Law America, the Devil's Agent

As Dylan McKellen stepped onto the stage, the noise in the conference hall gradually subsided.

He didn't bring a speech; he simply stood to one side of the podium, his eyes, honed by the years, calm yet sharp, sweeping across the entire room.

The sound of camera shutters clicking in the front row of the media area became sparse, and the hushed conversations in the back row of the guests gradually ceased.

This lawyer, who enjoys considerable prestige in Philadelphia's legal community, deserves everyone's respect.

"Dear friends from the media, colleagues from the legal profession, and distinguished guests!"

His voice wasn't loud, but it rang clearly in every corner through the sound system:

"I am Dylan McKlain, a senior partner at Curtis Law Firm. Thank you all for coming today."

He paused slightly, turned to the side, and looked at the dark curtain that was not yet opened on the side of the podium:

"Today's press conference will be hosted by our firm's team leader lawyer, Attorney Link."

His performance in the Winthrop case has been reported by many of you here.

Today, he will give you a full disclosure of the latest developments in the Philadelphia General Hospital serial murder case.

  Updates take time and effort, so please remember to share 101kanshu.com.

"Attorney Link, coming!"

As the curtain was slowly drawn back.

Link walked out from the side of the podium.

He wore a dark gray suit and a dark blue tie, and walked at a steady pace, his leather shoes making a solid sound on the hardwood floor of the conference hall.

He stood in the center of the stage, his hands gently resting on the edge of the stage, his body leaning slightly forward, his gaze sweeping across the entire venue from left to right.

In an instant, the flashes of light created a blinding white curtain.

The sounds of camera shutters and electronic shutters intertwined densely, creating a spectacle no less impressive than that of any media-driven celebrity.

He was greeted by more than just these cameras from the audience.

There are also many eyes secretly watching from the shadows.

In the back row of the media area, Quiner leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and had a half-smile on his lips, his eyes filled with scrutiny and mockery.

Two seats away from him, Alan Morrison pulled his hat brim down even lower, his mask covering most of his face, revealing only a pair of deep-set, gloomy eyes.

Further back in the row, in a corner known only to Quinnir, lay the gift he had brought for Link:

Three families, their faces gaunt and worn, huddled together.

They clutched the portraits in their hands, their eyes red and swollen, as if waiting for an answer, or perhaps for a reason to continue hating.

Link saw everything happening off the field.

His gaze didn't linger on any one spot; he simply looked away calmly and then cleared his throat.

"Thank you all for coming."

Today's press conference has only one theme—

Regarding my client, Mr. Nathaniel, being charged as a defendant in the Philadelphia General Hospital serial killer case, I am disclosing to the public the latest developments and evidence held by the defendant's side!

His voice was steady and clear:

"In the time to come, I will prove one thing to you:"

My client, Nathaniel Hawthorne, has another side that is misunderstood and overlooked!

A suppressed commotion arose from the audience. The sound of camera shutters clicked even more frequently.

Just as Link was stating his position for the third minute, a loud male voice suddenly rang out from the back row.

"Attorney Link!"

A man in a wrinkled khaki jacket stood up from his seat, holding a voice recorder in his hand, his face bearing a deliberately feigned air of righteous indignation.

"I covered your Winthrop case!"

Back then, you were a champion of justice, standing up for the weak and calling for justice; you were an angel who rescued innocent women!

We all look forward to your continued success as a new face in Philadelphia's legal community, and hope you can give a voice to more innocent and vulnerable people!

But why are you here today defending a mentally ill serial killer?

Are you also going to become an accomplice to a serial killer? Then you'll be a murderer too!

The media area was in an uproar!

More than a dozen cameras simultaneously turned their lenses to point at the man, then quickly turned them back to point at Link.

Flashes of light went back and forth between the two.

The whispers from the audience were like a hornet's nest that had been stirred up, and countless eyes were cast toward the podium from all directions.

"They're here!"

Link sensed something, so he didn't answer immediately.

He waited for the man to finish speaking, for all the cameras to turn back, and for the entire audience's attention to return to him.

Then he smiled slightly.

"This gentleman mentioned my previous Winthrop case."

In that case, I stood on the side of the weak, fighting to rescue innocent women.

You are right.

And today, my fundamental nature remains unchanged!

My client, Mr. Nathaniel Hawthorne, is also a desperate and innocent victim systematically framed by a corrupt network!

He leaned forward slightly, his voice rose a few decibels, but remained steady and powerful.

"Moreover, the law grants every citizen the right to a defense, regardless of what they are accused of."

And sir, your question just now—are you trying to deprive a citizen of their basic rights?

Restricting a citizen's freedom?

The moment the word "freedom" was uttered, the man's expression changed instantly.

The people who had been whispering in the conference room fell silent.

free!

This fascinating yet dangerous word.

This is a word deeply rooted in the political genes and cultural bloodline of the United States!

Whether or not he actually existed in American history.

No matter how it is distorted and exploited in reality.

But in any public setting, it remains a flag that no one dares to openly tear down.

To stand on the opposite side of freedom means to stand on the opposite side of everyone.

With such a huge hat placed on his head, no one dared to wear it securely!

The man opened his mouth as if to retort, but in the end he just sat down dejectedly and covered his face with his hands.

Several media outlets that Curtis was working with had already focused their cameras on Link.

The viewfinder captured the moment he uttered the word "freedom," his chin slightly raised, and his calm yet resolute gaze.

The legal editors in the front row were typing rapidly on their laptops, heads down.

They knew this scene would be the first key moment of today's press conference.

Quinnil clicked his tongue softly in a dark corner.

His relaxed posture had changed; his back straightened unconsciously, and a thin layer of gloom covered the arrogance in his eyes.

Alan Morrison, sitting next to him, didn't say anything, but his eyes under the brim of his hat narrowed slightly.

But before Link could continue, another voice came from the middle of the hall.

It was a man in a dark jacket, whose tone was more restrained than the previous one, but whose words were sharper.

"No one wants to deprive Nathaniel Hawthorne of his rights, no one wants to deprive him of his freedom."

But no one has the right to arbitrarily take someone's life or destroy someone's family.

He slowly stood up, his voice not loud, but every word sounded like a pre-rehearsed line:

Who was Nathaniel Hawthorne?

This "murderer burdened with original sin," a doctor who should have been saving lives, instead used his position to murder four innocent people.

Later, however, he was diagnosed as a bloodthirsty person with extremely serious psychological problems and a strong antisocial personality disorder!

How can someone with such a mental illness fulfill obligations commensurate with their rights?

How could they possibly deserve the same freedom as ordinary people?

He doesn't deserve this right that he never fulfilled!

We just want to condemn this madman who indiscriminately kills innocent people!

Another wave of supportive cheers erupted from the crowd.

After listening, Link did not immediately refute.

He calmly waited once again for the man to finish speaking the last word, and for all the cameras to be pointed at him again...

Then he laughed.

There was no anger or panic in that smile, only a calm and composure.

"Sir, please watch your words!"

All of this—

The so-called "serial killer burdened with original sin," "a mentally deranged bloodthirsty person," "a mad killer"...

Before the case has made further progress and a formal verdict has been announced, these titles, which have come from nowhere, are an inappropriate characterization and slander against my client who has not yet been convicted!

Today, at this press conference, I'm here to announce:

My client has never suffered from mental illness or antisocial personality disorder.

My client could never be a murderer.

And right here, at this very moment, I will prove it to everyone!

The entire room fell silent instantly.

It was a deathly stillness, as if the air had been sucked out.

The sound of camera shutters stopped. The sound of typing on keyboards stopped too.

Everyone thought that Link's press conference was a public relations effort to secure a lighter sentence or probation...

But no one, not even a single person—thought he was going to do something so insane here!

In this conference hall packed with media and victims' families, this young and proud lawyer was about to overturn the entire case!

Quinnil and Alan Morrison exchanged a glance.

Quinnil's lips twitched slightly, his fingers clenching and unclenching on his knees.

Above Allen's mask, his gloomy eyes finally opened wide.

The two exchanged a glance, and saw the determination in each other's eyes.

Then Quiner took out his phone again, as if he were having a conversation, and pressed some buttons.

Then, in the midst of this moment of utter silence, a sharp cry rang out from the guest area!

"Nathaniel Hawthorne was a criminal!"

The serial murder case is absolutely true!

You accomplice to murder! You vicious devil!

A woman with gray hair stood up from her seat, holding up an enlarged photograph of a young woman with a gentle smile.

A middle-aged man next to her also stood up, holding up another portrait of the deceased, and shouted at the top of his lungs.

The family members of the third family did not shout; they simply held up three handwritten signs, each bearing the following text:

Where is justice?

"The blood of the four victims cannot be shed in vain."

"Don't let serial killers get away with it!"

The three portraits reflected slightly under the cool lighting of the conference hall.

All the cameras turned to that corner at the same time, and the flashes went off like crazy.

Self-media bloggers held up their phones, and comments scrolled wildly along the edge of the screen.

Quinnil's clenched fist slowly relaxed as he leaned back in his chair and gently tapped the armrest with one finger.

Once again, she regained her composure and ease, as if she were regaining the initiative.

This is their biggest trump card!

Bring the victim's family, who have enough weight and immersive, genuine emotions, directly to the forefront!

All their sophistry and evasions cannot shake their weight and status.

No matter how eloquent Link was, he couldn't face them!

Link stood on the podium, looking at the three portraits of the deceased.

Facing the sufficiently frenzied and irrational family members of the victims in the audience.

And once again, the noise and attempts to refute the doubts surrounding the murder case and stir up trouble have resurfaced.

Link slowly closed his eyes.

They are the victims' families who were pushed to the front and used as pawns. They are unaware that their anger has been woven into someone else's game from day one.

So he wasn't angry.

He simply opened his eyes again calmly, then tilted his head and nodded to Celine, who was standing to the side of the podium.

The assistant immediately understood and went backstage.

When Link faced these three families, he simply said calmly:

"To all of you here, especially the relatives of the three who lost their family members and the families of the victims, I have never thought of denying the deaths of the three victims."

Mr. Nathaniel's innocence and the deaths of the three men are not in conflict.

On the contrary, they are all victims in this case, and I hope everyone can remain calm.

But Link's words did not cause much of a stir. With the appearance of the victim's family, the forces lurking in the shadows seemed to have received a rallying cry, and they began to frantically spread their noise at the press conference.

The plaintiff's trump card has been played!

Looking at the scene on the field, which was getting out of control, and the atmosphere that was still being pushed to the top, it was intense and crazy enough.

Link's face showed no panic or helplessness.

He simply said loudly:

"Everyone, everyone! I understand your feelings very well, but simple and primal emotions need to be supported by evidence."

I want everyone to see something completely before making a judgment! This will fundamentally change everyone's understanding!

Then the projection screen behind him suddenly lit up.

Everyone looked on in confusion.

No one knew what Link had brought.

Even the three families quietly began to watch.

The screen is divided into two parts.

On the left is an interrogation room.

A middle-aged man in tattered clothes sat at the interrogation table, his swollen, sallow face streaked with tears.

Some people who knew him thought he looked familiar, and some even called out his name directly.

"Holland Quays?"

He is the father of the victim, Nick Quix.

Why is he here?

What did he do wrong?

... ...

Countless questions lingered in everyone's minds.

But everyone's interest was piqued, and they continued watching.

The victim's father's lips were trembling violently.

The interrogation timer in the lower right corner of the screen kept ticking, following a series of bewildering interrogations and questioning sessions.

Then he opened his mouth and, with all his might, let out a hoarse, almost howling cry:

"O Lord! Please accept my confession!"

I pushed my own son into an endless hell—I killed him!

He stumbled upon my secret of transporting medicine for the hospital, so I lured him to the Blood Hand Gang's territory...

He was handed over to Gerard…

The right side lights up simultaneously.

Gerald sat in the dock, with the sign for the federal detention center printed on the wall behind him.

"I killed Nick Quixote with my own hands."

His voice was so steady it was almost indifferent:

"The method of handling the body, the location of the body disposal, and the process of fabricating evidence to frame Nathaniel Hawthorne were all conveyed to me by an insider at Philadelphia General Hospital through an intermediary."

I have complete backups of transaction records and call recordings.

The screen continued to scroll through intercepted accounts from the Blood Hands gang, photos of Holland transporting medicine, and close-ups of medicine boxes with orange seals from Philadelphia General Hospital.

Each piece of evidence, including its number, source, and relevance to the facts of the case, is clearly marked in white font.

Those images don't need any explanation; they speak for themselves.

Every photograph, every line of annotation, every audio recording tells everyone present in the most direct way:

Nick Quixote was not killed by Nathaniel Hawthorne. He was murdered by his own father and the Bloodhands.

The sounds in the hall seemed to be cut off by an invisible hand.

All the flashes were pointed at the screen. Several legal reporters stared, mouths agape, fingers hovering above the keyboard, forgetting to type.

Among the three family members of the victims who stood up, the gray-haired woman holding the portrait of the deceased began to tremble.

The enlarged photograph slipped from her fingers and fell to the ground with a crisp sound of shattering glass.

The portrait in the middle-aged man's hand slowly drooped down; his lips moved, but no sound came out.

Like them, the children of the Quess family, one of the four victims, were killed by their own hands.

And as for the other victims in the same series of murders, were their families also used as tools by others under their schemes?

Perhaps they were all wrong from the beginning.

Perhaps it wasn't Nathaniel who killed him at all!

……

A dramatic change has already taken place off the field.

Quinnir's body had completely stiffened.

His hand stopped above the armrest, a few fingers bent unnaturally, and the rhythm finally stopped.

He stared at the interrogation video and the photos on the screen; his brain must have been racing—

That's the role Gerard and the Blood Hands played in this case; these are transaction data and inside information that the hospital never disclosed to them.

Alan Morrison did not reach for the mask that had slipped off.

One of the straps of his mask had broken off at some point, hanging loosely on his ear, revealing his pale, emaciated face underneath.

He watched as his name was repeatedly mentioned on the screen in the related evidence in Gerard's testimony, and the deep-set eyes in them no longer held their gloomy glint—

They are left with only one recognizable background color:

fear.

The things I once feared and imagined have become reality.

Those actions that he thought could not possibly be Link's were like vicious slaps, repeatedly striking his aching face.

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes bitterly.

This is it, everything is ruined.