“But here’s the thing. Someone’s on trial for murder. His life is on the line. And if the technology suddenly and unexpectedly doesn’t work—well, for you, sitting in judgment of him, it’s suddenly a matter of life and death for you, too, not just for the defendant. Technology’s little blips and burps are suddenly a lot more serious. And your judgment of this defendant all hinges on this thing called the Cloud that no one really understands. So now we do have to understand it. Now we do have to be able to explain it. But unfortunately, we can’t.”

And then Darwin Cope does something that mystifies Joey at first but that he eventually finds brilliant.

Darwin turns over the oral argument to his co-counsel, Len Carter, the straight-laced tech specialist, who carefully, methodically, patiently, attempts to explain the Cloud more thoroughly. To explain the technology and the breakthroughs and advances that have allowed it. He starts to explain bits and bytes, and how data is stored, and how data is transferred, diving into the complex, highly technical matters…

Judge Sherman doesn’t stop or interrupt him because the technology of the Cloud—how and whether it works—is directly relevant to the case.

And as Darwin Cope must have known very well, no one can really follow the explanation.

Zack Yellin’s testimony comes right in the middle of the trial. Dressed the same as always, T-shirt and jeans and an open flannel shirt and shoelaces undone, no concessions to the seriousness of the proceedings.

“State your full name for the record, please.”

“Zachary Yellin.”

“You promise to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

Zack nods affirmatively throughout the question. “Yes. Absolutely.”

He is alert. Prompt in his answers as the prosecution probably instructed him to be, thinks Joey. Crisp yeses and nos. He has no long soliloquy or explanations, and yet, out of his yeses and nos come a coherent story of bravery, of action, of quick thinking and quick intelligence that you have to admire. Hell, Joey admires it. Smart kid.

But Cope brings a different shading, a different flavor, to all that bravery and action.

“Just a moment, Mr. Yellin. I just want to remind the jury—and everyone in this courtroom—that you got Joey Richter’s phone code by looking over at him while he entered it. Sneaking a look. Intruding on his privacy. You don’t find that pretty intrusive?” Cope asks.

Zack shrugs uncomfortably. “I wasn’t trying to, sir. I just happened to see it, and I wasn’t even sure of what I saw. I only knew I got the code right when all the icons suddenly appeared. That part was just lucky. Or, well, unlucky.”

Scattered laughter in the courtroom. A shrug, an embarrassed smile, from Zack.

Just right, thinks Joey. The kid is working the crowd perfectly.