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“My client has done nothing wrong. She is not a cybercriminal. She’s not any kind of criminal. She’s Imani.”
It was the easiest and loudest applause Jack had ever drawn from a crowd.
“Telling her fans to ‘go pirate’ and download her own songs is not aiding and abetting copyright infringement. It is not a crime. It is free speech, and we will vigorously defend Imani’s First Amendment right of expression.”
More cheering from the crowd. Jack was feeling the energy, and it was tempting to say more, but he checked his personal ego and held true to his professional judgment. He wrapped it up.
“Imani thanks each and every one of her fans for their love and support, and we look forward to her total vindication. Thank you.”
Imani took her lawyer’s arm. A black SUV pulled up to the curb, which Imani’s publicist had hired to take them to a hotel for the night. Jack took a step forward, but a wall of reporters stopped him and his client in their tracks.
“Imani, are you a criminal?”
“Imani, don’t your fans deserve to hear from you?”
“Imani, does this mean Shaky wins?”
Jack tried to continue forward, but the resistance seemed to be coming as much from Imani at his side as the reporters in front of them. Jack suspected that it was the last question that had really landed.
Then Imani spoke.
“I’m outraged,” she said. “As everyone knows, these charges come on the heels of my complete victory in the civil lawsuit brought by my ex-husband, who couldn’t prove I got any financial benefit from my ‘go pirate’ campaign. It’s despicable that the U.S. Department of Justice would succumb to the pressure of Shaky Nichols. Our government should protect victims of abuse, not roll over and do the bidding of bullies who flex their political muscle to make life miserable for their exes.”
She took tight hold of Jack’s arm, and the two of them pushed forward to the waiting SUV. Jack opened the rear door. Cameras flashed and questions kept coming even after they were safely inside.
“We agreed that you were not going to speak,” said Jack, as the SUV slowly tried to pull away from the crowd. It was delicate work, as some supporters seemed to be hugging the SUV, their noses pressing against the window.
“Do you have a problem with anything I said?” asked Imani.
“I generally advise my clients against making the entire Department of Justice their enemy.”
“I didn’t say anything you didn’t say in our meeting with the prosecutors.”
“That was a private negotiation. Saying it at a public press conference is a declaration of war.”
The SUV finally broke away from the crowd. Imani fell quiet,seemingly contrite. “I’m not intentionally trying to make your job harder. I’m just not used to an advisor who has a problem with anything I say or do. I kind of like it. I don’t feel so alone.”
Jack looked out the passenger-side window. A few fans were sprinting along on the sidewalk, keeping pace with the SUV.
“Are you ever really alone?” asked Jack.
Chapter 10
Friday morning’s arraignment went exactly as Jack had promised: release on $200,000 bail, which for a pop star who claimed a nine-figure net worth—not evenForbesknew for sure—was effectively no bail at all. Afterward, Jack spoke to the prosecutor in the hallway outside the courtroom.
“I assume the government will file a pretrial motion to stop Imani from telling her fans to ‘go pirate,’” said Jack. “When can I expect to see it?”
“You assume wrong,” said Miles. “Contrary to what your client said yesterday on the courthouse steps, the Justice Department is not doing her ex-husband’s bidding. If Shaky Nichols wants an immediate order telling Imani she can’t say ‘go pirate,’ he has to get it himself from the judge in Florida.”
Jack tried not to show too much surprise. “It sounds to me like you’re not very confident in your case.”
“Wrong again. We’re solid on the wire transfers from Latvia to Imani’s Cayman bank account. But to be honest, we don’t want her to stop saying ‘go pirate’ just yet. It gives her common ground to talk about when she puts on the wire and talks to the oligarch’s son.”
“My client already told you she won’t do a private concert for the grandchild of an oligarch.”
“She’ll come around,” said the prosecutor. “Call me as soon as she does.”
Jack and Imani’s flight landed in Miami late Friday afternoon. At 4:50 p.m., Jack was back in state court before Judge Stevens. Jennifer Ellis was again appearing on behalf of Shaky Nichols. The clients weren’t needed. The judge limited each side to five minutes of argument, notestimony from any witnesses allowed. Like many short hearings in state court practice, this one was in chambers rather than the courtroom. Judge Stevens was seated behind an imposing antique desk that was in even greater disrepair than the century-old courthouse. A simple rectangular table jutted out from the front of his desk in T-shaped fashion, with opposing counsel facing each other from opposite sides. It was the plaintiff’s motion, so Ellis went first.
