The Man Uber Used as a Human Shield

Michael Rattagan is, by every account in the court record, one of Buenos Aires’s most respected business attorneys. His firm, Rattagan Macchiavello Arocena, counsels large multinational corporations on transactions and investments in Argentina. When an Uber representative contacted him in February 2013, he was exactly the kind of high-caliber, well-connected local counsel that a Silicon Valley tech giant needed to navigate Argentine corporate law.

Uber hired Rattagan’s firm to handle a specific set of tasks: reserve the corporate name “Uber Argentina, S.A.,” register Uber’s Dutch subsidiaries as foreign shareholders, create all corporate formation documents, and register the entity with Buenos Aires’s Office of Corporations. Standard stuff. Rattagan also agreed to act as the Dutch subsidiaries’ registered legal representative in Argentina — a formal role required by Argentine law, in which a local resident serves as the “human face” of the foreign entity before government authorities.

Before taking on that second role, Rattagan explicitly warned Uber in writing about the “full potential personal exposure” he would face if the Dutch subsidiaries violated Argentine law. Uber signed indemnity agreements acknowledging exactly that risk. Those agreements stated plainly that Rattagan “was not, is not and will not become familiar with the day-to-day operations of the Company.” He was the face on the paperwork. He was not running the company. Uber agreed to this in writing and then proceeded to act as though the agreement did not exist.

The Secret Meetings Rattagan Was Never Told About

Between December 2015 and April 12, 2016, Uber representatives held a series of meetings with Buenos Aires city officials. On December 17, 2015, Uber’s Head of Public Policy and Government Affairs in South America met with the city’s Secretary of Transportation, who rejected Uber’s argument that it was a technology company exempt from local transportation regulations. Two more meetings followed in January and February 2016.

At those January and February meetings, city officials delivered a direct warning to Carl Meacham, Uber’s Head of Public Policy and Government Relations based in Washington D.C.: do not launch the ridesharing platform in Buenos Aires unless all drivers have professional licenses and commercial insurance and all vehicles pass city inspection. The officials could not have been clearer. Uber heard the warning, documented it internally, and told Rattagan nothing.

In March 2016, Uber’s own Buenos Aires government relations lawyer, Leonardo Orlanski, told Rattagan to stop filing paperwork with the corporate registry because Orlanski needed to “check some implications on the regulatory front.” According to the court record, Uber had already secretly decided to launch in April 2016 — the local corporate entities were still in formation and had not been registered with local or federal tax authorities. Rattagan continued working in good faith, exchanging emails and calls with Uber’s San Francisco-based paralegals and its Head Counsel for Latin American Operations, while none of them breathed a word about what was coming.

The Non-Financial Ledger: What Can’t Be Repaid

Every legal ruling summarizes harm in dollars and procedural outcomes. This section does not. What happened to Michael Rattagan is the kind of destruction that doesn’t fit neatly into a settlement calculation: the erosion of a professional identity built over a career, the experience of watching your name broadcast on national television attached to accusations of tax evasion and illegal business activity, and the visceral terror of having police enter your workplace with a search warrant while your colleagues watch.

On April 12, 2016, Rattagan learned that Uber had launched its ridesharing platform in Buenos Aires the same way any ordinary citizen did: through a mass marketing email blast. He was not given a phone call. He was not pulled into a briefing. He was not warned. He had been Uber’s registered legal representative in Argentina, the human being whose name and firm address sat in official government filings as the face of Uber’s Argentine operations, and the company treated him as an afterthought. The launch immediately triggered violent street protests. At one point, Rattagan’s own office building was surrounded by protesters who physically blocked the exits for hours. He and his colleagues were trapped inside.

Three days after the launch, a Buenos Aires city inspector arrived at Rattagan’s offices with orders to immediately cease Uber’s operations. Police followed with a search warrant, charging that Rattagan, as the Dutch subsidiaries’ legal representative, was using public space for commercial gain without a permit. Prime-time news broadcasts showed up. They displayed Rattagan’s firm logo on screen and reported that his offices were the location of “Uber’s illegal activities, which included tax evasion.” His firm’s name. His address. His reputation. All of it used as the visual shorthand for corporate criminality — none of it his doing.

The Requests That Went Ignored

On April 15, 2016 — the same day police raided his offices — Rattagan emailed Uber’s Head Counsel for Latin American Operations, Enrique Gonzalez, and asked to be removed as the Dutch subsidiaries’ legal representative. Gonzalez did not act immediately. More than two months passed before Uber removed his name from the filings. During those two months, Rattagan remained legally tethered to an operation that city authorities had already declared illegal, his name sitting in government records as the responsible party.

On May 12, 2016, Rattagan met Gonzalez in person for the first time since the launch. He repeated his resignation and demanded Uber replace his firm’s name and address in all official IGJ documents. The court record states Gonzalez disregarded the request and continued using Rattagan’s firm name and address in informal correspondence with city officials. Rattagan then escalated directly to Salle Yoo, Uber’s General Counsel and Corporate Secretary in San Francisco, asking her to designate someone to receive his client files and demanding Uber stop using his identity as its legal domicile in communications with Argentine authorities.

In April 2017 — a full year after the launch — Rattagan was formally charged with unauthorized use of public space with a commercial aim and aggravated tax evasion. He was subjected to mugshots and fingerprinting. The court record notes he was temporarily banned from international travel, a consequence that directly damaged his ability to serve international clients and run a multinational legal practice. News of the travel ban went viral. Uber had been paying his criminal defense fees under the indemnity agreement. After he filed this lawsuit, Uber stopped paying.

The Indemnity Agreement: A Promise Uber Broke Under Pressure

The indemnity agreements between Rattagan and Uber’s Dutch subsidiaries were explicit. The subsidiaries agreed to hold Rattagan “harmless from any action, suit or proceeding, pending or threatened, whether civil, criminal, administrative or investigative” arising from his role as legal representative. The agreements further promised to indemnify him “against any and all liabilities and expenses (including reasonable attorneys’ fees and expenses)” in connection with his defense. These were not vague commitments. They were negotiated, written, and signed.

Uber honored those agreements just long enough to keep Rattagan from pursuing legal action. The moment he filed suit, the company cut off the payments. For a man facing criminal charges in a foreign country, the financial and psychological weight of that abandonment is impossible to overstate. He had warned Uber about his exposure in writing before accepting the role. Uber had agreed in writing to protect him. Uber stopped the moment it became inconvenient.

Legal Receipts: The Damning Record, Word for Word

“He alleges they intentionally concealed Uber’s launch plans even though they knew local government authorities would consider the launch to constitute ‘a legally non-compliant and tax evasive transportation business’ and Rattagan would consequently be exposed to ‘grave personal consequences’ given his position as the Dutch subsidiaries’ registered legal representative.” — California Supreme Court Opinion, Rattagan v. Uber Technologies, Inc., S272113 (describing Rattagan’s allegations, which the Court accepted as true at this stage)

“Prime-time news reported the raid and displayed Rattagan’s firm logo, reporting his offices were the location of ‘Uber’s illegal activities, which included tax evasion.’ As a result, Rattagan claims he and his colleagues were ‘vilified in the media and subjected to scorn and ridicule in social and professional gatherings.'” — California Supreme Court Opinion, Rattagan v. Uber Technologies, Inc., S272113

“Rattagan claims Uber paid his criminal defense legal fees under ‘an indemnity agreement’ but ‘ceased doing so after he filed this lawsuit.'” — California Supreme Court Opinion, Rattagan v. Uber Technologies, Inc., S272113

“‘Simply put, a contract is not a license allowing one party to cheat or defraud the other.'” — California Supreme Court Opinion, quoting Grynberg v. Citation Oil & Gas Corp. (1997), applied in Robinson Helicopter v. Dana Corp. and reaffirmed here

“The economic loss rule is designed to limit liability in commercial activities that negligently or inadvertently go awry, not to reward malefactors who affirmatively misrepresent and put people at risk.” — California Supreme Court Opinion, Rattagan v. Uber Technologies, Inc., S272113 (quoting Robinson Helicopter v. Dana Corp.)

“Before taking on this additional role, Rattagan expressly warned Uber in writing of the ‘full potential personal exposure’ he might face as legal representative if the Dutch subsidiaries violated Argentinian law.” — California Supreme Court Opinion, Rattagan v. Uber Technologies, Inc., S272113

Societal Impact: How Uber’s Playbook Harms Everyone

Public Health and Personal Safety

Buenos Aires city officials warned Uber explicitly: operating ridesharing without professional driver’s licenses, commercial insurance coverage, and vehicle inspections posed direct safety risks to the public. Uber launched anyway. Those requirements exist because uninsured, uninspected vehicles operated by unlicensed commercial drivers kill and injure people. When Uber launched in defiance of those standards, it exposed Argentine riders to vehicles and drivers that had not met any of the safety thresholds the city required for commercial transportation.

The violent street protests that erupted immediately after the launch were a direct consequence of Uber’s decision to roll over local law. Those protests created dangerous conditions in the streets of Buenos Aires. Rattagan’s own office was surrounded by protesters who blocked the exits for hours — a physical safety threat to him and his employees. The harm was not abstract. It was immediate, physical, and experienced by real people on the day of the launch.

Economic Inequality: One Set of Rules for Corporations, Another for Everyone Else

The Buenos Aires city government had a registration and inspection framework that applied to commercial transportation operators. Licensed taxi drivers and transport companies had to meet those standards. Uber launched without meeting them, giving itself a structural economic advantage over every compliant operator in the city. This is the standard Silicon Valley disruption playbook: enter a market illegally, generate user base and momentum, then negotiate with regulators from a position of market power. The costs of that strategy — the protests, the enforcement actions, the legal chaos — get distributed to people like Rattagan.

Meanwhile, Uber’s corporate entities in the Netherlands and San Francisco remained insulated. Uber’s Head Counsel Gonzalez continued operating from San Francisco. Uber’s General Counsel Salle Yoo continued operating from San Francisco. The legal exposure, the criminal charges, the travel ban, the reputational destruction — all of that landed on the local Argentine lawyer whose name was on the paperwork. He absorbed the consequences of decisions made in California boardrooms and Washington policy offices. That is not an accident of circumstance. That is the structural design of how multinational corporations externalize risk onto local contractors in foreign markets.

The economic harm to Rattagan was compounded by the travel ban, which directly restricted his ability to serve international clients. A multinational legal practice depends on the ability to move across borders. Uber’s concealment of its launch plans triggered a government response that temporarily destroyed that capacity. The court record describes this damage as flowing directly from Uber’s intentional decisions, not from any action Rattagan took or failed to take. He lost income and professional opportunity because of choices made by people in San Francisco who knew exactly what the consequences for him would be.

The Cost of a Life Metric: What Uber Externalized

What Now: The Fight Isn’t Over

The Uber Executives Named in the Court Record

The California Supreme Court’s opinion names the following Uber employees as the people who managed Rattagan’s work and maintained contact with him during the period the court found relevant to his concealment claim:

• Enrique Gonzalez — Head Counsel, Latin American Operations. Received Rattagan’s resignation request on April 15, 2016. Failed to act for over two months. Continued using Rattagan’s firm address in correspondence with city officials after being told to stop.
• Salle Yoo — General Counsel and Corporate Secretary, Uber Technologies, San Francisco. Rattagan contacted her directly in late May 2016 demanding his name be removed from all government filings.
• Carl Meacham — Head of Public Policy and Government Relations, Washington D.C. Received explicit warnings from Buenos Aires city officials in January and February 2016 that the platform launch would violate local law. Did not inform Rattagan.
• Gonzalo Araujo — Head of Public Policy and Government Affairs, South America. Attended the December 17, 2015 meeting where the Secretary of Transportation rejected Uber’s legal theory. Did not inform Rattagan.
• Ryan Black — San Francisco-based paralegal. Managed Rattagan’s incorporation work directly from Uber’s legal department beginning in February 2015.
• Shirin Schokrpur — San Francisco-based paralegal. Managed Rattagan’s incorporation work alongside Black. Named in the period of active concealment.
• Leonardo Orlanski — Buenos Aires lawyer retained by Uber for government relations. Told Rattagan on March 22, 2016 to stop filing the IGJ modifications while Uber secretly finalized its launch timeline.

The Regulatory Bodies That Should Be Watching

• Federal Trade Commission (FTC): Uber’s pattern of entering markets through legal concealment raises consumer protection and fair competition concerns across all jurisdictions where it operates.
• Department of Justice (DOJ): The deliberate concealment of plans known to constitute violations of foreign law, executed through U.S.-based employees and legal departments, warrants federal oversight of Uber’s international compliance practices.
• Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC): Uber is a publicly traded company. If executives knew about non-compliant international launch strategies and did not disclose the associated legal and regulatory risks to investors, that is a material disclosure question.
• California State Bar: Uber’s San Francisco-based legal team directed the work of a foreign attorney while concealing information that exposed him to criminal prosecution. The ethical obligations of U.S.-licensed attorneys in that chain of command deserve scrutiny.

What You Can Do Right Now

The gig economy is built on Uber’s model: classify workers and contractors as independent entities, extract their labor and their legal exposure, then cut them loose the moment they become a liability. Rattagan was not a gig worker — he was a senior attorney at one of Buenos Aires’s most respected firms. That Uber treated him the same way it treats its most vulnerable contractors tells you everything about who this company believes it answers to. Support organizations fighting for gig worker rights and corporate accountability in your city. Attend city council meetings where rideshare regulations are debated. Demand that your local government require rideshare companies to post surety bonds protecting local contractors from exactly this kind of corporate abandonment. And if you are a lawyer or legal professional working with multinational tech companies: read this case. Get the indemnity agreement in writing. Then assume they’ll dishonor it the moment it costs them anything.