Law America, the Devil's Agent

Philadelphia Federal District Court, third floor, seventh courtroom.

An elegant and melodious yet capable and resolute female voice came from within.

"Your Honor, jurors."

Over the past few days of court proceedings, I, on behalf of the prosecution, submitted forty-seven pieces of written evidence to the court, and today we called eleven more witnesses.

Elena White stood in the prosecutor's dock, her former languidness from the cocktail party long gone.

Her dark prosecutor's suit was impeccable, and her originally messy golden-brown hair was tied into a neat ponytail.

The list of evidence in front of her had been turned to the last page.

The projection screen behind them was still displaying:

The image shows a side-by-side comparison of a falsified psychiatric diagnosis record by Alan Morrison and a falsified drug inventory document signed by Thomas Sherol.

The gallery was packed.

Reporters, legal professionals, victims' families, and several representatives from Philadelphia General Hospital are all awaiting the final outcome of this trial.

Due to the high level of public attention, the defense's voluntary abandonment of a substantive not guilty plea, and the complete and closed chain of evidence, the process from case filing to trial in this public prosecution case proceeded extremely quickly.

The pre-trial hearings and evidence exchanges that originally took weeks or even months to complete were compressed into a week.

No one objected to this.

The prosecution didn't, the defense didn't, and the court didn't either.

At that moment, Link was sitting in the third row of the audience, near the aisle, with his hands crossed on his knees.

In today's public prosecution cases, the lawyers are not the main characters; the prosecutors are.

But he had already laid the groundwork for Elena, and now he was quietly assessing his own setup in the courtroom:

The witness he prepared will make his grand finale appearance today.

Steve

The pharmacist he had once subdued as a pawn was now taking to the witness stand, pointing out the falsified records in the pharmacy's inventory system one by one.

  

Holland Quays also came out at the same time.

He was brought in handcuffed by FAD agents, and his appearance caused several families of victims in the gallery to simultaneously let out suppressed sobs.

He dared not look at anyone, only lowered his head, and in a hoarse voice recounted how he had tricked his own son into the Blood Hands gang's trap, how he had continued to act as a medicine mule for the hospital after his son's death, and how he had followed Alan Morrison's instructions to organize a protest at the prison gate...

As for Gerard and many other outsiders, the list goes on and on.

Meanwhile, many unfamiliar faces joined the accusations against Alan Morrison and two others.

Link knew.

This is the man who wanted to separate the three of them; he's finally made his move.

All the witness testimonies placed the blame on the shoulders of Allen and the other two.

But that's still not enough.

Until the last witness slowly stepped forward.

It was Nathaniel Hawthorne.

This last plaintiff's witness to take the stand was also the most significant and influential.

Because he was both the initial plaintiff and the victim in this case.

He walked into the courtroom and stopped telling his tragic stories.

Instead, from the perspective of a witness, he recounted in detail all the information he had gathered outside the hospital and his observations of corruption within the hospital, presenting it in a clear and organized manner.

With the same meticulousness he used in his previous work, he presented these observations with precise time, precise location, and precise relationships between the people involved.

Finally, after one piece of relevant evidence after another was presented, and today, under the accusations of one witness after another…

The case has reached its final moment.

Everyone was eagerly waiting for Elena to pick up the documents and speak again.

That clear voice rang out once again.

All this evidence points to one fact:

The defendants, Alan Morrison, Thomas Sherrell, and Lydia Wylant, used their positions at Philadelphia General Hospital to engage in illegal activities over a long period of time and systematically.

They falsified drug inventory records and diverted federally subsidized controlled drugs to gangs for huge profits.

They forged a psychiatric diagnosis report, falsely accusing an innocent whistleblower of being mentally ill.

They falsified surgical records and deliberately murdered four innocent strangers, then disposed of the bodies, framing a doctor who was investigating them as the murderer.

She put down the documents, placed her hands back on the case file, and shifted her gaze from the jury to the judge, finally settling on the defendant's dock.

"What these three people destroyed was not just the career of an innocent doctor and the integrity of four families."

It has also destroyed everyone's trust and respect for our Philadelphia healthcare system.

It is also a ruthless disregard and cruel trampling of countless taxpayers and federal laws.

Most importantly, they destroyed the last line of defense in the hearts of ordinary people when they lay on the operating table, entrusting their most vulnerable moment to a stranger.

trust.

This kind of trust is the most expensive luxury; it is the cornerstone of our society.

These three people, for their own selfish interests, personally destroyed so many beautiful and important things.

On behalf of the prosecution, I urge you to deliver the only fair and just verdict.

She nodded slightly, turned around, and walked back to the prosecutor's seat.

There was a few seconds of silence in the courtroom, then the judge turned to the defendant's seat.

"Did the defendant make a final statement?"

The defense attorney stood up; he was a middle-aged man with thinning hair, and the shoulders of his suit were worn shiny.

He cleared his throat, his voice carrying a weariness that suggested he already knew the outcome.

"Your Honor, jurors. My client works under immense pressure in the medical field, and some of his actions are influenced by the pressures of the hospital's internal management system."

I request that the court take into account their working conditions and external pressures when sentencing them.

He sat down after he finished speaking, without saying another word.

Clearly, he was powerless to do anything about it.

The judge looked toward the defendant's dock.

"The defendants may make their final statements in turn."

First, there's Alan Morrison.

Alan Morrison stood up.

He was wearing an orange prison uniform, his hands and feet were shackled, and the chains scraped against the metal tabletop as he stood up.

His hair was mostly gray, his eyes were sunken, and he looked listless.

He turned to the audience, looking at everyone below. He braced his hands on the table, leaned forward, and spoke in a hoarse, almost roaring voice.

"Nathaniel... Doctor, and representatives of the other victims."

And everything in court, including the innocent people who were implicated and harmed because of me.

I know I am not qualified to stand here and ask for your forgiveness.

I know I did something wrong.

I ruined many people's careers and many people's entire lives.

It's all my fault! My fault!

I will atone for my sins, I will repent, and I will pay the price for everything I have done.

But now, in court, I beg for your forgiveness, I beg for your understanding to pardon my sentence.

His voice had become choked with grief and sobbing by the end.

Someone in the audience spat out a mouthful of phlegm in disgust, while someone else turned their head away in disgust.

"Next. Thomas Schell."

Sherol couldn't stand up.

His legs went limp before the bailiffs could grab his arms.

His face flushed red, his lips trembled violently, and tears streamed down his swollen cheeks, dripping onto the collar of his prison uniform.

I am guilty! I know I am guilty!

But I have a family and children.

My youngest child was born just a few days ago.

They can't live without me.

I only signed some documents at the hospital; I didn't kill anyone.

I didn't sell those medicines myself; I was just following the hospital's instructions.

I beg you, I beg the judge, I beg the prosecutor…

Even if it's only a year's reduction, even if it's just one year...

His voice eventually broke into a series of indistinct sobs, and he was barely able to stand in the dock with his arms held up by the bailiffs.

"Next. Lydia Whiteland."

Wylant stood up; she didn't cry, but her lips were trembling.

Her gaze swept quickly across the gallery, as if searching for someone she could turn to for help, before finally settling on the judge.

I know I have no right to ask for forgiveness.

But believe me, we are definitely not the end of this network...

"I'm just an executor. I can cooperate with the investigation, I can provide more evidence, I..."

"Your time for your final statement is up!"

The judge interrupted her.

Wylant's lips moved a few times, but in the end he couldn't say anything.

She could only lower her head, her shoulders trembling silently.

The bailiffs pushed the three people back to the defendant's seat.

The jury deliberated for less than two hours.

When the chief juror stood up to read the verdict:

Allen closed his eyes, Sherol's legs began to tremble again, and Wylant's fingers gripped the edge of the chair tightly.

"Regarding the various charges against the defendant, Alan Morrison, including falsifying medical records, obstructing justice, and violating the Federal Anti-Extortion and Corrupt Organizations Act—"

All established!

Regarding the various charges against defendant Thomas Sherrell, including interstate trafficking of controlled drugs, falsifying inventory records, and defrauding the federal healthcare system—

All established!

"Regarding the various charges against the defendant, Lydia Wylant, including fabrication of evidence, obstruction of justice, and misappropriation of federal funds—"

All established!

The judge's gavel fell repeatedly.

After the verdict was read, the judge announced the sentence in court:

All three were sentenced to the maximum statutory prison term and it was recommended that they be held in federally secure correctional facilities without parole.

The bailiffs stepped forward and put the handcuffs back on the three people.

Sherol was practically dragged out of the dock.

Wylant kept her head down, the cuffs of her prison uniform clenched so tightly they were deeply wrinkled.

As Allen was being led out of the courtroom, he suddenly turned around and looked at the gallery one last time with his bloodshot eyes.

Nathaniel was watching him silently.

There was only an empty calm.

……

In the audience section, next to the public jury.

As the jury members began to leave, sporadic applause started to ripple through the audience.

This faint sound seemed to be a signal, eventually drawing thunderous applause from countless people.

Everyone was celebrating the victory.

But among the crowd, many victims' family members were also sobbing quietly, tears streaming down their faces.

But whether it's joy or sorrow, laughter or tears, they all serve as the best embellishment to the ending of this case that achieved fairness and justice.

Elena stepped down from the prosecutor's seat, closed the case file, and looked past the crowd who were getting up as the proceedings ended, her gaze landing on the third row of the public gallery, near the aisle.

Link didn't stand up and cheer like the others; he just leaned back and quietly gave her a thumbs up.

Elena's lips curled up slightly, and she raised her hand to give him a thumbs up.

This long and arduous journey has finally come to an end.