"I'm not asking you, Death. I can get a court order if I have to. This is serious -- it's not some funny little game. There are billions on the line here. One wrong word, one wrong post and *pfft*, it's all over. And nothing in email, either -- it's likely everything you write is going to go through discovery. Don't write anything personal in any of your mail -- nothing you wouldn't want in a court record." "I can't do that," Death said. He sounded like a fucking retard, between talking through his mashed mouth and talking through the tears. "I can't. I live in email." "Well, now you'll have a reason to go outside. This isn't up for negotiation. When I was here last, I thought I made the seriousness of this case clear to you. I'm frankly amazed that you were immature and irresponsible enough to write what I've read." "I can't --" Death said. The lawyer purpled. He didn't look like a happy-go-lucky tanned preppie anymore. He looked Dad-scary, like one of those fathers in Disney who was about to seriously lose his shit and haul off and smack a whiny kid. Death's own Pawpaw, who'd stood in for his father, had gone red like that whenever he "mouthed off," a sin that could be committed even without opening his mouth. He had an instinctive curl-up-and-hide reaction to it, and the lawyer seemed to sense this, looming over him. He felt like he was about to be eaten. "You listen to me, *Darren* -- this is not the kind of thing you fuck up. This isn't something *I'm* going to fuck up. I win my cases and you're not going to change that. There's too much at stake here for you to blow it all with your childish, selfish --" He seemed to catch himself then, and he snorted a hot breath through his nose that blew over Death's face. "Listen, there's a lot on the line here. More money than you or I are worth. I'm trying to help you out here. Whatever you write, whatever you say, it's going to be very closely scrutinized. From now on, you should treat every piece of information that emanates from your fingertips as likely to be covered on the evening news and repeated to everyone you've ever met. No matter how private you think you're being, it'll come out. It's not pretty, and I know you didn't ask for it, but you're here, and there's nothing you can do to change that. He left then, embarrassed at losing his temper, embarrassed at Death's meek silence. Death poked at his laptop some. He thought about writing down more notes, but that was probably in the same category.