Roma stood, something playing across his features… a cacophony of superfluous inflections bubbling out, un-mediated, as if his face couldn’t decide which strategy to advertise first. “Permission to examine the witness regarding these… creative fingerprints, Your Honor?”

Something in his tone sent a ripple of unease through Daniel. He discreetly slid a note to Juniper: “He’s setting up for an Article I jurisdiction challenge.”

But before Juniper could object, Judge Donahue had already nodded his assent. “You may proceed, Mr. Roma.”

Roma approached the witness stand with measured steps, each movement choreographed for maximum effect. “Mr. Delaney, you mentioned your ‘original intent’ - fascinating choice of words. Are you familiar with the Congressional power granted under Article I, Section 8, Clause 18?”

“Of course,” Delaney replied, his earlier confidence wavering slightly. He sensed the trap being laid.

“Then you’d agree that Congress, not individual creators, has ultimate authority over intellectual property regulation?” His voice carried just enough warmth to mask the steel beneath.

“The implementation dates are documented in the source code itself,” Delaney explained, his engineer’s precision cutting through Roma’s earlier question about Congressional power under Clause 18. “Each algorithmic framework contains embedded timestamps that can’t be altered without breaking core functionality. Congress’s authority to regulate intellectual property doesn’t change the fact that these ethical frameworks were fundamental to the system’s original architecture - architecture that predates any federal involvement.”

Roma’s thin smile dimpled as he retrieved Government Exhibit 72. “Fascinating perspective on Congressional authority, Mr. Delaney. Perhaps you could read the highlighted section - specifically about national security review under Executive Order 13526?”

Before Delaney could respond, Daniel rose smoothly, unfolding in a way that reminded the room just how much of him there was. His voice cut through the tension: “Your Honor, I must object on constitutional grounds.”

In the gallery, a woman from the Central School shifted. Her legs crossed, then uncrossed slowly, as her eyes found a new place to land. Her chin lifted, her attention sudden and heavy, now completely fixed on the plaintiff’s table.