all the talking in these meetings.
“I’m afraid I’ve never met any of them. I only learned about them last week.”
Truth, as far as the polygraph can tell.
To Louise, Evan: You OK if I pull the trigger on this?
From Louise: Yeah, can his ass!
From Evan: Do it!
“Congratulations on your promotion, Mr. Maxwell. You are now the head of our legal team.” I turn to our massive former lawyer. “Mr. Smith, you are fired effective immediately for aiding Dorothy James in corporate espionage against the Butler Institute. You have five minutes to get off the campus grounds. I hope that we can get you disbarred and put in jail soon.”
The seething rage he’d been hiding so well contorts his face for a brief moment before he gets it under control and leaves the room without saying a word. I track him with my bots to make sure he finds his way out. The room is silent for several minutes as Robert Maxwell and the other two suits look at each other in shock.
“Did what I think just happened just happen?” he finally asks.
“It did, Mr. Maxwell. We’re going to need you to start whatever legal proceedings are appropriate when a lawyer takes money to sell out their current client. Get subpoenas or whatever on Smith’s financials as soon as you can. Also, figure out a better solution for the Dorothy situation than rolling over and playing dead. Draft whatever documents we need to fire Smith and make you officially the head of legal, and we’ll get a majority of the oldest class to sign them today. Also, put yourself in charge as the new executor of the Butler estate and anything else Smith had control of.”
“Yes, sir,” he says, a decisive look replacing his earlier confused expression. “And please, call me Robert if you don’t mind. I’ve never been as big on formality as the big guy was.”
“Works for me,” I tell him. “But only if you don’t call me sir again. First names are fine for us too.”
He walks us through the options we have for seeking disbarment and filing suit against Smith. I’m impressed he knows all of this off the top of his head, it isn’t even his specialty. Plus he even gives the impression of being a human being when he talks, not a hulking robot. I think I picked well. We take his recommendations on a plan of action for Smith, but he says he needs more time to come up with better alternatives for Dorothy. At least he’s going to work on it instead of tank it intentionally. We wrap things up, then he and the other two leave to get started on all of it.
“Well, glad we found our rat,” I say. “Louise, you want to clue Andrea and Marc in? We’ll need at least one of their signatures.”
“Yeah, I’ll go talk to them right now,” she says, getting up and leaving.
“Good job, man,” Evan says.
“Thanks,” I say, relieved.
Something inside me is happy that it was Smith. I can’t remember why I hate him so much, but for some reason I do. I have the strangest urge to call my grandparents and tell them about this.