“They were ‘predictively guilty.’ People whose behavior in the camps and on the farms showed they were likely to commit acts of violence against the government in the future. And this was the only way to prevent that.”

“In other words, they were noncombatants.”

“Not as our customers saw it,” said Bagley.

“Well, contrary to popular opinion,” said the judge, “the customer is not always right.”

She looked at Karen. Karen kept her poker face on.

“You can step down now, Mr. Bagley,” said the judge.

She leaned back. She looked over at her clerk. She looked at the monitor on her desk, and punched a couple of keys. Then she looked at Donny.

“You have my attention, Mr. Kimoe. There is more to this case than I appreciated.”

“A lot more,” said Donny.

“Maybe. Certainly enough for me to let you proceed to trial.”

“Your Honor,” said Karen, standing. “Before you make a decision on that, can we finish the discussion of our Rule 123 motion?”

“Right,” said the judge, as she scrolled back through the files on her desktop monitor. “Mr. Kimoe, what do you have for me on this?”

“I’m sorry, Your Honor,” said Donny, reaching for the rules. “I understood you to say this was just filed late last night, and I haven’t even had a chance to look at it.”

“The file shows it was served on you a little over two months ago, Mr. Kimoe.” She looked at the whiteboard calendar on the wall behind her bench, the one she called her reconstruction docket. “Which means the sixty days you had to respond with a substitute plaintiff expired on Friday.”

“I’m sorry, Your Honor. What was served?”

“The defense’s Suggestion of Death,” said the judge. “Maybe they have an extra copy they can provide you.”

“We do, Your Honor,” said Karen. She looked at Donny as one of her associates handed him a two-page document. “Your client is dead. And your case is dead with him.”

“What are you talking about? I just talked to him.”

That wasn’t exactly true. It had been months. Maybe close to a year. This wasn’t the kind of case where you needed to talk to the client often. But Daryl was a real person, one Donny had known since he was a teen. And the only one Donny had to build his case on, so far.

“You just talked to him?” said Karen, raising her eyebrows as she looked at Donny. Then she turned back to the judge. “Maybe counsel used a psychic for that, Your Honor. Because we have a death certificate showing he died four months ago.”

“That’s impossible,” said Donny. “He was—”

“He was killed,” said Karen. “And we have proof.” She held her hand in the air, and her paralegal handed her a stack of paper from one of the bankers boxes. “May I?” she asked the judge.