The posthumous use of Scott Adams’ likeness through artificial intelligence has ignited a heated debate over ethics, consent, and legal rights. The creator of the "Dilbert" comic strip died in January at age 68 from complications of metastatic prostate cancer. Shortly after, an AI-generated version of Adams began posting videos online, mimicking his voice, mannerisms, and philosophical style. These posts, which discuss current events and ideas in a way that closely resembles the real Adams, have drawn strong opposition from his family. In a 2021 podcast, Adams had stated he gave "explicit permission" for others to create an AI version of himself, arguing that his public presence online made him a suitable candidate for digital resurrection. He said he was comfortable with an AI version expressing new thoughts as long as they aligned with his known views. However, his family disputes that interpretation. A February 5 post on Adams’ official social media account, attributed to his brother Dave Adams, clarified that the cartoonist never intended or approved an AI version not authorized by himself or his estate. The AI account, which identifies itself as artificial intelligence at the start of each video, claims to fulfill Adams’ stated wishes. But the family insists it is a fabricated representation that is deeply distressing during their grieving process. On February 17, the official account reiterated the estate’s request for all unauthorized AI recreations to cease, calling them misleading and emotionally harmful. Experts say the situation highlights the growing tension between emerging AI capabilities and outdated legal frameworks. Karen North, a professor at the University of Southern California specializing in digital culture, called the AI version a deepfake. She emphasized the danger of realistic digital imitations emerging during times of grief, especially when they may say things the real person never would have. With so much personal data already available through social media, voice apps, and online quizzes, creating such replicas has become alarmingly easy. Betsy Rosenblatt, an intellectual property lawyer at Case Western Reserve University, described the AI Adams as "unethical in the extreme." While the right of publicity—protections over a person’s name, image, and likeness—exists in states like California and New York, it is primarily focused on economic harm rather than emotional or ethical concerns. Legal claims typically arise when an AI version interferes with existing contracts or blocks future revenue opportunities for the estate. The anonymous nature of the AI account does not shield it from legal action. Courts can issue subpoenas to uncover identities, though the process is complex. Whether the content is commercial also matters. Since the AI Adams does not appear to sell anything or promote products, its creators may have a stronger First Amendment defense, though that is not guaranteed. The situation underscores a critical ethical question: who should control a person’s digital identity after death? North believes individuals should retain ownership of their personas, and that rights should pass to loved ones, not be freely exploited. She warns that AI imitations can distort legacy and public memory—just as Shakespeare should always sound like Shakespeare, and Dr. Seuss like Dr. Seuss. For now, the dispute is a public clash over legacy and control. But it may also mark the beginning of a broader societal reckoning—one where technology advances faster than laws or norms can keep up, and where the dead may no longer stay silent.