In fact Ari Wiesenthal, the defendant, kept his hands literally over his ears or cupped over his eyes all during the first meetings. Flannery raised his bushy eyebrows at the judge as if to say, “This is what we’ve got,” but the judge persisted. Whatever the law might dictate, there was no logical reason to deny this woman some amount of the cord blood. It was highly unlikely to be contaminated in the process, unlikely even that she would need all that had been stored. But there was something impenetrable about Ari Wiesenthal, as if he had retreated into some private walled-off space, a private logic of his own. “I’m protecting my family,” he kept saying. “Family first.” Wasn’t his cousin also family? the judge wondered. He saw no obvious enmity between the two. They sat mirroring each other, arms identically folded, their legs crossed and facing. But families are like icebergs—only a fraction shows above the surface. “I have rights under the law, too,” Ari insisted.
