The Ghost and the Document Reviewer

Sarah's head was splitting. Her morning coffee hadn't cured last night's drinking binge. She was seated at a wooden folding table that wasn't more than three feet long. An ancient laptop and a plain, black generic mouse served as her work tools. Twenty-four other temporary doc review attorneys sat at their tiny tables in the windowless room on the eighth floor of the Silicon Valley law firm of Zyles, Mithie, and Kristle. Most were dressed in jeans and wore ear buds that played music while they reviewed electronic documents for a civil lawsuit. Poshlin Creative was suing TrueAge Innovations for allegedly stealing its trade secrets. Sarah and the other doc reviewers were assigned to the legal defense team for TrueAge. The Silicon Valley startup had a product line called TrueAge dolls. The dolls' lifelike skin and hair would age over a two-week period. Smooth skin and hair would wrinkle, thin, and gray. The best-selling TrueAge doll was Dynita. Dynita was about three feet tall and weighed 30 pounds. Dynita looked like a vibrant 18-year-old girl with full breasts, small waist, toned legs, and thick dark hair. By the time Dynita reached 80, she would have sagging breasts, a potbelly, stooped shoulders, and cottage cheese like thighs. Her once youthful face would be transformed to jowls and numerous wrinkles. And her previously luscious hair would become dull, wispy, and white. Tech bloggers called TrueAge dolls "incredibly realistic," "brilliant," and "cutting-edge." Tweens, teenagers, and college students loved the dolls. Who wouldn't want a doll that could turn into their mama or great-grandma? TrueAge dolls were the coolest dolls to own. Senior citizens' groups called the dolls "ageist" and "an affront to elders." America's premiere senior rights leader Molly Pamphey had organized an online petition asking that TrueAge pull its dolls from the market. So far, the petition had generated more than a million signatures. TrueAge didn't care about the petition. Since the beginning of the year, the company had sold three million dolls. Christmas sales were projected to be another six or seven million. TrueAge's opponent Poshlin sold state-of-the-art toys and electronic goods. In the height of Poshlin's day, it had churned out revenues of $20 billion annually. After the 2000 dot-com bust, Poshlin moved from Silicon Valley to Sacramento. The company valued "maturity and commitment" over "inexperience and impulsiveness." During the recession, Poshlin became a refuge for older Silicon Valley high tech workers. Poshlin claimed that TrueAge had hacked into its computers and had stolen its ideas to develop lifelike aging dolls. Poshlin wanted TrueAge to pay $1.5 billion. TrueAge scoffed at Poshlin's allegations. TrueAge was a young company and they weren't interested in an old company's ideas. TrueAge's CEO Sheila Zhang Trysdale was 26 years old and she was Silicon Valley's hottest sensation. Sheila and her team had developed the TrueAge dolls. No one on Sheila's team was even remotely connected to Poshlin. Poshlin's attorneys had sent a request for production (RFP) of documents relating to the TrueAge dolls. TrueAge's relevant documents that weren't privileged would be released to Poshlin's attorneys. Sarah's job was to review TrueAge's documents, mark the relevant documents as responsive, and tag the issues for the relevant documents. Sarah stared at her computer screen. She had no idea whether the document she viewed was responsive to the RFP. Sarah scanned her notes and she still couldn't figure out the answer. She clicked responsive because the doc reviewers had been told to mark responsive when they weren't sure. Sarah peered at the issue tags. There were about a dozen issues in the case. Sarah scratched her head. The document didn't appear to relate to any of them. Sarah changed the responsive tag to non-responsive and clicked her mouse to review the next document.