“I’ll call Noah and try to set something up.”
“Good.” He turned to his computer screen, apparently ready to move on to other matters, put out other fires.
“In the meantime, I’ll start working on my opposition brief,” she added as she turned to leave. “Just in case.”
Warren gave her another sharp look, but didn’t comment.
18
Jessie made the call to Noah Snyder as Warren requested, and proposed a private meeting to try to work out a compromise around her warrant and Manpower’s reluctance to comply with it. Snyder was a Philly criminal defense attorney who ran a small firm that mostly defended drunk driver and domestic violence disputes. She wouldn’t necessarily describe him as a bottom feeder, although many in the DA’s office did. She knew he was a skilled lawyer in his own way. She wasn’t surprised when he agreed to meet. She couldn’t remember ever trying a case against him, as he always convinced his clients to take a plea agreement rather than go to trial. But she was surprised when he called her back five minutes later with a location. The Sofitel Philadelphia, one of the city’s most upscale hotels, located in the heart of downtown Center City. Pretty far from Snyder’s usual low-rent haunting grounds.
As if sensing her thoughts through the phone, Snyder said, “Vaughn Truman is staying there.”
“The owner of the company is here in Philly?”
“I guess he considers this pretty important,” Snyder said. “Or maybe he just wanted to try a good cheesesteak. His reasons aren’t really my concern, but he’s here, and he wants to hear your proposal personally.”
My proposal? The only thing Jessie wanted to propose was that he comply with her valid and legally binding warrant. “I’ll be there,” she said.
Now, as she entered the gleaming lobby of the hotel, she wondered just what she was going to be up against. A high-speed elevator shot her fourteen stories up to Truman’s floor.
The door to his room was open, but two blank-faced men in dark suits blocked Jessie from entering. She noted the bump at the hip under each man’s suit jacket—sidearms—and the buds in their ears. Security, and seemingly high-end security at that.
“Raise your arms, please, ma’am,” one of them said.
“You’re going to frisk me?” She looked past the men, through the open doorway, and saw three more men inside. One of them sat in a leather armchair. She recognized him from his photographs. Vaughn Truman, the primary owner of Manpower, LLC. “Seriously?” she said, loud enough for Truman to hear her.
“It’s okay,” Truman said. “Let her in, please.”
The security men stepped aside and Jessie walked into the room. Only the word “room” didn’t really do the place justice. Truman wasn’t just staying in a room, or even a suite. He’d taken occupancy of two suites of the top floor. If it was meant to intimidate Jessie, it didn’t. She’d faced adversaries with deep pockets before, with similarly expensive war rooms, and beaten them.
“Sorry about that,” Truman said. He rose from his chair and crossed the room to shake her hand. “I’ve learned the hard way to be careful.”
“I guess you make a lot of enemies when you’re in the hate business.”
Truman took the insult with a wry smile. He was handsome—better looking in person than his photos suggested. That surprised her, and she wasn’t sure why. Maybe part of her had believed on a subconscious level that hate would corrode a person from the inside out and render them ugly. That was naïve, obviously. History showed how frequently the most hateful people were also the most charming and charismatic—and, yes, good-looking—which only increased their dangerousness. As Vaughn Truman took her hand in a firm handshake, she sensed that he was no exception. “Pleasure to meet you in person, Ms. Black. And thank you for proposing this meeting. I’m hoping we can work something out that will make everyone happy, without the need for a lot of courtroom shenanigans. May I call you Jessie?”
She glanced at the roomful of men. “Why do I feel outnumbered here?”
Truman smiled. His expression radiated friendliness and calm warmth. Yes, very dangerous, indeed. “Well, you’re a lawyer and I’m not. As confident as I am that we can come to a meeting of the minds, I’d be pretty foolish if I didn’t bring along some legal minds of my own, right? The tall guy by the window is Adrian Rohr. He’s Manpower’s lawyer, does all of our legal work.” In other words, Jessie thought, a corporate lawyer with no experience in criminal law, much less Philadelphia criminal law. “The other guy,” Truman continued, “I believe you already know.”
Noah Snyder lifted a hand in greeting. He was holding a glass of Scotch. A bottle of Glenlivet stood on the table behind him. Living it up on his client’s dime. Real professional. He grinned smugly at her.
“Noah,” she said by way of greeting.
“Always fun, Jessie. I assume it goes without saying that this meeting is for settlement purposes only. Under Section 408(a) of the Pennsylvania Rules of Evidence, nothing said in this room is admissible in court by either party.”
“Noted,” she said through gritted teeth. Snyder might not be the city’s brightest legal mind, but he knew the laws that counted.
“Good.” Snyder returned to his drink.
Truman waved a hand toward the other side of the room, where two leather couches faced each other across a glass coffee table, at the corner where floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of Center City.
She walked to one of the couches and took a seat. She placed her attache case on the table, but didn’t open it. She leaned back and crossed her legs.
Truman said, “Can I get you a drink? Water? Something stronger?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
Truman sat across from her. His lawyers and bodyguards remained standing. “I never mix alcohol with business, either,” Truman said. “Not to say I judge anyone who does, as long as it doesn’t impair their work.” He cast a glance at Snyder, who suddenly looked less smug, “but personally that’s not how I roll.” And then that smile again, bright as a camera flash, warm as a best friend’s embrace. “So, let’s get to it. Why is the Philadelphia District Attorney’s Office so keen on violating the trust and privacy of my website’s users?”
He was trying to frame the issue in his favor, albeit with a winking tone. Jessie didn’t take the bait. “Why is Manpower unwilling to comply with a court-ordered warrant?”
The corporate lawyer, Rohr, cleared his throat. “That warrant was granted based on an ex parte communication with a judge. Manpower wasn’t afforded an opportunity to present the judge with an opposing viewpoint.”
“That’s how warrants work,” Jessie said. “The judge found probable cause. Maybe you need a refresher course on criminal procedure.”
Truman stuck out a hand toward his lawyers, palm out. “Let’s not turn this into a legal pissing contest.” He turned back to Jessie, and with a knowing grin, added, “Not yet anyway. I want you to know that I appreciate that you reached out to us to try to work this out in a non-adversarial mode.”
“Jessie doesn’t have a non-adversarial mode,” Snyder said. He emptied the remainder of his Scotch down his throat. “Just FYI.”
“Well,” Truman said, spreading his hands, “even adversaries can make treaties, right?”
“The Commonwealth needs access to the identity and private messages of the Manpower user called True_Man,” Jessie said. “By the way, that’s not you, I assume. Truman, True_Man…. Just a coincidence?”
Truman laughed. “You’re joking, right?”
“You’re avoiding the question, as well as resisting the warrant—”
“My name lends itself to an obvious pun. I never claimed my users were brilliantly creative. I’m not True_Man.”
“So it’s like an homage,” Jessie said. “You’re something of a celebrity in MRM circles, right?”
He elevated an eyebrow at that, and an indulgent smile lit his face. “The men’s rights movement? I’m not invited to their par
ties anymore. They call Manpower a splinter group and they call me a….” He turned to his lawyer, Rohr. “What did they call me in that interview last month, Adrian?”
“A self-aggrandizing extremist,” the lawyer said.
“Right.” Truman smiled at Jessie and winked. “But really I’m just misunderstood.”
“Is True_Man with an underscore also misunderstood?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“If you read Judge Katz’s warrant,” Jessie said, “you know we have probable cause indicating his involvement in criminal activities.”
“Judge Katz issued that warrant,” Rohr said, “before hearing our counter-arguments. We’re confident we can persuade him—”
Truman’s hand came up again, silencing him. Then the leader of Manpower stood from the couch and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows. He gazed out at the city. “Did you know there’s a demonstration happening right now, in Rittenhouse Square? Gun control.” He smiled sadly and shook his head, as if the demonstrators—and people in general—were hopelessly misguided. “Gun control. A stale debate, Republicans versus Democrats, the same arguments over and over. Meanwhile, a much bigger issue goes unnoticed.” He turned from the windows to stare directly into her eyes. “Privacy. Our loss of privacy in the face of relentless government intrusion.”
“So privacy is your cause of the day? I thought you were fighting for men’s rights.”
She watched for a flinch, or any telltale sign that she’d stung him, but Vaughn Truman’s expression remained placid.
“I’m fighting for equality,” he said. “That’s my cause.”
She wanted to laugh, thinking about her own male-dominated field, but didn’t think doing so would help her obtain this man’s cooperation. She settled for a skeptical-bordering-on-sarcastic tone. “You believe men are being denied opportunities?”
“I know they are.”
Again, the urge to laugh, which she repressed. She also repressed the urge to debate him—even though she longed to question how he could possibly square this view with studies about salary disparity, workforce imbalance, and a hundred other examples of men enjoying a privileged status in almost all societies worldwide.
“You think I’m full of shit,” he said. He smiled thoughtfully at her.
“What I think about your politics isn’t the point, Mr. Truman—”
“Vaughn.”
“I’m here because of a criminal matter. I’m asking you to turn over information that could be critical in bringing a murderer to justice.”
“Or just censoring political speech,” he said, “in violation of both the First and Fourth Amendments.”
“This type of speech isn’t protected.”
“Because it’s, in your words, ‘hateful’?”
“No, because it constituted the planning of a criminal act.”
“You can’t prove that.”
“I’m pretty sure I will be able to once you give me copies of True_Man’s private messages.”
His smiled widened, still as warm and familiar as that of a close friend. “I hear you demanding the same data listed in the warrant. True_Man’s identity and the private messages. I thought you were here to discuss a compromise.”
“I’m here to try to persuade you to do the right thing and comply with the warrant.”
“Then you’re wasting your time.”
Well, at least she could tell Warren she tried. She sighed and began to gather her things.
Truman said, “Gender roles in this country—in most countries—require men to take on the financial burden of supporting their wives, their families, while women are not even expected to work. A man is denigrated if he fails to pick up the tab at a coffee shop so that his date can sip her latte for free. Does that sound like equality to you?”
“You don’t need to justify your politics to me.”
“The world is rife with this type of gender discrimination,” he continued. “Western society relies on male sacrifice—forcing men to work so that women don’t have to, ranking men based on their earning potential, shaming men if they show emotion, discounting the role of fathers as opposed to mothers. I could go on.”
She didn’t doubt that. Beneath his calm and reasonable façade, she sensed he was a zealot. And there was no negotiating with a zealot. Truman was right about one thing. This meeting was a waste of time. “None of this is relevant to the matter of your website user’s culpability in the murders of seventeen people.”
“Our government goes out of its way to protect women at the expense of men. How many divorced men are cut off from their children?”
Jessie shook her head. “Mr. Truman—”
He let out a breath. “Sorry. This is a cause I feel passionate about.”
She decided to try one more time, for Warren’s sake, before giving up this meeting as a total lost cause. “You said the men’s rights movement disowned you. Isn’t that a bad thing for your cause? You can’t really believe the way to achieve equality for men is to protect a member of your group who perpetrated a violent crime.”
Truman settled back against the leather couch cushion. “I respect the men’s rights movement, even if the feeling isn’t mutual. But they don’t understand that there are extreme factions in every movement, and that they are necessary. Exaggerated rhetoric is needed in order to overcome public indifference. To draw attention. That’s Manpower’s role, and we’ll continue in that role with or without the approval of the core movement.”
“Is that why you’ve personally come to Philly? To use Russell Lanford’s heinous actions as a means of gaining publicity and drawing attention?”
Truman shrugged. “The news stories about the murders will reference my website and people will check it out. Most people will be deaf to our arguments, but some won’t be. So yes, that’s one of the reasons I’m here.”
She shook her head as realization dawned on her. “You’re the one who sent Wesley Lanford the anonymous email about his son’s participation on the website. To ensure that Manpower became part of the story.”
Truman glanced at his lawyers. “Is that a crime?”
“Not the last time I checked,” Snyder said.
“In that case, yes,” Truman said, returning his attention to Jessie. “I sent the email.”
“Then finish what you started,” Jessie said. “Turn over the identity of True_Man and the content of his private messages. Show you’re one of the good guys.”
“The good guys don’t aid the government in tearing down the privacy rights of its citizens,” Truman said. “Today you want True_Man’s messages. Next week, who knows? Maybe you want us to hand over the rest of our users.”
“That’s your gameplan?” Jessie said. “A slippery slope argument? Might work on a jury, but I doubt you’re going to convince Judge Katz that a warrant for the records of a hateful criminal conspirator will inevitably lead to the destruction of all privacy on the internet. I guess I’ll see you in court.” She started to stand up.
“Sit down,” Truman said. His tone was authoritarian, the voice of someone used to giving orders and being obeyed. “I’m not done.”
“I am.” Jessie took her attache case from the table. “And you’ll be done, soon enough. Count on it.”
Truman leaned forward. The leather couch cushion creaked. He wasn’t smiling anymore. All the warmth was gone from his face, leaving hard lines and a cold stare. “Vindictive,” he said. “A womanly trait.”
“What’s your problem with women, anyway? Did the mean girls reject you in high school?”
He let out a bitter-sounding laugh. “Look at me, Jessie, and imagine me twenty years younger. Does this look like a face a high school girl would reject? I drove a Mitsubishi 3000GT. Remember those? Looked like a Ferrari. I played varsity football. The sluts practically assaulted me in the hallways. I think I spent more time in the janitor’s closet than his mop and bucket. Getting my dick sucked by stupid sluts hardwired to prostrate themselves to t
he strongest alpha male.”
They glared at each other until the silence was broken by a sloshing sound. Snyder refilling his glass of Scotch. The lawyer looked embarrassed. But the other lawyer, Rohr, did not. He looked half-angry, half-reverent. Jessie thought of those old Hair Club For Men ads that used to run on late night cable. Rohr wasn’t just corporate counsel for Manpower. He was also a client. No, a believer.
“Then why?” she said. “Why does the men’s rights movement call to you? Instead of, say, saving the whales?”
A cloud seemed to move across the man’s face, darkening it. “I married young, stupidly, to one of those high school sluts I was just talking about. Her name was Angela. The marriage fell apart almost instantly. Snyder, bring me one of those Scotches, please. Neat.”
The lawyer poured his client a drink and brought it over with a nervous glance at Jessie. Truman slammed back the drink with such ferocity that she heard the rim of the glass click against his teeth.
“I thought you didn’t drink while conducting business,” she said.
“Exceptions to every rule.” He made a face as the burn of the whiskey reached his stomach. “Anyway, Angela didn’t realize that out of high school, her new hubby would be an average Joe instead of an all-star jock. I was bringing home a starting salary for a high school graduate, respectable but nothing to get excited about. I had no standing in society, no power. Angela thought she’d hitched herself to an alpha male, but in the real world, I was just a guy. I didn’t live up to her expectations. She thought she was entitled to more.” He put his empty glass on the table. “You ever been married, Jessie?”
“No.”
“We divorced, and it was ugly. Angela wanted huge amounts of alimony. She really believed she was entitled to it. That I owed her. But if I’d agreed to pay even half of what she was asking for, I would have been signing up for the life of a slave. When I refused, she lied to the police and had me arrested on charges of domestic violence. Probably her lawyer’s idea. It’s a disgustingly common tactic, I’ve learned.”
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