Law America, the Devil's Agent

Three days later, in the Philadelphia Federal District Court.

The oak doors of the seventh courtroom on the third floor were pushed open by bailiffs at 9:00 a.m. sharp.

The gallery was already full.

The front row was occupied by members of the Winthrop family. Samuel and Margaret sat in the seats closest to the aisle, with Margaret holding her husband's hand tightly.

Several people from AnDun Company were scattered in the back row. Daniel leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed, his gaze never leaving the defendant's seat.

Further behind were several reporters, with pens and recorders already in place.

Link sat in the plaintiff's seat, with three documents spread out in front of him.

He was making final annotations on a testimony summary with a fountain pen, the sound of the pen tip gliding across the paper clearly audible in the quiet courtroom.

From where he was sitting, he could clearly see the defendant's dock opposite him.

DeShawn Washington's lawyer was a man who looked to be in his early fifties with excessively dark, shiny hair.

This is the court-appointed public defender. It's not that DeShawn couldn't afford a better one, but rather that all the law firms willing to defend him refused him.

What Deenshaw didn't know was that nobody wanted to be involved in a federal criminal case that was about to go through sentencing.

Because his politician backer is cutting ties with him at a visible speed.

The judge struck the gavel.

"Silence. All rise."

The judge struck the gavel. Silence. Everyone stood.

"United States of America v. Deschaun Washington, now in session."

This expedited legal process has officially begun.

The side door to the defendant's dock opened, and DeShawn Washington was escorted in by two bailiffs.

He was wearing a dark blue jacket that was clearly court-designated, with a tight collar and cuffs that barely covered his wrists.

The bruises from the night of his arrest still lingered on his face:

He got into a fight with another inmate in the detention center, reportedly over a pack of cigarettes.

  

Link looked up at him.

Then he lowered his eyelids.

In a field of vision unseen by others, the black pupils split open to the sides, transforming into a pair of cold, amber-colored horizontal pupils.

A line of text slowly appeared above DeShawn's head.

【Wrathful Demon (Pureblood Demon):】

His blood flowed with boiling violence, and his breath spewed out sulfurous rage.

Power is his faith, fear is his currency, and destroying anyone who does not obey his will is his only pleasure.

It wasn't that he couldn't think; it's just that after thinking, he had never found a more effective answer than his fists. He conquered the weak with violence because his soul was never stronger than the weak he trampled underfoot.

(Desean Washington: Where's my lawyer? That piece of trash with hair dyed like leather shoes—he'd better kick all that bullshit evidence out the door.)

If I can get out of here this time, I'm going to find that Chinese kid and teach him a lesson about betrayal.

And Nancy—no, Ella, whatever her name is, when I find her, she'll regret every second she's standing in court today.

The horizontal pupils in Link's eyes faded away.

He placed the pen next to the document and re-examined the violent yet foolish face before him.

The wrathful demon.

This is the third pure-blooded rage demon he has encountered.

He possesses a violent personality and formidable martial prowess.

The danger lies in the fact that his fists can indeed kill.

The sad thing is that he never considered that fists can't win in court.

Link stood up and buttoned his suit jacket.

His opening statement was devoid of lengthy background information or sentimental embellishments; it consisted only of line after line of evidence numbers and corresponding legal citations.

He spent over ten minutes reviewing DeShawn's criminal record from the past five years:

The drugs and guns seized from DeShawn’s residence and Ace Tire Shop, the falsified registration records obtained from the municipal welfare department, and the cash flow records obtained from the North District Community Bank were all presented in court.

Each piece of evidence is fully numbered, clearly sourced, and has a definite conclusion.

The judge looked through the list of evidence in front of him, his brows furrowing deeper and deeper.

The gazes of the twelve common-law jurors on the jury table had shifted from initial perfunctory politeness to focused stares.

The defense attorney's rebuttal was vehement, but Link found his core arguments to be weak.

He received absolutely no useful information or content to refute himself during those three days.

He spent nearly twenty minutes trying to argue that the source of the evidence was illegitimate and that the search warrant signing procedure was flawed.

And certain key physical evidence:

The bags of white powder that were seized had a loophole in their storage chain.

He spoke eloquently, but each attempt to launch a procedural attack was rejected by Link using pre-prepared federal precedents.

……

"Marshall v. Seventh Circuit Court of Appeals, 1998."

The requirement for continuity in the chain of custody does not apply to physical evidence seized directly by federal agents during a lawful search.

"Barnes v. Federal Court, Third Circuit, 2004."

The standard for determining interstate transportation is the movement of the physical evidence itself, not the suspect's subjective intent.

……

However, the judge received supplementary evidence early on and rejected the defense's procedural objections twice.

The jury members, heads bowed and taking notes, hardly stopped writing.

DeShawn sat in the dock, watching his defense attorney rendered speechless by the mocking Chinese-American lawyer opposite him.

His lips tightened more and more, and his knuckles clenched white under the table.

Although he was ignorant of the law, he had already sensed that something was wrong.

His gaze began to frequently sweep across the back rows of the audience, but he didn't see his biggest backer—

Clemons is there!

DeShawn's Adam's apple bobbed.

He didn't understand. Why hadn't his uncle moved yet?

Didn't he promise to protect me?

He pondered this thought over and over in his mind, unaware that at the same moment, the all-powerful support in his heart was already in dire straits.

……

Congressman Clemons learned of DeShawn's arrest early the next morning.

He immediately called the North District Police Chief, his tone calm but urgent, but the other person's voice was hesitant:

"Councilor, this matter... is beyond our control."

This is a federal case, handled directly by the ATF; the local police department wasn't even involved.

My people only received the notification from the federal government afterwards.

Clemons' fingers tightened slightly around the receiver.

ATF! Federation!

They bypassed local police departments and state police, going directly to federal law enforcement.

He put down the phone and stood by the office window for a long time, having already witnessed much of the changing fortunes of Philadelphia outside.

But this seemingly minor personal case made him feel a sense of crisis.

Having been in politics for so many years, his sense of smell is incredibly sharp.

This happened so smoothly and coincidentally! It was as if everything had been premeditated. They fabricated charges so naturally and gathered people to arrest their nephew.

It's obvious that someone is targeting us!

He remembered the USB drive.

After Link left, he sat at his desk and stared at the black plastic sheet for a full five minutes.

After thinking for a long time, he still couldn't hold back and wanted to get to know him better.

When he finally mustered the courage to plug it into a spare laptop that was offline, only a blank folder popped up on the screen.

empty.

He was taken aback at first, then a surge of annoyance at being mocked welled up in his throat.

That young punk, barely 30 years old, that damned Chinese-American lawyer actually tried to extort money from him with an empty USB drive?

A surge of anger swept over him! He thought it was just a funny prank. But he never expected his nephew to be arrested today!

After his anger subsided, Clemons sat in his chair, a layer of cold sweat slowly seeping down his back.

He began to think about something:

Why is my USB drive empty?

There must be evidence.

He confidently pointed out DeShawn's criminal record, the flow of city hall funds, and so on.

Those weren't just empty words.

The fact that he dared to present these facts to the public shows that he does indeed have something to offer.

Why is the USB drive empty?

A jumble of thoughts churned in his mind, and he suddenly realized:

This is very likely what the lawyer was telling him:

I have a hand that I can play, but I haven't played it yet.

The USB drive is empty, which means you can choose.

You can choose to make me never type it out. As long as you remain silent.

Clemens tapped his fingers lightly on the table.

Perhaps this empty USB drive isn't a joke, but an implication.

He has to make a decision within these seventy-two hours.

But before he could even process this decision, his assistant pushed open his office door early the next morning, his face extremely grim.

"Mr. Congressman, the U.S. Attorney's Office has just issued a subpoena."

You are required to appear for questioning next Wednesday regarding the "protection network" of the DeSean Washington criminal gang.

"What?"

Clemons jumped to his feet, his chair slamming against the filing cabinet against the wall with a thud.

"Nonsense! I have absolutely nothing to do with him!"

"They say there's an anonymous tip-off, and they're asking you to explain your relationship with Deenshaw. Have they discovered something?"

The assistant's voice was trembling.

Clemons slumped into his chair, his back instantly soaked with cold sweat.

"Damn it, it hasn't been 72 hours yet!"

Is he implying something to me?

He did make the arrangements, but those phone calls and private verbal coordinations were all conducted via encrypted lines or face-to-face meetings. How could there be any records of them?

But then he remembered an even more terrifying fact:

What is the background of AnDun Company?

Klaus was a former Ranger veteran, so his information gathering skills were undoubtedly very strong.

And his indecisiveness may have already put him on the opposite side.

Just as my mind was in a complete mess, the office door was pushed open again.

There was no notification, and no appointment was made.

A middle-aged man wearing black-rimmed glasses walked in, holding a document in his hand, and calmly sat down opposite him.

"Who are you……?"

"Mr. Congressman, our boss asked me to pass on a message to you."

Eric, the executive director of Anton, placed the document on the table and said calmly:

"The seventy-two hours given for reflection do not mean that we will do nothing."

You've probably already received some of the messages, haven't you?

Clemons' face turned ashen as he stared intently into Eric's eyes: "What do you want?"

"I don't want to do anything."

Eric smiled and said, "This is just a small token of my appreciation. As long as you don't interfere in this matter anymore, let's pretend that the previous misunderstandings never happened."

A blatant threat. Making the harshest deal with the most polite words.

Clemons stared at Eric for a long time; the only sound in the office was the ticking of the second hand on the old-fashioned wall clock.

He began to recall:

I recall how I climbed my way up from a community organizer in the North District to the City Council's Public Safety Committee.

He climbed for twenty years, twenty years.

And what about DeShawn?

A good-for-nothing nephew, a gang leader who started drug trafficking at sixteen, and a burden who does dirty work under his protection but is far less useful than his other subordinates.

If it weren't for my sister...

With this thought in mind, his resolve hardened.

Why would someone sacrifice their 20-year political career for such a fool?

Absolutely not! No one can take his rights away!

He took a deep breath and gritted his teeth.

"I understand. I won't interfere with DeShawn."

Eric smiled and stood up, leaving the document on the table.

Clemons didn't bother to look it up.

He didn't need to look to know that this was a copy of his previous phone call records interfering with the judiciary.

It is both a warning from AnDun and a gesture of sincerity from AnDun.

These things won't end up on the federal prosecutor's desk as long as he doesn't interfere.

Furthermore, DeShawn is facing a federal case this time, involving drug trafficking and illegal possession of firearms, which carries a combined sentence of at least fifteen years.

As long as he's alive, that's fine. At worst, he'll be locked up for a while, but he can try to pull some strings outside and get a reduced sentence or parole. There might still be a chance.

The priority now is to retain my seat in parliament, not to provoke new enemies.

He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and tried to completely banish his nephew's face from his mind.

……

In court, DeShawn Washington claimed to be completely unaware of all of this.

He simply didn't discover his backer, his uncle, on the field.

Not a single one of those familiar faces or local judicial officials I had previously met was there.

There was only one public interest lawyer present.

DeShawn's breathing began to quicken.

He turned to look at his public defender:

He was sweating profusely as he searched through a case law, his fingers trembling slightly on the paper.

On the contrary, that damned yellow-skinned guy retorted more fluently and smoothly.

"waste?"

He cursed inwardly, clenching his fists under the table, his knuckles cracking.

He remembered that the last time they met, his uncle patted him on the shoulder and said, "Don't worry, I'm here."

But where is he now?

Just as he was torn between his inner thoughts and his own conscience,

Then he heard Link's voice coming from the plaintiff's seat.

"Call the plaintiff's witness, Ira Winthrop."

Deenshaw's eyes were blank, and then he remembered that his wife had been missing ever since he was arrested.

Why is that damn Chinese guy bringing her up here at this hour? She knows nothing about my business!

Upon hearing this...

Margaret, sitting in the gallery, covered her mouth with her hand. Samuel gripped her other hand tightly.

The side door opened, and Ella walked in.

She wore a simple dark blue dress, her hair neatly combed back, revealing a bare face with clearly defined features.

She was a little heavier than she was three weeks ago when she escaped Kingston Gardens with Link's help, and the angles of her cheekbones were no longer so angular.

But her eyes...

The vigilance developed from living under high pressure for a long time, a habitual awareness of the surroundings, still lingered in her gray-green eyes.

"Do you solemnly swear that the testimony you are about to give in this court is the truth, the whole truth, and only the truth, and may God help you?"

She sat in the witness stand, placed her hand on the Bible, and read the oath along with the clerk.

"I swear."