Year Zero (10 page)

I just glared, sniffled, and gave him the finger.

The only associate to arrive after me was a cocky blond loudmouth named Errol Stanton. He slid in moments before the clock hit eight, flirting with disaster. This is what passes for macho brinksmanship in our paranoid and hierarchical firm—our equivalent of playing chicken with freight trains in a cow town. Cutting it
close is fine. But no one arrives late to a Judy Sherman meeting.

Apart from Judy herself, that is. She’s eerily punctual whenever someone else is not. Otherwise, she’s invariably late. Her casual tardiness broadcasts her dangerous eminence—much as plumage and pheromones signal deadliness or virility in nature. You laugh, but it works. I was once in her entourage when she visited the head of a major movie studio that we were wooing as a prospective client. We got to his office right on time. So she had us kill twenty
minutes in the parking lot before going in, to make it clear that she was too damn important to run any way but late. I doubt this guy had waited on anyone since the eighties, so I was aghast. But within three months, his studio had become our firm’s top client. Recalling this, I wondered if Judy would keep an alien delegation cooling its tentacles out in reception while she pretended to wrap up a conference call.
Of course she would
, I realized—and somehow, this would get
them eating out of her hand.

My stomach growled again as Errol took his seat, and Randy caught my eye. “Dude, you should grab some of that
pain au chocolat
,” he murmured. “I hear it’s … 
incroyable
.”

My stomach snarled madly at the thought. So I glared, sniffled, and gave him the finger.

Thirteen of us were there for the Critical Environment Committee’s weekly meeting, which Judy chairs. And no, we don’t save whales, plant trees, or spread panic about global warming. Instead, we try to anticipate, or (better yet) engineer shifts in the legal environment—ones with the potential to dramatically benefit our firm.
¹
Our main tools are
lobbyists and
litigation, and we focus on copyright matters (a sister committee on the firm’s patent side shapes the Environment using similar weapons & tactics).

“You know, those exact pastries go for twelve bucks a pop at the Four Seasons,” Randy whispered, making one last pitch.
“They’re that good.”

“Why don’t you just shut up and transfer to London?” I hissed back.

He smiled at our running joke. Being named Randy Cox amounts to a de facto ban on ever living or working in the UK. “I’ll transfer to Siberia if you’ll just help yourself to some breakfast.”

“I’d rather streak through a partners’ meeting,” I snapped. And I was almost serious, because
one does not eat
at a Judy Sherman meeting. Sure, there’s always a mesmerizing spread in the room. But everyone knows it’s a trap.

“All right, where the hell’s Jack?” Judy demanded an instant after rolling in at 8:22. One of her lesser superpowers is an ability to take full roll calls in a single glance.

“Honeymoon,” a younger associate reminded her.

“Dammit, that’s right. But why isn’t he dialing in? I mean, didn’t he go to Albania? Or Taiwan, or something? It’s gotta be ten at night for him. He’s done with dinner, right? So he should dial in—and
bang …
the
bride …
after … the
call
.” This last bit was slow and overenunciated, as if it was a basic point of etiquette that we all learn as
kids.

An awkward silence followed.

Then, “Jesus, I’m kidding, people. Even
I’m
not that much of a bitch.” There were chuckles all around, and everyone relaxed just a notch. Judy really isn’t that much of a bitch. But she’s awfully close, and she knows that we know it, so she goads us with jokes that we’re scared to laugh at until we’re completely sure she’s kidding. They say that Idi Amin had a similar sense of humor.

“By the way—nice look, General.” This came from Greta, a brash, pretty third-year associate out of Duke. Today’s outfit was a high-waisted gray skirt, a white blouse, and pumps made from the skin of some endangered reptile. Wardrobe flattery works well with Judy. Greta also got bonus points for using Judy’s sanctioned nickname.
General
invokes her distant ancestor, William Tecumseh Sherman, whose march through Georgia prefigured her
own scorched-earth assault on copyright infringers throughout the world.

Judy smiled. “Thanks, Greta. The devil wears Chanel today.” Specifically, Chanel in a size 2, because Judy has a tighter body than most college girls. It’s topped with a flowing black mane whose gray streaks confidently acknowledge her maturity. This inspires her unsanctioned (and much more popular) nickname—Cruella, after the villainess in
101 Dalmatians
.

“Okay, gang,” Judy continued, while shooting me an unprovoked withering look. “Time to play some defense. Any trouble in paradise this week?”
Playing defense
is a euphemism for flagging developments with the potential to offend or spook our clients into taking pricey legal action against someone.

As usual, Errol Stanton had something up his sleeve. “A new TiVo-for-radio system was just reviewed on Tech-Crunch. It’s particularly targeted at Sirius/XM subscribers.”
In other words, some nitwit had shipped a product that would make it simpler for people to record radio broadcasts for later playback.

Judy shook her head in mock disbelief. “God, it’s the gift that never stops giving. Don’t these dolts ever learn?”

It was a good question. We had already sued three start-ups out of existence for launching virtually identical products. And that should have made it clear to one and all that the music companies don’t
want
people recording radio broadcasts.
²
Not that there’s a law against it. But there doesn’t have to be, because legal bills can destroy a company just as thoroughly as
Senate bills. We’ve shut down countless other operations that probably weren’t breaking any laws over the years. They include companies that made products to record free Internet broadcasts, to fetch lyrics to songs playing on a computer, to back up store-bought DVDs to hard drives—the list is long. We just claim there’s a slight chance that a company is hypothetically violating a sub-clause in some arcane copyright law, and our prey immediately starts suffocating on
legal expenses.

The start-ups we go after are usually penniless. But that’s fine, since the music labels and movie studios pay us by the hour to strangle them in their cribs.
³
For their part, our clients never expect to collect any damages. The fees
they pay us are investments in a reputation for deep-pocketed ruthlessness that will keep tomorrow’s investors and entrepreneurs away
from their turf. It was scary to think of how hard they’d fight if there was actual money to be clawed out of one of these lawsuits. I could see them fighting to the death before compromising. Perhaps to the death of the human race.

As Errol was wrapping up his rundown of the new TiVo-for-radio company, a text came in from Manda:

Clippy more resilient than Freddy Kurger. Can’t get rid of him, focusing on mastering stereopticon

Dammit
. The original concierge could have told us about Özzÿ’s organization, explained how our music fit in with the rest of the universe, and a lot more. Hopefully Manda would have better luck learning how to wield the stereopticon, so that we could use it to recruit Judy. I imagined Özzÿ’s orb blasting out of the whiteboard, and commanding her to do my bidding. What fun!

I dragged my attention back to the meeting when Judy asked for another new business idea. If nobody volunteered one, she’d point at someone and tell them to start talking. And in light of Randy’s warning that I might be due for a little trial by fire, it could well be me.

Luckily Josh Weisner raised his hand. He’s a quiet, brainy guy—the sort that either washes out instantly or goes on to great things at our firm. So far, he was showing no signs of washing out. “Well, Judy,” he said, in that professorial tone of his. “I think it’s time that we built upon some of your own landmark legislation.”

Judy gave him an intrigued look. “Which piece?” She’s been the de facto author of many laws over the years, and spends at least an hour working Washington for every hour
she spends on client business. The laws we care about all pass through the Judiciary Committees (both the House and the Senate have one). And no client, however lucrative, gets the kind of service and attention that Judy lavishes on those committee members and their
senior staffers.

“I’m thinking of the Copyright Damages Improvement Act,” Josh said. Judy basically wrote this legislation verbatim on behalf of a Judiciary Committee staffer who was conveniently distracted with wedding plans back when it was wending its way through the Senate. Passed in 1999, it famously legislates penalties of up to $150,000 for
each and every copy
of an illegally downloaded song (or film, TV show, etc.). It has enabled the industry to sue
over 35,000 individual Americans for swapping music files—some into bankruptcy.

“I’m all ears, Josh,” Judy said. “Tell me what you’ve got.”

“I think it’s time to expand the footprint of the piracy we address. To include luxury brands—and consumer products.” Now
that
was a pin-drop moment. Our firm has always done great business with media companies and patent holders. But we’ve never gotten anywhere with the giant consumer brand companies—an injustice that causes our partners many sleepless nights.

“Do you really think we could advance Proctor & Gamble’s interests by modifying the copyright laws?” Judy asked, after a long (and rather dramatic) silence.

“Sure. After all, media isn’t the only thing that greedy consumers are
stealing
,” Josh said, with contempt that most people reserve for otter molesters. “What about anyone with a fake Louis Vuitton handbag? Or a phony Rolex? Or
a bogus box of Pampers, for that matter? The people who sell those things aren’t the only crooks. The consumers themselves are willfully stealing the brand marrow. That’s what
you’re paying for when you buy the real thing. And that’s what people are
pillaging
when they buy a knockoff.” It was a clever pitch, and that “brand marrow” term was ingenious. I could see it spreading like swine flu among marketers and management consultants.

“So you’re proposing that we amend the laws to criminalize the ownership of fake consumer goods?” Judy asked excitedly. By now, several people around the table were frowning and nodding slowly—aping the way the mighty
Frank
Carter used to show approval back when he was still running the firm. Like many of our founding partner’s mannerisms, this one had leached clear through to the firm’s lowest echelons.

“Yep. And it would only take a few hundred words to do it.” Josh handed her a printout of his proposed text. “Fido could slide it into an omnibus spending bill, and no one would even notice.”

“Please,” Judy chided. “Let’s not call the senator ‘Fido.’ People might get the feeling that he’s our lapdog, or something.”

That one was definitely a joke, so we all chuckled merrily.

“But kidding aside,” she continued, “you’re telling me that if someone walks down Lexington in fake Nikes, your modified legislation could nail him for a hundred and fifty grand?”

“Absolutely.”

Now everyone was frowning and nodding, as excitement
rippled through the room. If Josh was right, and if the major brands would play ball, entire law practices could be built around this idea.

“But what if someone doesn’t know they bought a knockoff?” Randy asked. He has this thing for fairness, which does his career no favors.

“Stupidity’s no alibi,” Judy snapped. “If it was, Kato Kaelin would be walking the streets today!” Of course, ol’ Kato
is
walking the streets, just as he always has. But no one dared to point this out, as bizarre non sequiturs are another Judy trademark. Some whisper that they point to a mild case of Tourette’s syndrome. But since they never pop up in client meetings, I’m sure she’s just messing with us,
Idi Amin–style.

Judy turned to the man of the hour. “Write this up, Josh. I want to present it at the next partners’ meeting. It’s a brilliant idea.” And with that, she spun on a heel and faced me. “But who knows? Maybe Nick Carter is even smarter than you are. We’ve always wondered.”

I felt like my elevator just lost its cable on the hundred and somethingth floor.
Was Randy right?
Had the firm decided to give me a final test, to see if I was worthy of receiving The Omen and sticking around? Or did Judy just want to pummel me one last time before showing me the door?

“Why don’t we find out, Nick,” she was saying in a steely, even tone. “Top Josh’s idea.
Now
.” And with that, Judy achieved the impossible, and drove all thoughts about alien incursions completely from my mind. I was suddenly fully grounded in my ordinary, daily life. And it
sucked
.

I looked at Judy as calmly as I could. “Music and movie piracy …”

I slipped into a dramatic pause as I desperately tried to
come up with some idea, any idea. I scanned the room for inspiration, briefly glimpsed Randy and—I had my answer.

“… are
terrorism
.”

Randy shot me a horrified look. I was about to lay out a notion that he once dreamed up over beers. It was just a sick joke between sophomoric colleagues, and Randy clearly thought I’d get fired immediately if I presented it as a serious proposition. He was right to worry—but this was the only thing I could think of that was more audacious, grasping, and twisted than Josh’s idea of suing secretaries and college girls into bankruptcy over their fake Chanel
bags. And Judy might just love it.

“I’m all ears,” she said levelly.

“As you know, our legal system has traditionally viewed several specific crimes as being acts of terror,” I said, as my calming superpower kicked in. “So why not slide a few paragraphs into the Patriot Act to put music piracy and peer-to-peer file sharing right up there with dirty bombs and hijacked planes? We could give Fido some political cover by cooking up a story about al-Qaeda using BitTorrent to transmit their nefarious
communiqués.”