Netflix may not yet be interested in my tales of Lotte, the fearless competition lawyer (maybe because they are too busy with their own merger, their Christmas movie offering could definitively use better movies), but that will not stop me from continuing the saga for the admittedly small group of fans out there, demonstrating that lawyers also pursue projects purely for passion, not profit. So, read on for the final chapter of the Lotte trilogy!
See here for part 1 and here for part 2.
After last year’s events, Gold Star Trains was thriving, thanks to the merger secured by Lotte. They were already working on their latest train set, a fusion of classic railway charm and cutting-edge AI. These trains could adapt to self-built tracks, automatically stop and unload at stations, and even optimize their schedules. In short, they were even smarter than real trains.
On a chilly morning, rumour spread the streets of Uppervalley that the International Competition Regulator (ICR) conducted dawn raids on toy train manufacturers. Soon after she woke up, Lotte was called by Gold Star Trains’ legal department, which knew Lotte from the previous cases. As it turned out, the ICR investigated possible coordination among the major toy train manufacturers. Suspicion arose from statements made in public earnings calls. Apparently, the ICR had analyzed hundreds of thousands of earnings calls across various industries with the help of algorithms. Based on its findings, the ICR had concluded that the toy train manufacturers stood out from other sectors due to a higher number of communications suggestive of potential collusion. The dawn raid served the purpose to find additional evidence of collusion (ok, I admit that’s heavy stuff for a movie).
Lotte was not happy with the dawn raid. After consulting with Oliver, who was now her intern, they decided to bring the case to court and challenge the ICR’s case on two grounds: First, that the ICR had not had sufficient evidence for a dawn raid and second that the public statements were no infringement of antitrust law in any case. Meanwhile Gold Start trains halted all sales, because they wanted to avoid selling products which were potentially affected by cartel activities. Again, children were faced with the threat of a trainless Christmas.
As it happens in cheesy movies, the court scheduled the hearing – and the decision – just two weeks before Christmas. That day, snow was falling as Lotte and Oliver walked to the charming old courtroom just steps from Lotte’s office. The judge, an elderly man, greeted Lotte and the ICR representatives warmly. But the morning quickly turned against Lotte’s team: The judge signalled (!!!) that he considered the evidence sufficient to justify the dawn raid, meaning the case would hinge entirely on whether the public statements were intended to facilitate anticompetitive collusion among train manufacturers.
During the lunch break, Lotte and her team slipped into a cozy bar for some hot chocolate. They were racking their brains for a way to win the case. Christmas songs played on the radio as they huddled together. When “The Twelve Days of Christmas” came on, Lotte suddenly paused and asked, “Have you ever noticed that this song does not make sense as a story? Who’s supposed to receive all those gifts?” Oliver jumped in: “Actually, some say the song was originally a coded reference to key articles of the Christian faith. That’s it! Maybe those public statements made during earning calls had a hidden meaning too – something we missed when listening for the first time.”
They replayed the earnings calls mentioned by the ICR, and suddenly everything clicked. Phrases like “We will focus on Europe,” “Our supply chain to Africa is stable,” and “We will cover first and foremost the Chinese market” were not about geographic market allocation at all – they were secret messages to Santa Claus, who was arranging trains for children in need across those regions. When Lotte confronted the CEO of Gold Star Trains with her theory, he confessed: “Yes, it’s true. We were afraid of embarrassing ourselves if we admitted we communicate with Santa Claus this way.” “Believing in Santa Claus is not a crime,” Lotte replied. “Let us get this straight.”
Back in court, Lotte laid out her theory before the judge. He listened patiently, though with visible scepticism, until she finished. After a long, contemplative pause, the judge returned to deliver his decision. He held that, while public statements could indeed lead to anti-competitive collusion, he had some doubts that his was the case here. Since the ICR had uncovered no further evidence during the dawn raid, everything hinged on the intent behind those public statements. Lotte had presented a well-reasoned interpretation of their possible meaning, and the ICR had been unable to disprove it. In the end, the judge admitted he believed in Santa Claus himself. With that, he declared the case closed. The courtroom erupted in cheers and for a fleeting moment, some swore the judge looked just like Santa Claus.
Not long after the ruling, shiny new Gold Star trains began arriving in toy shops around the world. Their innovative AI features lit up children’s faces with joy. And Lotte? She had saved Christmas (and Gold Star Trains) one more time.
Wishing all our readers a wonderful holiday season! Antitrustpolitics will take a short break for the festivities and return at full speed in 2026.
Please note that similarities with real cases are coincidental and not intended.
Photo by Richard Surman on Unsplash
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