Millions for a Song (7 page)

Mr. Biron interrupts me right then and there. “If that's the case, you'd better come straight to my office. I'd rather not talk about it over the phone.”

Now that's a real pro.

In no time at all, I'm sitting in Mr. Biron's office telling him about my find. He listens attentively, asks for details. When I'm done, he says, “This time, I think we just might have the evidence we need to get us out of this bind. But first, we'll have to consult an expert for his opinion. If he confirms your theory, we'll invite him to testify during the trial. I'll set everything up and keep my fingers crossed. If he tears your argument apart, we're done for. On the flip side, if he substantiates it, we have every chance of winning this case.”

To ensure I don't start shouting victory from the rooftops, he cautions me again. “We have to be very careful. The other side can't have any idea what we've got up our sleeve. They could pay big bucks to come up with a witness of their own to poke holes in our argument. So I beg you, Alexandre, not to say anything to anyone about this. Not even to your friends.”

I promise, then leave, mildly disappointed that Mr. Biron hasn't told me what a genius I am. It must have slipped his mind. Lawyers ...

The Trial

six

A
t long last, the trial! Here's hoping everything goes according to plan. No one other than Mr. Biron and me knows about the surprise we've got in store for Tom Paradis.

If the guy only knew, he wouldn't look so triumphant. For now, he thinks he's got the upper hand. His lawyer too, Mr. Bellehumeur, looks absolutely sure of a win. In their mind, the whole affair's in the bag.

He whispers something in Tom Paradis' ear. Probably telling his client to look more humble once the judge steps into the courtroom. Something like, “It's always best to avoid getting on his bad side. In these kinds of cases, you have to watch everything you do, even the way you laugh or cry ...” We'll see who has the last laugh here.

Justice Théberge appears wearing his robes, and the trial begins. The charges are read out, the names of all the parties and witnesses cited, and the alleged misappropriation described.

Mr. Biron is in charge of this part of the proceeding, since we're the plaintiffs. The defense will follow, to point out why it believes the charge is unfounded.

Next Mr. Biron calls witnesses to the stand,
most of whom were at our first unofficial show. Of
course, they're all convinced we're the authors of our songs.
They're very clear on that point, but the defendant's lawyer
asks each of them in turn for tangible proof. “Did
you see with your own eyes one of the members
of the Nexxtep band write the song ‘Live in the
Dark'?”

As soon as they answer, “No,” it's clear their testimony is worthless. “Just singing a song does not equate to writing it,” the defendant's lawyer says over and over.

Mr. Biron only called on the witnesses who saw the boy with the recorder. He tries to establish as fact that a child recorded our concert without our knowledge. No man's fool, Mr. Bellehumeur asks for the boy's name during his cross-examination.

No one knows. Tom Paradis is enjoying this. He knows we haven't managed to identify the kid. That's why he smirks every time Mr. Biron questions a witness about the ghost and his recorder. Far from nervous, he's jubilant! Just wait and see, Tom Paradis. In a few hours' time, I'll be the one sporting a victory smile.

Then it's my dad's turn to testify. Mr. Biron urged him to keep his answers brief to avoid compromising our case. He confirms that I wrote the songs on his old computer. As for an exact date, he can't …

His vague answers are just what the other side wanted to hear. In the defence counsel's mind, and maybe in the judge's too, victory is theirs. There's only one witness left to be heard from: Martin Simard. Mr. Biron asks to call him to the witness stand.

The defense objects, maintaining a computer expert has no standing in the trial. In actual fact, Mr. Bellehumeur has no idea why the witness is being called and so is extremely wary.

“Your Honor,” says Mr. Bellehumeur, “I fail to see what bearing an expert opinion has on this case. Especially considering the evidence we have filed, which pertains to copyright for a text not produced on a computer.”

With all the authority of his position, Mr. Bellehumeur claims that the case is clear. “On October 24
th
, my client, Tom Paradis, sent the Intellectual Property Rights Office form number 10 entitled,
Application for Registration of a Copyright in a Work
and an attached handwritten page with the song's music and lyrics. I fail to understand, Your Honor, why we should have to listen to some expert drone on about computer-related issues.”

The judge interrupts the defence lawyer. “Since the dispute centers around a text that was, according to the prosecution, entered into a computer prior to your copyright application, I deem it admissible to put a computer expert on the witness stand. I will rule on the relevance of his testimony after hearing him out.”

Thrilled with the judge's decision, Mr. Biron proceeds to call Mr. Martin Simard forward. He asks for his name, address, title, and role (computer programming specialist), then moves on to his line of questioning. “Mr. Simard, have you had an opportunity to inspect the computer belonging to Mr. Serge de Vertefeuille, Alexandre's father?”

“Yes, I have,” Mr. Simard answers.

“What type of computer is it?”

“It's an older Macintosh computer. I have its serial number for filing.”

Mr. Biron asks Mr. Simard to hand the judge a document showing the computer's serial number and specifications. There is also a sworn affidavit attesting to the absolute truth of the facts reported there. Then he moves on to the main issues. “Tell us, Mr. Simard, is it true that a computer such as this records the minute, hour, day, month, and year for every document produced?”

An “Objection, Your Honor” rings out from Tom Paradis' lawyer, but the judge instructs the witness to continue. Martin Simard replies, “Absolutely. The computer automatically indicates the date on which all documents it stores in its memory were created.”

“Does the user have to initiate that operation?”

“Absolutely not. Internal software records the data as soon as a new document is created.”

“That means that if I write a song, say for example ‘Live in the Dark,' I should be able to find the exact time it was written and saved on the computer?”

“That is correct.”

“Mr. Simard, were you able to search the files on the computer Alex used?”

“Yes.”

“What about the date on which the song in question was created?”

“Yes.”

“What was that date, Mr. Simard?”

“February 4
th
at 9:29 p.m.”

“Could Alexandre de Vertefeuille or anyone else have changed that date, Mr. Simard?”

“No.”

“Mr. Simard, would you please give the judge a copy of your expert findings?”

Mr. Simard complies while Tom Paradis' lawyer cries, “Objection, Your Honor!” in an attempt to have Mr. Simard's testimony ruled inadmissible.

But the judge is interested in hearing more about this new evidence. He asks Mr. Simard if it would be possible for him to see the process with his own eyes. Mr. Simard is happy to comply, especially since Mr. Biron thought to ask him to bring along a computer. The specialist then walks him through a demonstration that so illuminates the subject that the judge deems his testimony wholly admissible.

And just like that, the tide turns. If the judge accepts the testimony, it must mean he agrees that I wrote the song on February 4
th
, predating the legal paperwork submitted by Tom Paradis by eight months.

Our opponent's case lies in ruins. Tom Paradis is livid. He's drenched in sweat. No matter what his lawyer says now, his arguments have taken a real hit. He can see his fortune slipping through his fingers, and all because of some stupid computer. He's fuming.

On our side, it's pure joy. Mélanie, Jean-François, and Bruno learn for the first time that Mr. Biron has finally found the secret combination to the safe holding thousands of dollars, our dollars. Of course, no one knows that it all started with my brilliant idea. For the time being, that doesn't matter. They'll find out soon enough! I'm not one to play down my exploits!

We have every reason to celebrate. Mr. Biron's final argument is a masterpiece of logic and rhetoric. The judge is under his spell. It's clear now, victory is ours.

Mr. Biron lays it on thick, asking that the royalties be handed over to us in their entirety and that we receive compensation in the sum of $10,000 for exemplary damages or, failing payment, that a prison sentence be imposed on the accused because of the serious nature of his crime.

The crime is all the more serious, emphasizes Mr. Biron, in that it was perpetrated against minors (that's us!). The judge himself can't help but nod as Mr. Biron makes his requests. You should see the expression on Tom Paradis's face! What pleasure, what joy, what a thrill to see the dramatic transformation.

As impassioned as his lawyer tries to be, he fails to convince. His final argument falls flat, even as it tries to call into question the validity of the prosecution's evidence. Me, I'm laughing inside, imagining Tom Paradis clutching the bars to his prison cell, staring into space and dreaming of freedom. I'm so glad. He's made us suffer enough. Let him rot in his hole.

Soon we'll be rich. Maybe even famous. So there is some justice here on earth!

Blackmail?

seven

Y
ahoo! We won! Justice Théberge accepted Martin Simard's evidence. And deemed Tom Paradis' actions to be fraudulent despite his legal claims.

Justice Théberge's ruling reads: “Evidence has been adduced that the lyrics to ‘Live in the Dark' were first written on February 4
th
. Consequently, we can assume that the music was composed during that same period or over the ensuing months. Since Mr. Tom Paradis' legal registration is dated October 24 of that same year, with official receipt on October 26
th
, the text was registered over eight and a half months after it was written by Alexandre de Vertefeuille.

“The defendant's lawyer was unable to show beyond a reasonable doubt that Mr. Paradis wrote ‘Live in the Dark' prior to February 4
th
. I conclude, therefore, that Mr. de Vertefeuille is well and truly the author of the song ‘Live in the Dark.'”

The judge added, “It can therefore be deduced that Mr. Paradis obtained a copy of the song in a fraudulent manner and made use of a creation that did not legally belong to him.

“In that regard, he is guilty of misappropriation, irrespective of the fact that no one was able to identify the young boy who recorded the songs during the basement concert. That evidence, which I deemed inadmissible, in no way changes the fact that Alexandre de Vertefeuille wrote the song ‘Live in the Dark' prior to the defence's counterclaims.”

Justice Théberge concluded his ruling by stating that “henceforth all rights to the song revert to Nexxtep.” He added, “Mr. Paradis will be obliged to hand over all royalties and income received to date for the song and to renounce all claim to future revenue. Furthermore, as requested by the prosecution, Mr. Paradis is compelled to pay exemplary damages to the tune of $10,000, failing which he will be sentenced to a one-year prison term.”

Mr. Biron was so happy with the ruling that he invited us all out for dinner.

We barely had time to take a seat at our table at the Grandiflora, Rue Querbes, when reporters showed up asking for an interview and to take our picture. We were surprised until Mr. Biron explained that he had hired a publicist to get the word out. Her name is Nicole Pépin.

“The trial is a bombshell. Newspapers everywhere will be all over the story if we play our cards right. Nicole and I have arranged for the news to be broadcast to both the written and spoken press.”

It does seem like we're the “it” stars. Just imagine:
U2
covering a young band's songs. Nicole Pépin already
told Mr. Biron
The Musician
wants to do a story on us. Fame awaits! More contracts than we know what to do with. Considering the desert we could have crossed, I figure there must be someone up there looking out for us.

With our picture making front pages, I can't help teasing my dad. Wasn't he the one harping at me not to write songs in English? He must be eating his words right now. “Me and my songs, we managed to bring down a man a whole lot bigger than you.”

After some ribbing, my dad has had enough. “Careful your big head doesn't get so big it blows up, like the frog that wanted to be as big as an ox. What if I proved to you that I'm the author of ‘Live in the Dark'? If I can ... you and your bandmates will give us a little something from your windfall to help pay off the mortgage on the house you call home.”

“Your evidence better be admissible in a court of law!”

“I'm sure you'd accept it if it's as valid as your own.”

“You bet!”

“So the battle's on: Quebec lit prof vs. Anglophile songwriter.”

“The stakes are even simpler than that: my brilliant idea vs. your pseudo-brilliant idea.”

“Are you in or not?”

“What happens if you lose?”

“I ... I'll have to sing your song, in English, on stage, in front of a rock 'n' roll crowd.”

“Done!”

We shake hands, then Dad leaves. He comes back a few minutes later holding a sheet of paper and smirking. He holds it out to me.

A quick glance at the document clearly shows that my dad wrote “Live in the Dark
”
almost six months before me. How did my dad one-up Martin Simard?

“How did you do it?!”

“I removed the AAA battery that's only used for the calendar clock in older computers. With the dates back at zero, I put the battery back and entered a date six months earlier, then saved the lyrics. Finally, I removed the battery a second time, entered the current date and everything was set.”

“But what made you think to do that?”

“After the trial, I suddenly remembered reading the instructions when I first got the computer. About what to do when the battery dies.”

“But what about Mr. Simard?”

“I phoned him as soon as the idea came to me. He's so used to working with more modern, sophisticated machines that the thought never crossed his mind.”

“We could have lost!” I say wonderingly.

“But we didn't.” A pause. “You haven't forgotten our bet?”

“No.”

“High five?”

That'll teach me to try to be as big as an ox, to sell the bear's skin before I've killed the beast, to be the hare instead of the tortoise or the oak tree instead of the reed. Mom was right, I should have spent more time studying La Fontaine's fables instead of massacring Shakespeare's language.

So our band's earnings have just experienced a slight dip. I can hear Mélanie already.

But what does it matter? I'll just have to tell Nexxtep, “Hey, gang, all this means is we've got to get back to what we do best. Writing songs. The next one'll be worth millions!”