11
The winding two-lane snake that was Laurel Canyon Boulevard took nearly a half hour to pass. I relearned another object lesson about Los Angeles: there was no rush hour because every hour was rush hour.
The address on Jason Hwang’s CV corresponded to a home on Willoughby Avenue in a neighborhood of expensive homes with high hedges. It seemed too nice for an out-of-work biologist in his early thirties. I parked and walked through an archway cut into a six-foot-thick hedge and knocked on the aquamarine door of a two-story white cube. After knocking I rang the doorbell, when I should have done just one or the other. But following the doorbell I heard a dog start to bark inside and then the sound was quickly cut off by someone yelling the dog’s name: Tipsy.
The door opened and a man stood there cradling a toy poodle under one arm. The dog was as white as the house. The man was Asian and very small. Not just short but small in all dimensions.
“Hi, I’m looking for Jason Hwang,” I said.
“Who are you?” he said. “Why are you looking for him?”
“I’m a reporter. I’m working on a story about GT23 and I would like to talk to him about it.”
“What kind of story?”
“Are you Jason Hwang? I’ll tell him what kind of story.”
“I’m Jason. What is this story?”
“I’d rather not talk about it standing out here. Is there a place we can go to sit down and talk? Maybe inside or somewhere nearby?”
It was a tip my editor Foley had given me when I started out in the business. Never do an interview at the door. People can shut the door if they don’t like what you ask.
“Do you have a card or some sort of ID?” Hwang asked.
“Sure,” I said.
I dug a business card out of my wallet and handed it to him. I also showed him a press pass issued six years earlier by the Sheriff’s Department when I was regularly writing crime stories for the Velvet Coffin.
Hwang studied both but didn’t mention that the press pass was dated 2013 or that the man in the photo looked a lot younger than me.
“Okay,” Hwang said, handing me back the card. “You can come in.”
He stepped back to allow me entrance. “Thank you,” I said.
He led me through the entryway to a living room decorated in white and aqua furnishings. He gestured toward the couch — that was for me — while he sat on a matching stuffed chair. He put the dog down next to him on the chair. He was wearing white pants and a sea-foam-green golf shirt. He blended in perfectly with the house’s design and decor, and I didn’t think that was by happenstance.
“Do you live here alone?” I asked.
“No,” Hwang said.
He offered no further details.
“Well, as I said at the door, I’m doing a story about GT23 and I came across your lawsuit. It’s still pending, correct?”
“It’s pending — we don’t have a trial date yet,” he said. “But I can’t talk to you because the case is still active.”
“Well, your case is not really what I’m writing about. If I steer clear of the lawsuit, can I ask you a few questions?”
“No, impossible. My lawyer said I could not speak at all when the other journalist called. I wanted to, but he wouldn’t let me.”
I was suddenly gripped by a reporter’s greatest fear — being scooped. Another journalist might be following the same trail as me.
“Who was the other journalist?” I asked.
“I don’t remember,” Hwang said. “My lawyer told him no.”
“Well, was it recent? Or are you talking about when you filed the lawsuit?”
“Yes, when I filed.”
I felt a wave of relief. The lawsuit had been filed almost a year ago. It was probably a routine call from a reporter — probably from the L.A. Times — who had noticed the lawsuit on the courthouse docket and called for a comment.
“What if we talk off the record?” I said. “I don’t quote you or use your name.”
“I don’t know,” Hwang said. “It still sounds risky. I don’t even know you and you want me to trust you.”
This was a dance I had engaged in many times before. People often said they couldn’t or didn’t want to talk. The trick was to leverage their anger and give them a safe outlet for it. Then they would talk.
“All I can say is that I would protect you from being identified,” I said. “My own credibility is at stake. I burn a source and no source will ever trust me. I went to jail once for sixty-three days because I wouldn’t give up the name of a source.”
Hwang looked horrified. Mentioning that experience often worked with people on the fence about talking to me.
“What happened?” Hwang asked.
“The judge finally let me go,” I said. “He knew I wasn’t going to give up the name.”
All of that was true, but I left out the part about my source — Rachel Walling — coming forward and revealing herself. After that there was no point in continuing the contempt order and the judge released me.
“The thing is, if I talk they’ll know it came from me,” Hwang said. “They’ll read the story and say, Who else could it come from?”
“Your information would be for background only. I won’t record. I don’t even have to take notes. I’m just trying to understand how all of this works.”
Hwang paused and then made a decision.
“Ask your questions and if I don’t like them, I won’t answer.”
“Fair enough.”
I had not really thought about how I would explain myself should Hwang agree to talk to me — on or off the record. Now it was time. Like a good police detective, I didn’t want to give the subject of my interview all my information. I didn’t know him and didn’t know who he might pass it on to. He was worried about trusting me but I also had to worry about trusting him.
“Let me start by explaining who I am and what I’m doing,” I began. “I work for a news site called FairWarning. It’s consumer-protection reporting. You know, watching out for the little guy. And I’ve been assigned to look at the security of the personal information and biological material in the genetic-analytics field.”
Hwang immediately scoffed.
“What security?” he said.
I wanted to write the line down because I instinctively saw it as possibly the first quote in a story. It was provocative and would pull the reader in. But I couldn’t. I had made a deal with Hwang.
“It sounds like you were not impressed by the security at GT23,” I said.
The question was deliberately open-ended. He could run with it if he wished.
“Not the lab,” Hwang said. “I ran a tight lab. We adhered to all protocols and I will prove that in court. It was what happened afterward.”
“Afterward?” I prompted.
“The places the data went. The company wanted the money. They didn’t care where it went as long as they were getting paid.”
“When you say ‘They,’ you’re talking about GT23?”
“Yes, of course. They went public and needed more revenue to support the stock. So they were wide open for business. They lowered the bar.”
“Give me an example.”
“Too many to list. We were shipping DNA all over the world. Thousands of samples. The company needed the money and no one was turned away as long as it was a lab registered with the FDA or the equivalent in other countries.”
“So then they had to be legit. It wasn’t like somebody drives up and says, I need DNA. I’m not understanding your concern.”
“It’s the Wild West right now. There are so many directions to go with genetic research. It’s really in its infancy. And we — meaning the company — don’t control what happens with the bio and how it’s used once it goes out the door. That’s the FDA’s problem, not ours — that was the attitude. And let me tell you, the FDA didn’t do jack.”