Law America, the Devil's Agent

Chapter 89 Two Meetings Between Good and Evil (Part 2)

By the time Costello emerged from the side door of the parish administration building, Philadelphia was completely dark.

The streetlights cast a cold white light on the parking lot. He took a deep breath of the cold night air, which briefly snapped him out of his numb work state.

Ferran's friendly smile and encouraging tone in the corridor just now gave him an inexplicable sense of unease.

Having already suspected something, he held a very high degree of suspicion about his superior's character.

However, the church system has a strict hierarchy, and he was powerless in the face of his superior.

As he was about to walk to his car, a voice came from the shadows to his left.

"Pastor, it's been a long time."

Would you mind grabbing a bite to eat together?

Upon hearing that familiar voice, Costello turned his head sharply.

Link was leaning against the door of his sports car, smiling as he spoke.

Costello quickly walked up to him, lowered his voice, and spoke with a hint of tension and reproach.

"What are you doing here?"

Didn't I say to come find me after I made a breakthrough in the case?

"It's only been a few days, and you've already—"

"I've found it, Costello."

Link calmly interrupted him.

"What?"

"I said I found everything, Costello."

Costello stood there, stunned.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but his brain was still processing the weight of those words.

Just over ten days ago, in the library reading room, this lawyer was sitting across from him, slowly prying open his conscience, which had been locked up for too long, with Alex's paintings and medical reports.

Now this person stands before him, saying that he has prepared everything.

What kind of efficiency is this?

"It's only been a few days, and you've already—"

"That's right, in just these few days, I found the devil hiding in the church."

I have also found ample evidence and witnesses.

Link opened the passenger door for him and gestured for him to enter: "That's why I've come to see you."

Let's go, have a meal, and then talk about my findings.

Link didn't take Costello to any fancy restaurants or private clubs.

He parked his car next to an unassuming Jamaican barbecue restaurant on Kensington Street in Philadelphia.

This is the first restaurant he ate at after completing his first case after transmigrating.

It will be something he will never forget.

The barbecue restaurant's signboard is a hand-painted wooden board depicting a grinning pig holding a knife and fork, looking both憨厚 (honest and simple) and comical.

Several young people were lined up outside waiting to pick up their takeout orders, the aroma of smoke and chili sauce wafting from inside the store.

Link often comes here, not because the food is particularly exquisite—

On the contrary, the ribs here are grilled to a crispy exterior and tender interior, with a spicy and thick sauce. If you're not careful, you'll end up with your hands and face covered in sauce while eating.

But that's why he never brings clients here.

Customers need dignity, but what we offer here is relaxation.

Costello is not a client; he is an ally.

This is a way to build closer relationships.

Costello stood at the door for a moment and nodded slightly.

He could tell that the lawyer had deliberately chosen this place.

This isn't the kind of place where you need to wear a suit and tie to enter, nor is it the kind of place where you negotiate terms over drinks.

Link didn't treat him like someone who needed to be fawned over, nor did he take him to any brothels or nightclubs in Malaysia, thus packaging the meeting as a dirty deal.

This eased the tension that had been building in his mind since leaving the parish administration building.

Link sat in a booth with a whole plate of freshly baked smoked beef ribs in front of him, the fat still sizzling along the edges of the bones.

He grabbed a rib with his hand and tore off the meat, the barbecue sauce sticking to his lips and knuckles.

His movements were neither reserved nor restrained; he ate with focused efficiency.

Costello sat opposite him, knife and fork in hand, watching the lawyer who wore a custom-made suit but ate in the most primitive way. He couldn't help but laugh and remind him, "Attorney Link, there are knives and forks on the table. Your actions remind me of those primitive people in Africa."

Link didn't look up, but simply chewed faster, gnawing the bone clean and placing it on the side of the plate. Then he took out a tissue to wipe his mouth and fingers, crumpled the tissue into a ball, and threw it on the table.

He then let out a long sigh before turning back: "I'm sorry, Reverend Costello."

I was so hungry that I had to resort to simple and efficient methods to achieve my goal directly.

He put down the tissue, picked up the wine glass beside him, took a sip, and then leaned forward slightly: "Just like our case."

Costello's expression vanished completely after those words were spoken.

"Have you found any new witnesses at the Sacred Heart Cathedral?"

He put down his knife and fork, placed his fingers clasped together on the table, and waited quietly.

"It's not just about eyewitness testimony."

Link then held up one finger: "First, based on the list you gave me last time, I've identified two key suspects:

The resident priest, Anthony Crawford, and the discipline supervisor, Ray Mosley.

One is in charge of weekend services, and the other is in charge of dormitory management.

These two individuals' responsibilities covered Alex's entire school life.

He raised his second finger.

"Secondly, I contacted a key insider at the Sacred Heart Church, the school bus driver."

His testimony could prove the weekly chapel activities for boarding students on Saturdays and Sundays, and the school's deliberate practice of avoiding contact with parents during drop-off and pick-up.

"Third, I found eight people. Eight adult victims, all of whom had suffered similar abuse at Sacred Heart Elementary School and Sacred Heart Church."

Several of them were willing to testify in court.

Their complaint records were all filed by the parish investigation office for "insufficient evidence" or "withdrawal by the complainant," but a complete loop of evidence can be formed between the complaint files and their personal statements.

Fourth, I recently visited the school.

He placed his phone on the table, screen up, displaying the photo of Crawford with his hand on Andrew's shoulder in the dimly lit hallway.

Costello looked down at the photo, his eyes, clouded by the dust from the parish archives, fixed on the screen.

He reached out and brought the phone closer, carefully trying to make out the outline of the red-haired boy and the priest's hand pressing on his shoulder blade, a hand he couldn't help but imagine.

Andrew Paterson. Seven years old.

Alex's classmate. After Alex left school, he became Crawford's new target.

Costello took off his glasses and took a piece of velvet cloth from his pocket, slowly wiping the lenses.

The movements were slow, as if giving myself time to process everything.

He put his glasses back on, composed himself, and then looked up at Link.

"What Crawford did to Andrew was the same thing he did to Alex."

Instead of stopping, they became even more brazen.

The Sacred Heart Cathedral is taking advantage of my silence, taking advantage of the investigation office's silence, to continue searching for new prey. What do you want me to do next?

"So, Reverend Costello, I need you to continue doing a few things for me now."

First, formally initiate an investigation into Crawford and Mosley within A0I.

There's no need to draw conclusions now; we just need to get the investigation into the formal process so they can no longer easily destroy files or transfer personnel.

Secondly, I need the personnel files of these two people within the church—

Their transfer records, employment history, and whether they have a history of complaints in other parishes.

Third, when the time is right, I hope that the AOI investigation and our class-action lawsuit can proceed in tandem.

This would put pressure on Sacred Heart Elementary School simultaneously through both public opinion and internal church pressure.

Costello nodded.

"I can access Crawford and Mosley's personnel files, and I will initiate the investigation process first thing tomorrow morning."

But you should know that my boss, Ferran, is the director of the investigation office, and all official investigation orders require his signature.

If he refuses to sign

"Then don't let him know."

Link's voice was very soft.

"Before he signs, let's get the investigation process to the point where he's the only one left to go."

Lay all the bloody facts on the table, and if he doesn't sign, then it's his own problem.

Costello paused for a moment, then nodded.

The two exchanged some opinions on the pace of the subsequent development, then got up and walked out of the barbecue restaurant one after the other.

Night had completely fallen in Philadelphia, and the streetlights illuminated the parking lot in a stark white light.

Costello stood at the restaurant entrance and shook hands with Link, then walked to the roadside alone and hailed an Uber.

He got into the back seat, closed the door, and the taillights gradually disappeared into the night.

Link stood at the entrance of the barbecue restaurant, watching the Uber turn the corner, then took out his phone to call a designated driver and leaned against the car door to wait.

He didn't notice that on the bench in the queue outside the restaurant, a young man looking down at his phone adjusted his Bluetooth headset as he and Costello walked out.

The movement was very casual, as if he had just received a phone call.

But if someone gets closer to look at his phone screen, they'll find that it's not a social media app, but a shared document that's being updated in real time.

He entered a new record in the document: "Coaster has left the restaurant. Photos of his accompanying lawyer and a recording of the conversation at the door have been uploaded as attachments."

Please check your inbox.

Meanwhile, in a penthouse suite at a top-tier private hotel in downtown Philadelphia, the atmosphere was completely different.

This suite features a private elevator and floor-to-ceiling windows offering panoramic views of Philadelphia at night.

The living room features an Italian leather sofa and a marble coffee table, on which are scattered several crystal wine glasses and a half-empty bottle of Macallan.

Faint music could be heard coming from the suite's bedroom, and several well-dressed young men and women were being led away through a side door by staff.

Their expressions were empty and submissive, as if they had long been accustomed to being treated as mere decorations.

The assistant vice principal of Sacred Heart Elementary School, Crawford and Mosley, along with the external legal counsel responsible for the school's legal affairs, were sitting on the sofa talking in hushed tones.

Their posture was relaxed and languid, clearly indicating they had been there for some time; several coats were draped over the sofa armrests, and the ashtray on the coffee table was piled high with cigarette butts.

The suite door was pushed open from the outside.

Ferran walked in wearing a black trench coat, his face mostly covered by a mask, revealing only a pair of gloomy eyes.

He didn't shake hands or exchange pleasantries with anyone, nor did he reach for the wine glass on the coffee table.

He simply stood in the center of the living room, scanning the people in front of him with a bone-chilling gaze, and then let out a cold snort.

"You guys really know how to enjoy yourselves. The outside world is about to be wiped out, and you're still here indulging in revelry."

What's going on with those kids?

When I came in just now, I saw several people being led away—

Are you guys out of your minds?

Is now the time to do this kind of thing?

The people in the room were all stunned at the same time.

The vice principal's assistant was the first to react, waving to the two staff members still standing at the bedroom door, signaling them to quickly take everyone away.

The wine glasses were quickly taken away, the ashtray was emptied, and the coat was picked up from the sofa and folded neatly.

Ferran didn't sit down; he just stood there until everyone quieted down, then reached into the inside pocket of his trench coat, pulled out a cell phone, and placed it on the coffee table.

"Listen to yourselves."

An audio file is displayed on the phone screen.

Ferran pressed play, and the conversation outside the barbecue restaurant came through the speakers:

In the background, there are sounds of vehicles passing by, the hum of a restaurant's exhaust fan, and two people talking under a streetlamp.

Although somewhat blurred due to distance and ambient noise, several keywords were clearly identifiable: "Crawford," "Mosley," "class action," and "AOI internal investigation."

After the audio ended, Ferran swiped his finger, and several more photos appeared on the screen.

The man in the photo is the same Chinese American.

He leaned against the sports car door.

I was wiping my fingers while sitting in a booth at a barbecue restaurant.

I stood at the restaurant entrance and shook hands with a middle-aged man in a priest's robe.

The photos weren't very clear; some were taken from a distance with zoomed-in focus, and some were partially obscured by streetlights and signs, but the man's facial features and body outline were clear enough.

The room was silent for a few seconds, then everyone started talking at the same time.

Some people questioned who this person was, some speculated whether he was a lawyer hired by Alex's mother, and some started checking his phone to find out the identity of the Chinese man.

Soon, Link's name appeared on a legal news website, accompanied by brief reports on his recent cases: "Philadelphia General Hospital corruption case," "The Saints Doctors case," and the earlier "Winthrop family search case."

"After receiving the message, we also quickly conducted a self-examination."

I think the report we received must have come from Martha Kate.

"Who is it?"

"Alex Kate's mother. A single mother, and also the one we featured last time —"

"That's enough!"

A moment of silence fell over the scene.

Then the legal counsel broke the silence, pointing to Link's photo on the screen: "After her son dropped out of school, we thought the matter was over."

Unexpectedly, she actually found this lawyer.

This Link isn't the kind of lawyer who just takes on any case; he only takes on big cases, and he's never lost one.

If this person was brought in by Martha Kate, then it's not just her causing trouble.

Behind her stood a legal team capable of tearing apart the church's entire defenses.

"It's not just her."

Ferran's voice came from behind the mask, low and cold: "Costa. Who do you think this person is?"

He pointed to the audio file and then zoomed in on Costello's photo on his phone screen: "He's the only reason you guys can keep drinking and womanizing here."

Over the years, he has been in charge of handling all complaints about the Sacred Heart Church.

He filed all the complaints in a drawer labeled "insufficient evidence" and didn't report a single one.

How do you think those complaints disappeared?

It's under my control and instructions that it's cleaning up your messes.

Now even he is working with this lawyer.

Do you know what this means?

This means that the lawyer may have obtained all of A0I's internal personnel files, the church's personnel records, and all complaint records from the past five years!

The room fell silent instantly.

The legal advisor stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, a thin layer of sweat appeared on the forehead of the vice principal's assistant, Crawford and Mosley exchanged a glance, and one of them unconsciously began to scratch at the armrest of the sofa.

Ferran looked around, then slowly sat down.

He tapped his fingers lightly twice on the coffee table. All eyes turned to him, waiting.

He said, "The first move is the best move."

We can't wait any longer.

We cannot allow them to continue accumulating strength and gather all the evidence.

They are now clearly planning to lay everything in place and deliver a fatal blow to us in court.

But now that we know their plans in advance, we must not let them have their way.

Within the rules of the law, we might indeed be no match for Link.

So what we need to do is make sure he can't even get into court.

"What should we do?"

Everyone started talking.

Ferran snorted and said, "This lawyer is almost invincible in court, but he is not outside of court."

He has evidence, witnesses, and a strategy, but does he have a bulletproof vest?

Does he have 24-hour bodyguards?

Can he lock everyone in one building every day and prevent them from going out alone?

he can not.

Someone you can't beat in court isn't necessarily physically weaker.

Some problems don't need to be solved through legal means.

Ferran pulled his hand off the coffee table and straightened the collar of his trench coat: "As long as we take care of this lawyer and Costello, the rest—are nothing to worry about!"

Go do it, you all.

"Understood."

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