马斯克对决OpenAI庭审首日：理想主义的壳子被撕开

Original text by: Sleepy.md

On April 28, 2026, at the Oakland Federal Court in California.

There was no table-pounding or shouting reminiscent of Hollywood legal dramas. Only a chilling list of evidence, sharply dressed top-tier lawyers, and a suffocating sense of pressure.

Tesla CEO Elon Musk and OpenAI CEO Sam Altman sat on opposite sides of the courtroom. Musk sat at a table in the center, clenching his jaw, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek, flipping through notes. Altman, arms crossed, sat solemnly in the front row of the gallery, whispering with his lawyers.

This is the richest man in the world, attempting to use legal means to destroy the world's largest AI unicorn.

The prelude to the trial began the day before with jury selection.

In this tech-worker-heavy area of the East Bay, picking nine ordinary people who could remain absolutely neutral toward Musk and ChatGPT was no easy feat.

Candidates were grilled one by one: "Do you use ChatGPT often?" "Do you follow Musk on X?" "Do you own stock in Tesla or SpaceX?"

After a grueling five-hour tug-of-war, both sides exhausted their five peremptory challenges. Presiding Judge Yvonne Gonzalez Rogers even made a candid remark from the bench: "The reality is, a lot of people don't like Elon Musk."

This lawsuit, dubbed the "Trial of the Century" by the media, appears on the surface to be a legal battle over a hundred-billion-dollar claim and the definition of a non-profit organization. However, beneath these dry legal terms lies a more fundamental question.

When an open-source project once championing the cause of "benefiting all of humanity" transforms into a commercial empire valued at $852 billion, did those original idealists part ways due to moral scruples, or because they lost a power struggle and stormed off in a huff? Is this a long-overdue reckoning for justice, or is it the case of a capital behemoth, unable to get what it wants, simply flipping the table?

Two Narratives

Once the trial officially began, the opening statements from both lead counsels presented the jury with two completely contrasting scripts.

In the narrative of Musk's lead lawyer, Steven Molot, this is a tale of a "white knight fighting a greedy usurper."

Molot deliberately avoided all obscure technical jargon. He repeatedly cited OpenAI's founding charter from 2015, hammering home the concept that OpenAI's original intent was to "benefit all of humanity" and was "not a tool for personal enrichment."

Molot accused Altman and President Greg Brockman of "stealing a charity." He pointed directly at Microsoft's cumulative $13 billion investment in OpenAI, arguing that this moment was when OpenAI tore up its promise to Musk and the world.

To prove his good faith, Musk's side even promised that if they won the case and secured the hundred-billion-dollar claim, the entire sum would be allocated to OpenAI's non-profit foundation, with Musk personally taking nothing.

However, in the narrative of OpenAI's lead lawyer, Bill Savitt, it was an entirely different story. This was no longer a moral crusade, but a blatant act of commercial retaliation following a failed "power play."

"We are here because Musk didn’t get what he wanted," Savitt said, hitting the nail on the head.

He told the jury that Musk was the one who truly smelled the commercial potential of AI and tried to seize it for himself. Back in the day, Musk not only demanded absolute control over OpenAI but even proposed merging it directly into Tesla.

Savitt punctured Musk's "AI safety guardian" persona. He pointed out that AI safety was never Musk's real priority, and that Musk even scoffed at employees who were overly focused on it. In Savitt's view, Musk only sued OpenAI after founding his own for-profit AI company, xAI, in 2023, purely out of business competition.

"My client left him, continued to thrive, and succeeded. Even if Musk is unhappy, he has no right to file a malicious lawsuit," Savitt said.

Even more interesting was the nuanced stance of the third party, Microsoft. Microsoft lawyer Russell Cohen tried hard to distance the company, claiming Microsoft had been a "responsible partner every step of the way" and had done nothing wrong.

But on the eve of the trial, OpenAI suddenly announced an update to its partnership terms with Microsoft. Microsoft no longer held exclusivity; OpenAI's products could now be deployed on other cloud platforms. This was not just a self-protective move to fend off antitrust investigations, but also seemed like a carefully orchestrated PR stunt. OpenAI was trying to prove in court that it was not Microsoft's puppet.

Beneath the flag of morality, both sides harbored deep-seated commercial calculations.

Musk's Testimony

As the first heavyweight witness to take the stand, Musk sat in the witness box for a full two hours.

In an era rife with anti-elite sentiment, Musk knew exactly how to build empathy with ordinary jurors. He didn't immediately dive into obscure AGI discussions. Instead, he spent nearly half an hour recounting his own "grassroots" struggle. He talked about leaving South Africa at age 17, working as a lumberjack in Canada and doing manual labor on farms. He emphasized that he still works 80 to 100 hours a week, owns no vacation home, and has no yacht.

"I like working. I like solving problems that make people's lives better," Musk said, trying to craft an image of a hardworking, pragmatic, non-hedonistic doer.

Then, he shifted gears, steering the conversation toward the terrifying crisis of AI.

Musk predicted that as early as next year, AI would be smarter than any human. He likened developing AI to raising a "very smart child." When the child grows up, you have no control over him; you can only pray that the values you instilled from a young age will take hold.

"We don't want a Terminator ending," Musk warned, his tone grave.

To prove that his motivation for founding OpenAI was absolutely pure, Musk recounted the story of his falling out with Google co-founder Larry Page.

Musk recalled that the two were once close friends, often having long talks about the future of AI. But during one conversation, Musk realized Page was completely unconcerned about the risk of AI spiraling out of control. When Musk insisted that human survival must be the top priority, Page retorted by accusing Musk of being a "speciesist."

This term is extremely jarring in the Silicon Valley context. It implies that, in the eyes of tech zealots like Page, silicon-based AI life is equal to carbon-based human life, or even represents a higher direction of evolution.

Musk told the jury that he thought Page was crazy at the time. It was this intense fear that Google might monopolize and abuse AI technology that drove him to fund the creation of OpenAI as a "countervailing force against Google."

This narrative is self-consistent and poignant, but not without its flaws.

Musk declared in court with righteous indignation: "If we allow them to steal a charity, the entire foundation of American charitable giving will be destroyed." Yet, his own Musk Foundation was reported to have failed to meet the IRS's minimum 5% charitable payout requirement for four consecutive years, with a funding shortfall of up to $421 million in 2023 alone.

More contradictory is the fact that someone deeply fearful of AI destroying humanity quickly assembled a team in 2023, founded the fully for-profit xAI, and deeply integrated it into his own business empire.

Is Musk's talk of "benefiting all of humanity" a pure conviction, or a perfect excuse to attack competitors? What do the private diaries and emails presented in court reveal about the inner world of these Silicon Valley giants?

Diaries, Text Messages, and the Dark Side of Silicon Valley

If the opening statements were carefully scripted PR pieces, then the internal communications entered as exhibits directly tore through Silicon Valley's veneer of respectability.

Musk's side's smoking gun was the personal diary of OpenAI President Greg Brockman from 2017. The diary explicitly stated: "Our plan: if only we could make that money. We kept thinking, maybe we should just switch to for-profit."

Along with an even blunter question: "Financially, what would make me a billion dollars?"

These unambiguous records shattered the carefully cultivated "pure research, no-strings-attached" non-profit image of early OpenAI. They proved that five years before the ChatGPT explosion, OpenAI's core management was already plotting how to monetize the technology and how to join the billionaires' club.

OpenAI's counterattack was equally lethal. They presented email records from 2017 showing Musk demanding sole control. The records showed that Musk was far from a generous donor who just writes checks and asks no questions; he demanded absolute control over any potential for-profit OpenAI.

When Altman and Brockman refused to hand over control, Musk's attitude did a complete 180-degree turn. In a February 2018 email, Musk pessimistically declared that OpenAI's probability of success was zero. He then walked away, leaving the board and ceasing further financial support.

OpenAI's lawyers used this evidence to argue to the jury that Musk's departure had nothing to do with moral scruples or ideological differences. It was simply because he thought the project was doomed, he couldn't gain control, so he cut his losses.

In this brutal back-and-forth of mudslinging, a specific name surfaced: Shivon Zilis.

She is a former OpenAI board member and also an executive at Musk's brain-computer interface company, Neuralink. Furthermore, she is the mother of three of Musk's children. In text messages disclosed during the trial, Zilis was seen proactively asking Musk if she should stay within OpenAI to keep the information flowing. OpenAI's side accordingly accused her of being an informant planted by Musk during her tenure on the board.

These intertwined interests, personnel infiltrations, and emotional entanglements churn beneath the high-minded slogans of changing the world, revealing a raw desire for money, power, and control.

As the shell of idealism is peeled away layer by layer by the evidence in court, will the outcome of this lawsuit truly change the direction of the AI industry?

Questions for the Future

No matter what verdict the judge ultimately delivers, there will be no real winner in this trial.

If Musk wins, and OpenAI is forced to dismantle its complex "capped profit" structure and revert to a pure non-profit, then its $852 billion valuation and the IPO plans slated for late 2026 would vanish in an instant. However, this would not stop capital from continuing to pour frantically into the AI track; in fact, Musk's own xAI would lose its most formidable competitor.

If OpenAI wins, the legal loophole for converting non-profits to for-profit entities will be torn wide open. This means future tech founders could first exploit the "non-profit" facade, using tax benefits and the moral halo of public service to attract top talent and early capital at low cost. Once a technological breakthrough is achieved, they could then privatize and commercialize it through complex equity structures.

Viewing this trial within the long history of technological revolutions, it is merely another footnote in business competition. It echoes the AC/DC war between Edison and Tesla in the late 19th century, or the browser wars between Microsoft and Netscape in the late 20th century. Titans trade verbal barbs in court, fighting over the rules for distributing profits today.

The outcome in court cannot change the objective laws of technological evolution. What truly determines humanity's fate is not the carefully crafted arguments of lawyers, but the clusters of GPUs humming away in data centers around the world, greedily devouring power and data.

The scene returns to the Oakland courtroom. Midway through the trial, the courtroom's microphones and display screens suffered a brief technical glitch. Judge Rogers helplessly joked: "What can I say? We're funded by the federal government."

A ripple of laughter echoed through the courtroom. This self-deprecating anecdote formed an absurd contrast to the Silicon Valley giants casually discussing hundred-billion-dollar claims, human extinction, and Terminator scenarios. In this surreal reality, the wheels of AI are mercilessly grinding down established business ethics and legal boundaries, hurtling toward a future that even its creators cannot predict.