67: Chapter 67 Courtroom Clashes and Stanford Professors

In the temporary hearing room of the federal court, the air felt like solidified jelly. Alex sat in the defendant's seat, with Attorney Lawson organizing documents to his left. Opposite them, Northrop had hired one of the top intellectual property lawyers in the country—Maureen Carter, a woman in her sixties with meticulously combed silver hair, followed by three assistants, with a pile of documents half a meter high on her table.

The public gallery was packed. Besides authorized reporters from two media outlets, there were many more observers: representatives from the music industry, legal counsel from tech companies, members of several civil watchdog organizations, and two FBI agents—Agent Miller and his partner sat in the last row, expressionless.

"Mr. Su," presiding Officer Davis was a stern-faced Black woman with a voice like sandpaper, "you are accused of illegally hacking into the internal network of Northrop Corporation, stealing algorithm code protected by trade secrets, and using it for the commercial project 'Truth Hurts AR Experience.' Do you admit to these charges?"

Alex stood up: "I do not, Your Honor. All code for the AR project was developed independently, and there are complete development records available for review."

"Then how do you explain this?" Maureen Carter signaled her assistant to display the projection. A comparison chart of two code segments appeared on the screen, with the left side labeled "Northrop Patent Algorithm (Partial)" and the right side labeled "Prism Labs AR Project Code (Partial)." At first glance, the core logical structures were indeed similar.

"Algorithm similarity analysis shows that the code structure overlap in key modules reaches 68%," Lawyer Carter's voice was like a scalpel, "This far exceeds the realm of accidental similarity. We have reason to believe that the defendant acquired my client's trade secrets through illegal means."

Attorney Lawson was about to stand up to refute, but Alex gently raised his hand to stop him. He looked at the judge: "Your Honor, may I ask Lawyer Carter a question?"

Officer Davis nodded: "You may."

"Lawyer Carter," Alex turned to her, "what is the patent number for the 'Northrop Patent Algorithm' you presented? When was the application date?"

Carter frowned: "This is irrelevant to the core of this case. Patent information is a trade secret..."

"But patent documents submitted as evidence in court must be verifiable in terms of authenticity and timeliness," Alex said calmly, "Or let me rephrase: Can you guarantee to the court that the actual deployment time of this 'patent algorithm' within Northrop was earlier than the start date of my AR project's development?"

The courtroom went quiet for a moment. Lawyer Carter's expression changed slightly.

In the back row of the public gallery, Agent Miller whispered to his partner: "He's playing the timing gap."

Alex continued: "If Northrop cannot prove this, then another possibility exists—that Northrop obtained my AR project's early development code through some means, then rushed to register it as a patent, and then turned around to accuse me of infringement. In the tech industry, this is called a 'patent trap' and is a common tactic for giants to suppress startups."

"Absurd!" Lawyer Carter raised her voice, "As a defense contractor, Northrop has no need to covet the code of a small music project!"

"Then why is the application scenario description of this 'patent algorithm' almost identical to the function of my AR project's image recognition module?" Alex signaled Attorney Lawson to pull up another document, "This is the list of Northrop's patents over the last five years that I obtained from public channels. There are seventeen patents involving image recognition, but none are related to real-time AR rendering. Until last month—which was after my AR project entered the public testing phase—Northrop suddenly submitted this provisional patent application for 'Real-time Positioning and Rendering of 3D Space Images Based on Deep Learning'."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the entire courtroom: "What's more, the submission date of this provisional patent happens to be the day after Prism Labs' servers first suffered a targeted cyberattack. Your Honor, I do not believe this is a coincidence, but rather a planned legal frame-up."

Officer Davis flipped through the materials submitted by both sides and remained silent for a long time.

"The application for a temporary injunction is based on 'urgent and irreparable harm'," she finally spoke, "But based on the current evidence, the so-called 'harm' is more of a commercial competitive concern rather than actual infringement that has occurred. And forcing the suspension of a running project involving millions of people could cause even greater public impact."

Lawyer Carter said eagerly: "Your Honor, the content disseminated by this project is suspected of defamation and leaking state secrets..."

"That is another case," Officer Davis interrupted her, "Today's hearing only discusses the temporary injunction. Based on the current state of the evidence, I deny the application."

The gavel fell.

A suppressed commotion came from the public gallery. Lawyer Carter's face was livid, and she began packing up her documents.

Officer Davis looked at Alex: "But Mr. Su, this does not mean you have won. Northrop can still file lawsuits regarding infringement and defamation. The next hearing is in two weeks, at which time you will need to submit more complete evidence. Court adjourned."

Walking out of the courtroom, Attorney Lawson whispered: "She gave us two weeks. But Northrop will not let this rest."

"I know," Alex looked outside the courthouse—dozens of reporters were gathered there, with cameras and microphones aimed at the exit. Further away, some young people holding phones and scanning the 'Truth Hurts' cover cheered when they saw him come out.

The system notification chimed softly in his ear: [Current Popularity: 5,580,000 points] (Courtroom clash livestream segment spread, increased by 230,000 points)

Popularity had broken through 5.58 million. But the growth rate was slowing down. The novelty of the AR project was fading, and a new explosive point was needed.

"Have you contacted Professor Linus Kroll?" he asked Attorney Lawson.

"I contacted him, but he refused to meet," Lawyer Lawson shook his head, "He said he doesn't want to get involved in anything related to Northrop again. That firing ten years ago almost ruined his career."

Alex thought for a moment: "Give me his Stanford office address. I'll go myself."

---

On the flight to San Francisco, Alex closed his eyes to rest. In his mind, he reviewed the current situation:

Although the AR project was temporarily saved, the litigation pressure from Northrop would only increase. Universal Music's attitude was ambiguous; while they hadn't directly abandoned him, they had already paused budget approval for all new projects. Taylor's support was clear, but she also had her own commercial contracts and sponsor pressures and couldn't be dragged in indefinitely.

And most importantly—that mysterious 'D' organization. The technical solutions and legal clues they provided were extremely precise, but their motives were unclear. Were they simple 'anti-corporate hegemony' idealists? Or was there a deeper purpose?

His phone vibrated; Hank sent a message: "Northrop has a new move. They submitted a formal protest to the FAA, demanding the revocation of the restart of the investigation into your parents' plane crash, on the grounds that 'the investigation is being improperly influenced by external public opinion.' The FAA leadership is holding a meeting to discuss it."

Alex replied: "Check which FAA officials have revolving-door relationships with Northrop. Also, where is the original copy of my parents' old case investigation report stored?"

"The National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) archives, at the Maryland headquarters. But paper files from ten years ago might have been digitized or partially destroyed."

"Find a way to get a copy. Money is no object."

He turned off his phone and looked out the porthole. Above the clouds, the sunlight was blinding.

He was 4.42 million points away from the 10 million transcendence threshold. If everything went smoothly, he could reach it within three months. But Northrop wouldn't give him three months. He needed to accelerate.

---

The Stanford University campus was permeated with that unique California sense of relaxation. Students walked under palm trees in shorts and flip-flops, discussing code, experiments, and weekend parties. Professor Linus Kroll's office was on the fourth floor of the Computer Science building, and a handwritten note was stuck to the door: "Please make an appointment for academic time, no idle chatter."

Alex knocked on the door.

An impatient voice came from inside: "I said I'm not doing interviews!"

"I'm not a reporter," Alex said, "I am Alex Su. 'D' sent me."

A long silence. Then the door lock clicked open.

Professor Linus Kroll looked much older than the photos from ten years ago that could be found online. He was about sixty, with thin, graying hair, wearing a wrinkled plaid shirt, and glasses lenses as thick as bottle bottoms. The office was piled high with books, printer paper, and old computer towers, and the air smelled of a mixture of coffee and dust.

"How can you prove that 'D' sent you?" he asked warily.

Alex took out his phone and played an audio clip—it was the verification message included when the 'D' organization provided the contact information, consisting of only one sentence: "Linus, it is time to pay your debt."

Professor Linus Kroll's face turned pale the moment he heard those words. He slumped back into his chair, his hands trembling as he took off his glasses.

"They still have that recording..." he murmured. "Ten years... I thought everything was in the past."

"What debt?" Alex asked.

Kroll did not answer directly. He stood up to lock the door, pulled down the blinds, and then pulled out a rusty metal cookie tin from the bottom shelf of the bookcase. Opening it, he revealed that it contained not cookies, but a stack of yellowed paper documents, several USB drives, and a faded Northrop employee badge.

"Ten years ago, I was the Chief Algorithm Consultant at Northrop's 'Advanced Materials Laboratory'," he said in a dry voice. "When the NT-7 project launched, I was responsible for designing the data simulation system for material fatigue testing. The initial test results... showed that the material had structural risks within specific temperature ranges, with a failure rate four times higher than the design standards."

Alex held his breath.

"I submitted the report to the project team and recommended pausing development to redesign the alloy formula," Kroll said with a bitter smile. "Do you know what they said? 'Linus, a twenty-billion-dollar contract and fifty thousand jobs cannot be halted just because of the 'theoretical risk' of an algorithm model.' They told me to 'adjust the parameters' to make the data 'look more optimistic'."

"You refused?"

"I refused. And then they fired me, citing 'violation of company data security protocols'." He picked up the employee badge. "But before I left, I copied all the raw test data, my analysis reports, and the internal meeting recordings. I originally wanted to report them, but Northrop's legal team sent a warning letter, saying that if I leaked any 'trade secrets', they would sue me until I was bankrupt and ensure I would never find a job in academia again."

"So you stayed silent."

"I fled to Stanford and hid in the ivory tower of academia," Kroll said, looking at the yellowed documents. "But for these past ten years, I have had the same nightmare every day—that the data was real, the risks were real, and because of my fear, potential safety hazards were buried in countless airplanes, missiles, and satellites."

He looked up at Alex. "The 'D' organization found me five years ago. They knew I had the evidence, but they didn't force me to hand it over. They only said, 'When the time comes, we hope you will choose your conscience.' Now... has the time come?"

Alex nodded. "The defects in the NT-7 material may have directly caused my parents' plane crash. And now, the same material is being used in new defense contracts. I need your evidence, and I need you as an expert witness to expose Northrop's technical lies in court."

Kroll was silent for a long time. The music from student activities on the campus radio drifted in from outside the window, forming an ironic contrast to the heavy silence inside the office.

"If I testify, my academic career is over," he said finally. "Northrop will destroy me."

"If you don't testify, the rest of your life will continue to be haunted by nightmares," Alex said, looking him straight in the eye. "Besides, do you think Northrop will let you go? They already know you have been in contact with me—the moment I walked into this building, there were at least three cars watching outside."

Kroll walked to the window and carefully pulled open a gap in the blinds. In the parking lot below, there were indeed several black SUVs parked in inconspicuous spots.

"They have been monitoring me," he whispered. "For ten years, it has never stopped."

"Because you hold their Achilles' heel," Alex said. "Now the choice is yours: continue to live in surveillance and fear, or stand up and strike them a heavy blow with the truth you have hidden for ten years."

Kroll returned to the desk and stroked the yellowed documents. His fingers were trembling, but his gaze gradually became firm.

"I need protection," he said. "My family, my research team, everything I have at Stanford."

"I guarantee it," Alex said. "I will arrange for the most professional security team to protect you and your family throughout the entire process. As for your academic career..." He paused. "If you are willing, my foundation can fund you to establish an independent research institute to continue your algorithm research, free from any commercial interference."

Kroll smiled bitterly. "You are only eighteen. Where would you get a foundation?"

"There will be one soon," Alex said. "Using the money from Northrop's settlement."

This joke eased the atmosphere slightly. Kroll took a deep breath and pushed the metal cookie tin toward Alex.

"This is a copy. I have hidden the originals elsewhere," he said. "Inside are the raw test data, my analysis reports, transcripts of the internal meeting recordings, and... an email record of Northrop executives instructing the tampering of data. The sender is now a senior advisor at the FAA."

Alex took the box, feeling its weight in his hands—not physical weight, but the weight of ten years of silence, the weight of a twenty-billion-dollar contract, and the weight of his parents' lives.

"Thank you, Professor."

"Don't thank me," Kroll said, putting his glasses back on and turning back into that eccentric old scholar. "I am just paying a debt. By the way, that P2P rendering architecture in your AR project—that was given to you by 'D', wasn't it? I recognize their coding style; it is ruthlessly concise."

"Do you know people from the 'D' organization?"

"I don't know exactly who they are. But some of their members... used to be my students." Kroll looked out the window. "The smartest ones didn't go to Silicon Valley to make big money after graduation; they disappeared. Now I know where they went."

He turned back and looked at Alex with a complex expression. "Be careful, kid. The 'D' organization is helping you, not because they like you, but because your enemy happens to be their enemy too. Once the goal is achieved, or you lose your value..."

He did not finish, but the meaning was clear.

Alex nodded. "I understand. A deal is a deal."

---

On the flight back to Nashville, Alex opened the metal cookie tin.

On top was a handwritten list indexing all the evidence. He quickly browsed through it:

· Raw test data files (.mat format, requires professional software to interpret)

· Professor Linus Kroll's analysis report (78 pages, with detailed mathematical modeling)

· Internal meeting recordings (3 clips, key personnel voices identifiable)

· Email records (12 emails, involving five Northrop executives and two FAA officials)

The last item made his eyes narrow. The names of the FAA officials were: Robert Chambers (current Deputy Director of the FAA Flight Standards Service), and Lisa Wu (current Director of the FAA Technical Review Office).

If these emails were true, it meant that the FAA had known about the problems with NT-7 ten years ago, but had chosen to cover them up.

This was no longer simple commercial fraud; it was systemic regulatory corruption.

He put the documents away and looked at the system interface. His popularity stood at 5,580,000 points, but the new mission was already clear:

Turn these pieces of evidence into legal weapons and public opinion ammunition.

Then, in court, in the media, and in front of the public—

Completely shatter Northrop's defenses.

The plane began to descend, and the lights of Nashville appeared in the night, like an inverted starry sky.

Alex closed his eyes.

What appeared in his mind was no longer song melodies, but a huge chessboard.

Northrop was on one side of the chessboard, with money, power, laws, and politicians.

He was on the other side, with music, truth, the system, and... the extraordinary that was about to come.

And the next move in this chess game would be in court in two weeks.

He gripped the metal box in his hand.

The box was cold.

But his palm began to heat up.