Chapter 539 - 253: 12 Angry Men
A brief silence fell over the room.
This was a crucial discovery.
It pulled Luigi from the role of a cold-blooded killer back to that of a struggling man.
It opened a small window for an "insanity defense" or a "crime of passion."
But Cobb wasn’t buying it.
He was a realist who didn’t believe in tears or psychological analysis.
"Sophistry!" Cobb slammed his hand on the table.
"Whether his hand was shaking or not, whether he was struggling internally—what does any of that have to with the dead CEO? He’s dead! Killed by three bullets! That is an iron-clad fact!"
"We aren’t psychoanalysts; we’re jurors! We can only make our judgment based on the letter of the law and the evidence presented in court!"
"First-degree murder, by law, is murder! Motive, execution, outcome—it all fits!"
Cobb’s words dragged the jury room back to the cold reality of the law.
Although powerful, the discovery made by Davis, Juror Number Eight, couldn’t completely refute the prosecution’s case.
The chain of evidence was just too solid.
Luigi purchased the materials, built the gun, stalked Vance, and pulled the trigger.
These objective facts, no matter how they were interpreted, all pointed to premeditated murder.
The stalemate returned.
Time ticked by, minute by minute.
The clock’s hands had already crept to four in the morning.
But the debate in the room didn’t cease with their exhaustion. Instead, as time wore on, it crept like a vine into deeper, more complex territory.
They debated the minute deviation in the bullet’s trajectory, the surveillance footage of Luigi buying materials at a convenience store, and even the list of philosophy books he’d checked out from the library days before the incident.
From the material of the gun to the lighting at the crime scene, from the loopholes in Vance’s security to Luigi’s family background—every single detail was placed under a microscope and scrutinized.
Then, someone asked, "If the insurance company hadn’t denied the claim, would any of this have ever happened?"
The topic began to shift irreversibly.
The focus of the debate gradually shifted from "Is Luigi Randall guilty?" to "Is the system itself guilty?"
"Everyone."
Juror Number Four, the stockbroker, wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"We’re getting sidetracked."
"We’re jurors for a court of law, not God. We’re not here to pass judgment on society’s systems, nor to condemn the evils of capitalism."
"Our job is to uphold procedural justice. No matter how noble Luigi’s motives were, and no matter what an evil Vampire Arthur Vance was, vigilante justice is still vigilante justice."
Juror Number Four looked at Davis, a warning in his voice.
"If everyone starts killing people they deem ’bad,’ society will completely collapse. There’d be no law, no order—only chaos and an endless cycle of revenge."
"We can’t cross that line out of sympathy. If we let Luigi Randall go today, then tomorrow some other lunatic will use an even crueler method to eliminate someone *they* decide is evil."
"We can’t be complicit in condoning violence."
His words struck a chord, precisely targeting the middle-class jurors’ deep-seated fear of chaos.
"But, when the law becomes a tool for the rich to plunder the poor, isn’t obeying the law a form of complicity?"
Juror Number Nine, the elderly woman, spoke softly, but her gaze was exceptionally firm as she refuted Juror Number Four.
"Luigi Randall killed one man. But that CEO, with just his pen, was responsible for the deaths of thousands. He used algorithms and insurance clauses to kill people, legally."
"The sole purpose of the law is to prevent harm. But what happens when the law protects the CEO who caused the deaths of thousands, yet punishes the one who tried to stop that harm?"
"In that case, can such a law even be called just?"
Juror Number Nine turned to Cobb.
"You keep saying he killed a father, a husband. But what about those patients who died because their claims were denied? Weren’t they fathers, mothers, husbands, and wives?"
"Don’t their lives matter?"
Cobb was speechless.
The philosophical debate in the room had reached a total impasse.
The rule of law versus justice, process versus outcome, order versus chaos.
These twelve people represented the deepest division in the country.
In the end, exhaustion and the harshness of reality prevailed.
Davis looked at the evidence before him: the photograph of the 3D-printed handgun on the table, the video of Arthur Vance collapsing as the bullets hit.
He was forced to admit a harsh truth.
"You’re right."
Davis looked at Cobb and Juror Number Four.
"Luigi Randall is the killer."
"He bought the materials, made the murder weapon, planned the route, and pulled the trigger."
"He killed Arthur Vance."
Davis closed all the files.
"By legal definition, by the chain of evidence, this is first-degree murder."
"The factual chain is complete, without any gaps."
At that moment, the tension in the jury room completely dissipated.
Juror Number Seven, the salesman, let out a long sigh of relief.
A victorious smile appeared on Cobb’s face.
Mike also picked up his phone, preparing to check the game’s score.
The dust had settled.
The others looked at Davis, their gazes a mixture of impatience, relief, and triumphant joy.
They couldn’t wait to end this ordeal and go home.
Davis stood up and on the blackboard, next to "First-Degree Murder," he heavily wrote the word "GUILTY."
He picked up the chalk and drew a circle around the word.