Page 30 of Santa’s Lawyer

She glanced at the bench. The Yule Cat twitched its tail.

“I’ll be as brief as I can,” Avery assured the panel, uninterested in testing the bounds of the massive feline’s patience any more than she already planned to.

“Generosity. Community. Belief. The fundamental Yuletide triumvirate–or trinity–if you prefer,” she said, with a respectful nod to the bailiff. He held up a hand and inclined his head.

“Let’s start with generosity,” she proffered. “Now, this sale is organized around a restructuring of the entire Christmas model. It provides that, going forward, only certain children will qualify to receive gifts. It promises a return to a time when Santa only delivered presents to kids who behaved in conformance with a set of rules. Rules that guided proper dress and right behavior. Nice behavior. And what argument can there be against getting on the Nice List?”

She looked up to see Krampus and Belsnickel glance at each other and nod in agreement.

“I was assured,” she continued, “that selling Christmas and its operations to a private equity firm would lead to the more efficient delivery of presents, enhancing the end-user experience, which you might know as ‘children’s happiness,’” she said, quoting the words in the air. “Well, nice children’s happiness,” she amended.

“Whichever multinational corporation is awarded the contract for managing Christmas delivery operations will ensure that, on Christmas morning, the children on the Nice List are practically drowning in pristine, perfectly-wrapped boxes full of the latest technology. A fundamentally generous act. An act that will incidentally drive up demand for that technology by people on the Naughty List, who don’t want to be left behind. The resulting purchases will increase value for the tech company’s shareholders, which, of course, includes this private equity firm. A fair and reasonable reward for their generosity. As for the elves, they’ll be offered appropriate severance packages. Indeed, there can be no doubt of the generous nature of this deal for everyone involved.”

Her eyes flickered to the front row where Louis sat, eyes closed, with a hand over his mouth.

“Regarding community,” Avery continued, “as set forth in the sale application, the potential buyer also owns an interest in a number of social media platforms that will be collaborating on this exciting endeavor. With their help, following the restructuring, Christmas will be an entirely virtual affair. No more social obligations, no more uncomfortable, awkward cocktail hours, no more expensive parties or lengthy services. Just online gathering spaces where everyone on the Nice List is welcome. We can take all the inconvenience and imposition out of the holiday, leaving Christmas’s end users with access to a safe, unobtrusive community. It’s clear that community, the second underpinning of Christmas, will continue to be served by this sale.”

Avery glanced around, satisfied that her ability to captivate a courtroom translated to the North Pole. All eyes were on her. Her eyes in turn found Tilly, Gregory, and Ander, huddled in the back row. Gregory gave a quick dip of his beak. Avery tried not to smile and resumed her demonstration. Home stretch.

“Finally, concerning belief,” she advanced. “In learning about the sale of Christmas, I was told, in no uncertain terms, by the Big Man himself, that there’s simply no more need for belief. The old ways are dead. That there are no more belief-induced epiphanies. No more revelations. No more—” she shook her head and shooed at the air dismissively, “Christmas miracles. Who am I—who are we—to doubt him?”

Avery continued her slow pacing in front of the judges. She snuck another glance at Louis, who was now staring a hole through his shoes.

“Belief in Santa, or in the idea that the holiday will manage to deliver us something extraordinary — well, who needs to believe, when you can see?” she offered. “Belief is merely a backup plan for people who lack certainty. By selling Christmas to a private equity firm willing to harness the organizational efficiency of artificial intelligence, every child in the world will be certain that Christmas is coming. They will be able to check their status on the Nice List and follow the journey of their gifts, from production to delivery, getting regular updates on their devices throughout the holiday season. Everyone will be able to see Christmas being delivered in real time. By replacing mystery with certainty, we will make belief obsolete. The need for belief was a bug, and now we have a patch for it.”

Avery stopped in the center of the well and faced the bench. “Your Honors.” She turned and faced the gallery. “Citizens of the North Pole. I believe I’ve more than sufficiently demonstrated how this sale is firmly in line with the foundational principles of Christmas and will, indeed, usher in a bold new era for the holiday. I have but one thing left to add in connection with this application.”

She walked up to the wooden bar separating her from the gallery, standing directly in front of Louis. He looked up at her, eyes pleading.

“Bah, humbug,” she said.

Confused murmurs swept through the courtroom.

The gavel banged. “Order!” the bailiff cried.

“I’m sorry, Louis,” Avery said.

Louis stood, brows furrowed, eyes shining with emotion.

She took his hands. “I love you, but I can’t do this. I can’t represent that man.”

All remaining color drained from Louis’ face. He looked as though he might faint.

Avery dropped his hands, turned, and pointed at her client.

“Because that man is not Santa!” she proclaimed.

Louis grabbed his chest with one hand and braced himself on the wooden railing with the other. “Oh, thank Christmas,” he sobbed.

Every bell in the North Pole began to ring.

CHAPTER TEN

THE NORTH POLE, GRAND BALLROOM

The spectators applauded and cheered as the walls of the courtroom burst into sparkling glitter and dissolved, revealing a glorious, golden ballroom. An elven orchestra swung Christmas classics from a stage across the great hall, while enchanted snow fell from the cathedral ceiling, disappearing before it touched the ground. The Christmas Court judges were nodding and shaking hands as the Yule Cat stalked out of the room, to the obvious relief of everyone. In the center of the great hall was the biggest Christmas tree Avery had ever seen. Parked next to it was a red wooden sleigh.

She’d seen that sleigh before.