The Route, Part 2: Greta’s Bikes
Writer’s notes: This will probably be the last post on Substack. If your next kind of sometimes probably monthly email arrives from a new platform, don’t be surprised. :)
For those who are curious, Ella and her daughter Greta first appeared in The Route, Part 1 and Daren first appeared in Death by a Thousand Cuts.
Ella knew better than to challenge her insomnia directly. On her worst nights, sleeplessness was a wounded beast, snarling in the wrinkles of her pillow. Trying to force herself to sleep only made the cornered beast lash out. Ella got up and went to her office. A couple hours tops, and then she could approach her insomnia slowly, calmly and ask permission to rest. Hopefully. Ella’s insomnia could be unpredictable. If she waited too long or stayed up too late, the beast might turn on her and keep her up until dawn out of spite.
She opened her laptop and watched the video she’d made again. Car after car jumping the curb next to her house. Some broke the various fences she’d tried. Some stopped, tilted, with two wheels still on the road. A few made it far enough into the lawn to hit the dummy she’d set up on Greta’s bike. Playing over the security camera footage was her own voice, recordings of the calls she’d had with AlgGPS customer support.
Through sheer persistence, she had four recordings of customer service representatives admitting their consumer maps were wrong and they hadn’t updated them yet—despite multiple notifications and complaints from the neighborhood.
Could she really release the video in the morning? She made her living as a programmer. Taking on one of the biggest tech companies with an upstart lawyer on a case that was almost sure to fail might get her locked out of a job. What would Ella do without a job to support her daughter? Ella had always been the breadwinner, even when Greta’s father had been around. Now it really was just Ella and Greta.
Two a.m. Four hours before Daren, her lawyer had told her to publish the video on MeOnTV. Ella padded into the hallway and eased open the door to Greta’s room. Greta was sleeping peacefully underneath the quilt her grandmother had made for her. Thirteen years old was still so young. And yet, old enough for Greta to give Ella support.
When Ella had shared the plan with Greta, Greta had been enthusiastic.
Go get those assholes, Mom.
Watch your language. And thank you. You’re sure you’re okay with this?
Yeah, Mom. About time you fought back.
Ella shouldn’t have been surprised. Greta had grown up with her friends discussing school shootings and Black Lives Matter and climate change. They were more aware than Ella had ever been at that age. Greta had even attended a few protests.
It was Ella’s job to show her how to fight. Wisely. Ella could make a final decision later in the morning.
One cup of tea later Ella gently approached her insomnia. Asked its permission to sleep. A few hours later she woke to her alarm, without feeling rested. Ella had barely silenced it before her phone buzzed again. A text from Daren, her lawyer.
Daren: Let me know when you post. Or if you’ve decided you don’t want to go ahead. That’s okay too.
Ella could be just as brave as her daughter. Right? For her daughter. No. Moving ahead as planned.
Ella published the video and stared at the view counter. Zero views. Refreshed and checked the counter again. Still zero views. Daren had warned her not to obsess about this. Going viral was like getting hit by lightning—rare and hard to predict.
Daren: Stop staring at the screen and go live your life. It’s going to be weeks before we know if this works.
Ella: I wasn’t.
Daren: This is a shared account, remember? ;) I can see you’re still logged in.
Ella sent him an emoji of a tongue sticking out.
Daren: Remember the plan. Heads we win, tails they lose.
* * *
Months later, Ella counted the spectators in the courtroom. The reporter from the local paper she’d spoken to this morning was sneaking in bites of an energy bar she’d hidden in her purse. And the newly minted president of the local chapter of Greta’s Bikes, Terrence Donagan, tap-tap-tapping his finger on the notebook and pen he’d brought. Observers weren’t supposed to eat or use their cellphones during the trial. Greta was in school, at Ella’s insistence. Just two spectators. Not that surprising considering her MeOnTV video had been watched less than one hundred times.
She wished she could be a spectator too. Instead, she had to sit at the table in front of the judge. Daren was next to her, organizing papers and looking up things on his laptop. At a table across the aisle sat their opponent. One lawyer wearing a smirk and an expensive suit.
Ella couldn’t afford a lawyer who could afford to dress like that.
To buoy her spirits, Ella checked on the site she’d set up for Greta’s Bikes. A map on the home page showed all the local chapters that had popped up. Other parents whose neighborhoods had become dangerous because of incorrect maps. Four different states so far. Ella had finished adding the slideshow this morning. Each photo showed a place like her yard, where cars ran off the road or went too fast. A children’s bike was mounted next to each sign for the drivers.
Dear Driver, You can thank AlgGPS for your accident. Contact Daren Stratton at 1-800-555-0197 to hold them accountable.
Dear Driver, You can thank FindAWay for your accident. Contact LLM Law at 1-800-555-0101 to hold them accountable.
“Checking on our pet project?” Daren asked her.
“I can’t take much credit,” Ella said. “You’re the one who found the other law firms willing to take these cases.”
Daren smiled. “And you’re the one putting your reputation on the line to protect your daughter. We both have a lot at stake here.”
A side door opened and the jury filed into the brown seats. Ella keenly felt how they focused on her. She was already being judged. Had she worn the right outfit? Would they think she was trustworthy?
The judge arrived next and took his spot at the front. Ella stared at the gavel near his hand.
“It’s okay,” Daren whispered. “Take a deep breath. Try to relax.”
Ella did try. But she was replaying the warnings Daren had given her. The risks of AlgGPS choosing a jury trial over a bench trial. Juries tended to make more emotional rulings—good for possible damages. Juries tended to lose track of complicated legal arguments—bad for Daren’s theory of the case. Clearly, AlgGPS was betting a jury trial would be in their favor.
The judge rubbed his salt-and-pepper beard. “You have a long list of witnesses here, Mr. Stratton. I trust you’re not wasting my time.”
“Each one should only be a few minutes of testimony, Your Honor,” Daren said. “At least, for my direct examination.”
The judge raised his eyebrows. “And who do we have here for the defense?”
“Ryan Collins, lead attorney for AlgGPS, Your Honor.”
“You heard the plaintiffs,” the judge said. “Don’t waste my time. I don’t tolerate stalling tactics.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Our first witness will be Rose Lucas,” Daren said.
Rose spun a lock of hair around her finger as she was sworn in. Ella recognized the name, but not the face. Rose had requested permission to film her testimony for her MeOnTV channel. Daren had not taken the request charitably.
“Can you tell us what happened, Ms. Lucas?” Daren asked.
“Well, we were driving home from filming. And the map said the road was straight. But it wasn’t.”
“And what happened because of that error in AlgGPS’ maps?”
“My partner, Wally, drove into someone’s yard. We bent a wheel rim.”
“Is there anything else you’d like to share with us, Ms. Lucas?”
“It was scary, you know. One second everything was fine and the next . . . well, we were just glad no one was hurt.”
“That’s all my questions for this witness, Your Honor,” Daren said.
Ryan Collins stood up from the opposing table. “Ms. Lucas, is it true that you were recording a video at the time of the accident?”
“Yes, but Wally was driving.” Rose was fidgeting with her hair again. She was nervous, Ella saw.
Ella was still frustrated. The jury might read Rose’s nerves as a sign of lying.
“And what speed were you traveling at the time of the accident?”
“Uh, thirty-five, I think.”
“Our forensics experts reviewed the videos provided by the plaintiffs and they believe you were traveling at forty miles per hour. Do you dispute that?
“I—uh—”
“Ms. Lucas, may I remind you that this is a legal proceeding and you are obligated to tell the truth or face contempt?
“It could have been forty,” Rose said.
“Are you aware of what the posted speed limit is for the plaintiff’s neighborhood?”
“I don’t—” Rose stopped herself. She looked to Daren for support.
“Answer the questions truthfully, Ms. Lucas,” the judge reminded her.
“I wasn’t paying attention,” Rose said. “I wasn’t driving.”
“Then you weren’t aware the posted speed limit for the plaintiff’s street is thirty miles an hour?”
“I guess not?” Rose frowned.
“Were you distracting the driver?” Ryan asked.
“I—what?”
“My team has reviewed several of your MeOnTV videos and in several of them you ask your partner to wave at the camera while you’re driving home from filming at the restaurant. Did you do that on the afternoon of the accident?”
“I might have, I don’t remember.”
Rose looked so dejected Ella almost felt sorry for her. She also wondered about Daren’s legal qualifications. Why would he put Rose on the stand?
“One last question, Ms. Lucas. Do you pay any money to AlgGPS for using their maps?”
“No? No one does.”
“Does the plaintiff wish to redirect?” the judge asked.
“No, Your Honor,” Daren said. “Thank you, Ms. Lucas.”
Ella looked for a trace of sarcasm in Daren’s voice and found none. How had any of her testimony helped?
Patricia Williams, the woman who had introduced Daren to Ella, was called next. Daren established the same facts Ella knew by heart—the map showed the road as straight but it was curved. Her car was damaged.
Ryan Collins stood up again. “Ms. Williams, is it true your brother is in jail for felony drug possession with intent to sell?”
Ella fought to keep her face neutral. Patricia had volunteered to testify, even though they had anticipated this backhanded attack.
Patricia only straightened. “Yes, it is.”
“And the morning of the accident, you were heading home from his parole hearing and you were upset?”
Here Patricia faltered. “Yes, I was upset.”
“And is it true you have a grievance against big tech companies?”
“No, it is not.”
Ella could see Daren’s advice in Patricia’s testimony. Be calm. Tell the truth. Don’t react to their dirty tricks.
“Your mother is Maribelle Williams?” Ryan Collins walked in front of the table. “And she is currently involved in a lawsuit against CommunityEyes, another tech company, for wrongfully denying your brother parole?”
“Yes, that is true,” Patricia said. Still calm. Still sitting up straight.
After the trial ended for the day, Ella owed Patricia a chocolate cake and a hug.
“So I ask again, would it be fair to say you hold a grudge against big tech?”
“I think my brother’s record in prison shows he deserves parole,” Patricia said. “I don’t have a grievance against all tech companies.”
“Your mother is famous in certain circles for her grievances against big tech companies. Do you share these grievances?”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Daren said. “This question has been asked and answered.”
“Agreed,” said the judge. “Move on.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Ryan said. “One last question, do you pay any money to AlgGPS when using their directions?”
“No,” Patricia said.
Daren stood now. “Your Honor, plaintiffs are willing to stipulate that none of our witnesses have paid money to AlgGPS for navigation services. If it would speed things up.”
“It would.” The judge curtly nodded his head at the AlgGPS attorneys. “Is that acceptable to the defense?”
Heads we win, tails they lose. God, Ella hoped this plan worked.
Ryan looked as if he had swallowed a lemon slice. “That would be acceptable, Your Honor.”
That was the last win of the day.
The rest of day one passed in an exhausting loop. Each driver sharing a similar story, followed by a cross-examination where AlgGPS argued the driver was distracted or drunk or tired or speeding. None of it was the company’s fault. If everyone just drove like they were supposed to, Ella’s lawn would be perfectly safe. How Daren’s team had tracked down all the drivers and convinced them to testify, Ella didn’t know. She certainly wasn’t paying his firm enough money for all the hours it took.
On the morning of day two, Ella counted just one spectator. The journalist from the day before. So much for the attention and press Daren had hoped for. She could have used some good news on today of all days—when she was supposed to testify.
“You’ll do great,” Daren promised her.
Ella shook her head. “Patricia did great. I have a fear of public speaking.”
The judge entered before Daren could say anything else.
“Ella Rivera, please step forward to be sworn in,” the judge said.
Ella smoothed her mid-length skirt and stood. She had agonized over the outfit. Would a pantsuit turn off the more conservative members of the jury? Was the skirt too short? Too long? Were her comfortable flats not dressy enough?
Ella heard her own voice shake as she swore to tell the truth. She wouldn’t just be judged on her appearance today. The jury would be judging everything about her. If she was too shrill. Too emotional. She knew that justice was not blind. Winning damages in this case rested on most of the jury finding her likable and trustworthy. Daren’s theory of the case was just window dressing.
“Ms. Rivera, can you tell us why we’re here today?” Daren asked.
“About a year and a half ago, there was a big construction project near my house.” Ella remembered the construction noise, day and night, for weeks. When it was finally over, she had been relieved. “They changed what used to be a straight shot to the highway into a curve that meets the frontage road.”
“And what’s changed for you since then?” Daren asked.
“Many of the maps still show the road near my house as a straight shot to the highway. So cars come down that road all the time and miss the curve.” The first time Ella had found a broken headlight in her yard she’d been surprised. She’d cleaned it up, thinking it was fluke. “And they end up in my yard. Where my daughter plays.”
“And how often does this happen?”
“I’ve documented a hundred cases on the security camera I put in,” Ella said. “And there were at least a dozen before that.”
“What has the effect on your family been?” Daren’s sympathetic question made the AlgGPS lawyer smirk.
Ella struggled not to glare at them. “Well, we basically don’t use our front lawn anymore. It’s too dangerous. I never know when someone’s going to fly over the curb. There’s a financial impact too. My house is worth less.”
“How much less?”
“The realtor I called estimated that my house lost $30,000 in value. She said the accidents count as a material fact which I would have to disclose if I ever sold the place.” Ella hesitated to add the next part. The testimony was true. It was what she had practiced with Daren. But it made her feel vulnerable. “Honestly, what hurts more is losing the house as our . . . house. I bought this house so my daughter and I could have a safe place to live. We used to hold her birthday parties and have family over for barbecues out front. But now we don’t get to do any of that.”
During your testimony, I’m just here to help you tell your story, Daren had said. “What attempts have you made to fix the situation?”
“I’ve reported the error on the online form. I’ve called many, many times.” Ella left out how much she had spent on buying new SIM cards once AlgGPS had started blocking her calls. “They said they can’t change anything just because it’s causing me problems. It’s a free service. They said drivers make their own choices, and they’re not responsible for driver mistakes.”
“Your Honor,” Daren said. “I’d like to play one of these calls for the jury.”
Ella heard her voice echo in the cold, unsympathetic courtroom. Getting an AlgGPS customer service representative to admit their maps were wrong didn’t feel like such a victory while she was staring down a lawyer determined to rip her apart on cross-examination. Daren had told her to make eye contact with the jury. But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t face them if they were discounting her.
“Do you remember this call, Ms. Rivera?” Daren asked.
“I do,” Ella said.
“And do you remember why you made it?”
“You—my lawyer—advised me that I needed to prove AlgGPS knew their consumer maps had been outdated since the construction project. I have several calls documenting that AlgGPS knew there was an error in their maps.”
“Thank you, Ms. Rivera,” Daren said. “Your Honor, I expect I will want to redirect after the defendants ask their questions.”
After just one day of seeing his cross-examinations, Ella could say she hated Ryan Collins, the lead attorney for AlgGPS. And she would hate him more after this was done.
“Ms. Rivera, your house was on a corner lot when you purchased it, is that right?” Ryan asked.
He wins if you let him upset you, Ella reminded herself. “Yes, it’s always been a corner lot since I’ve lived there.”
“And would it be fair to say that a house on a corner lot would be more prone to car accidents?”
Ella took a shaky breath. This was the easy part. She couldn’t break down this early. “We never had a car drive into our lawn until after the construction project finished.”
“But isn’t it more likely for a corner plot to have issues with accidents near the house?”
“I can only speak to what I know,” Ella smiled politely. “We had no issues when the AlgGPS maps were correct, before the construction was completed.”
“What if I told you our insurance adjusters—”
“Tread carefully,” the judge said. “The witness has already answered your question.”
“Are you the only person on the deed to your house?” Ryan asked.
“Yes,” Ella answered.
“Would it be fair to call you a single mother?”
Ella clenched and unclenched her jaw. Single mother was an insult in some circles. And Ella was sure Ryan Collins knew it.
“Objection, how is this relevant?” Daren asked.
“If I may, Your Honor,” Ryan said. “That will become clear in a few questions.”
“Be quick about it,” the judge said. “Ms. Rivera, answer the question please.”
“I am a single mother,” Ella said. “I’ve taken care of Greta on my own since she was three.”
“Greta was three when your husband left you?” Ryan asked.
Asshole. Just as Daren had warned her, AlgGPS was going to play on the fact she had never married Greta’s father. “Greta’s father and I were never married. But, yes, he left when she was three.”
“After he was found guilty of committing insurance fraud that you participated in?” Ryan asked.
The courtroom shifted in Ella’s vision. To a different courtroom. Where she had broken down. Luckily, Greta’s father had been shit at forging her signature. Even with the blatantly false documents, it had taken years and a mountain of legal bills to clear her name. “I never participated in his schemes,” Ella said. Now work in the evidence, because he’s certainly not going to give you a chance to prove it. “The fraud charges were dropped once I proved that he had forged my signature.”
“Well, then.” Ryan made eye contact with the jury pool and smirked, as if to invite them to disbelieve her as well. “You also filed a spurious lawsuit against him asking for damages due to this supposed forgery?”
“I only asked for a dollar in damages,” Ella said. “The lawsuit was important to set the record straight because—”
“So you dispute characterizing the lawsuit as spurious?” Ryan asked. Another smirk. Another sweep of the jury box.
Ella found herself trying to count how many jurors were smiling along with him. Be patient. Wait for redirect. “I don’t believe the lawsuit was spurious.”
For the next fifteen minutes Ryan’s question circled around her parenting, her single motherhood, and how she used to live below the poverty line. How she had proven what a good liar she was by pretending to be a business owner when she called AlgGPS. Daren objected to most of it. The judge allowed some of the questions and stopped others. When she was on her last shred of self-control, Ryan asked his last question.
Several hours later, nursing a glass of wine at home, Ella couldn’t even remember what Daren had asked her on redirect. Had it repaired the damage AlgGPS had done portraying her as the enemy of traditional family values and hard work? Ella didn’t know.
The morning of day three Ella woke with a headache and dragged herself out of bed. At least her part was over.
“I’d like to call our last witness to the stand,” Daren said. “Professor Maribelle Williams.”
Ella wished she had as much poise as Mirabelle. Mirabelle’s voice rang clearly and confidently in the room as she was sworn in. After sitting down at the witness stand, Mirabelle scanned the jury box with a slight, friendly smile. Like Ella should have done but had forgotten to do.
“Professor Williams, before we get to your expertise, I’m sure your name sounds familiar to the jury. Are you related to anyone who is also involved in this trial?”
Better to introduce the fact Patricia was Maribelle’s daughter, Daren had told Ella, rather than let the AlgGPS lawyer make it look like Daren was hiding a secret.
“My daughter also testified in this trial,” Maribelle said. “She had a minor accident on the corner of the plaintiff’s house.”
“Can you tell us what your area of expertise is?” Daren asked.
“Ethics in computer science,” Maribelle said. “I teach classes and I also run a research lab.”
“That’s not a topic discussed around most dinner tables, I imagine,” Daren said. “Can you elaborate a little?”
As a software engineer, Ella knew all the terms that Maribelle was explaining to the jury. But on three hours of sleep, she was struggling not to yawn in front of the jury. That wouldn’t look good at all.
“You mentioned new business models had emerged since the dot-com bubble,” Daren said. “Can you tell us a little bit more about what you mean?”
“Product liability used to be a more straightforward concept,” Maribelle said. “If you paid money for a product—a blender, a map, a car—whatever it was, the company you paid was liable if that product failed. Think of the infamous Ford Pintos and the exploding gas tanks. Ford was eventually forced to accept responsibility for designing a product that was dangerous. But after the dot-com bubble you have all these companies that operate on data monetization business models.”
“What is data monetization?” Daren asked.
It’s when you’re the product, Ella thought.
“Companies like AlgGPS charge most of their users nothing—but while everyday drivers are using their navigation tools, AlgGPS is collecting data. And that data is valuable.”
“Valuable how?” Daren asked.
“Marketing and advertising. Companies want to understand who their consumers are—is the person visiting my store also visiting other stores similar to mine? Or just traffic patterns in general. If I put my store here, do the people in my target market live near here? Work near here? AlgGPS is one of many companies that operate this way.”
“Can you give us any other examples?”
“MeOnTV lets you see anything you want for free, but they also sell ads,” Maribelle said. “So the people watching MeOnTV videos are the product being sold to the advertisers. And behind the scenes MeOnTV is collecting data to profile consumers and also selling that data. Chatter works much the same way—user-generated content delivered for free while everyone who uses the service is tracked and profiled and monetized to sell advertising.”
“What has your research taught you about how these companies work?”
“The data monetization business model blurs lines of responsibility and often leaves injured parties without obvious recourse.”
“How many cases have you seen where these data monetization models caused real-world harm?”
Maribelle listed off many cases Ella had already read about in her own social media feeds. Revenge porn. Gamergate. Pizzagate. Amateur online sleuths naming the wrong guilty parties. Ella watched the jury while Maribelle told story after terrible story. Some members of the jury actually looked sympathetic. Maybe Daren’s play would work after all.
“What parallels do you see between your research and this case?” Daren asked.
“Ella is being harmed by a product she never paid for,” Maribelle said. “Even if Ella chooses never to use AlgGPS, she will continue to be harmed by AlgGPS’ mistake. This is a common thread among the cases I research. I would argue that our laws haven’t caught up to how data monetization works. It can’t be fair that Ella is suffering a loss in the thousands of dollars with no recourse, when she did nothing wrong and she’s taken every reasonable effort to help them correct their mistake.”
“Plaintiff reserves the right to redirect, Your Honor,” Daren said.
Ryan Collins stood to do his cross-examination. “Ms. Williams—”
“Professor Williams,” Maribelle corrected with a barbed smile.
Anger flashed in Ryan’s eyes. “Yes, of course. Professor Williams, is it true you’ve testified in several other cases?”
“I’ve testified in hundreds of cases,” Maribelle said. “And other people from my lab have testified in hundreds more.”
“Apologies, M—Professor Williams, but sympathetic articles don’t exactly seem like research. Your lab uses thousands of dollars in university funding every year—some of it from taxpayer money. What do you use that money for?”
A conservative hit job if Ella had ever seen one.
“In addition to documenting how large tech companies impact people’s lives, we run simulations of how recommendation algorithms affect group dynamics and behavior. We also track social trends and online misinformation and disinformation.” Maribelle spoke with careful, calm neutrality. Like someone who had countered this argument before.
But Ella’s heart was sinking. The liberal university trope had played well.
“It was mentioned earlier that you are Patricia Williams’ mother,” Ryan said. “That means it’s your son who is in prison for felony drug possession?”
“That’s true,” Maribelle said quietly.
“And you’re currently involved in a lawsuit against a company whose job is to keep our communities safe, CommunityEyes?”
“CommunityEyes’ algorithm has wrongly denied parole to many nonviolent offenders, including my son.”
“That’s an odd stance for someone to take when you were just arguing it’s only fair for people and companies to take responsibility for their mistakes,” Ryan said.
Maribelle didn’t even flinch.
“Objection, Your Honor,” Daren said. “Was there a question in there?”
“Agreed,” the judge said. “Please rephrase the question, if you have one.”
Ella lost herself in the tangle of barbed questions Ryan directed at Maribelle. While Maribelle kept her composure, there were no right answers. Which was exactly how AlgGPS wanted it. Ryan’s arguments were character attacks disguised as legal theory.
The rest of the trial passed in a blur. No witnesses for the defense; they didn’t seem to think they needed them. Then Ella watched the stone-faced court reporter type each closing argument as it was delivered. Daren argued that a more updated version of product liability was fair and necessary—AlgGPS was making money off their maps, just not from Ella or the people who were driving into her lawn. AlgGPS argued they had no fiduciary responsibility to Ella or to anyone who used their maps. Using AlgGPS was a choice, and drivers were responsible for all their choices, including paying attention to what was in front of their windshield.
The jury took less than an hour to come back and awarded Ella no damages.
Daren gave her a hug before they filed out of the courtroom. Ryan Collins, lead attorney for AlgGPS, followed them out into the hallway.
“Solid try, man,” Ryan said. “But I guess the jury wasn’t the right audience for a new, experimental legal theory. I hope you have another tactic for the next case.”
Daren turned and smiled. “You’re very young, I can tell.”
“I—"
“Jury trials don’t set precedent, that’s law school 101,” Daren said. “So my tactic might well work in another case where the damages are more catastrophic.”
“Then why—”
“Would you like to take this one, Ella?” Daren asked. “Your research got us here, after all.”
“Have you been following the news? Tech company revenues are down and venture capital funding is drying up,” Ella said. “AlgGPS has never been profitable without VC funding—their share price has been dropping for the past year. They need a new revenue stream. There’s even rumors of a sale.”
Ryan’s cocky smile was slipping. “I don’t understand.”
Heads we win, tails they lose. “You just went on record saying that AlgGPS would be liable if drivers were actually paying a fee to use AlgGPS navigation services,” Ella said. “And we happen to have internal emails from a source showing that the buyer of AlgGPS plans to do just that.”
“You just set AlgGPS up for a giant product liability headache,” Daren said. “Once people start paying AlgGPS for their maps, AlgGPS will be liable, based on your words.”
“But they told me to . . .” Ryan said. “Why would they tell me that if they were just going to . . .”
“Because you’re new and expendable, and you made the case go away before their buyer got squirrelly,” Daren said. “The buyer probably isn’t even paying attention to this little old trial, so I imagine you have a few weeks before you get fired. I’d check your emails and see if anyone ever told you in writing to argue the case like you did. I bet no one was even reviewing your work because they assumed this was an easy win.”
“You’re wrong.” Ryan pulled out his phone and began to scroll. “You’re wrong and . . .”
“We appreciate your help,” Ella said. “I know AlgGPS will try to take back everything you argued, but you built a really good case.”
Ryan walked away looking nauseous.
“Mom!” Greta ran down the hallway and hugged Ella. Patricia waved from several steps behind.
“Thank you for picking her up from school,” Ella said.
“No problem at all,” Patricia said. “He looked . . . unhappy. Did you win?”
“No.” Ella bit her lip. She could show her disappointment now that Ryan was gone. “Not really.” AlgGPS might or might not be forced to fix their maps. Ryan Collins, asshole lawyer, might or might not be fired. Greta’s bikes might fizzle down to one local interest story. Daren might or might not be able to build the right coalition to hold tech giants accountable.
Ella hugged her daughter tighter. The point was, after all, to teach her daughter how to fight. And sometimes you don’t win your first battle. Or your second. Or your third. Sometimes the point is to make some good trouble. And hope that when you fail, someone else is there to pick up where you left off.