LITAN

The console

Litigation, as a place you can walk through.

Ninety-four courthouses on a dark continent. A matter's clocks racked like instruments. Every figure carries the population it came out of and whether you may lean on it.

The doors

Five surfaces, each answering one question a professional actually walks in with.

Do I file, settle, or fight?
The estate at low orbit — the courthouse continent with the clock rack, the docket stack and the claim waterfall in front of it.
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Who did I draw, and where should I file?
The federal judiciary as a place: every district court standing at its own seat, states tinted by circuit.
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How long, honestly?
The clock rack. Each stage a ring, each served band an inlay, the withheld stage drawn as an empty ring.
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What reserve can I stand behind?
The claim waterfall, the band that held, and the tail — with the observations plotted rather than summarised.
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Where is everything?
The estate as one map: eight questions as places, lit where the number is quotable today.
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The instruments

The parts the doors are built from, each shown on real data.

Where a case like this ends
Ninety-three district courts, their disposition mix and their bench depth. Every row opens the court.
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Where cases end, and how
One circle per court at its own seat: area is the caseload, fill is the share named above the map.
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A band, not a point
Where the answer is known at two points, the region every honest curve must pass through — drawn, not guessed.
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Who is connected to whom
A bounded neighbourhood of the entity spine, with the table beside the canvas.
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Six hundred companies, seven registers
The exposure book, sortable and filterable, every row into the company.
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Everything we will not tell you
The census of what this console refuses to say, and the reason attached to each.
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