69novels Chapter 105 Military Boots Fall in Love with Prison Lawyer Luo
Chapter 105 Military Boots Fall in Love with Prison Lawyer Luo
Chapter 105 Military Boots Fall in Love with Prison Lawyer Luo
As the redneck's live broadcast spread statewide, as the towering crosses burned brightly in the city center plazas across Michigan, as familiar faces stood before the crosses with piercing gazes, as the teams from River Harbor and Detroit arrived one after another to take over the powers of local governments—
Everyone began to clearly realize one thing.
Michigan has truly changed.
Lansing, the State Supreme Court building.
9:17 a.m.
James Jones entered the main courtroom with seventeen men.
He was wearing camouflage pants and a dark T-shirt, his arm muscles were clearly defined, and an AR-15 rifle was slung over his right shoulder.
The people following behind were both men and women, all dressed similarly and holding weapons.
The trial is in progress in court.
Three judges sat on the bench, the one in the middle being Chief Justice Rodriguez, 62 years old, who had served for 27 years. He wore a black robe and held a gavel, ready to strike.
Lawyers and clients sat in the plaintiff's and defendant's seats.
There were about thirty people in the gallery.
Everyone stopped moving the moment James walked in.
The bailiff stood by the door, instinctively reaching for the gun at his waist.
James ignored him and walked straight to the judge's bench.
The hearing is suspended.
His voice echoed in the empty courtroom.
Judge Rodriguez put down his gavel and looked at him.
"Who are you? This is a courtroom. You may not enter without permission—"
"I am James Jones, head of security affairs for the New Canaan Provisional Executive Council."
James walked to the judge's bench and looked up at Rodriguez.
"According to the first order of the New Canaan Provisional Administrative Council, the State Supreme Court and all its subordinate court systems are suspended."
"All cases are suspended."
"All judges, court clerks, bailiffs, and administrative staff shall register with the provisional administrative committee within 24 hours."
Those who resist will be treated as hostile elements.
Rodriguez stared at him.
"What right do you have—"
"The will of the Lord."
James interrupted him.
He raised his right hand, on the back of which was a faint red cross-shaped mark that was now glowing slightly.
Someone in the audience gasped.
Rodriguez's face turned pale.
James turned to face everyone in the courtroom.
"Now, everyone leave the courtroom. The judge remains."
No one moved.
A player behind James raised his gun, muzzle pointing upwards.
"Walk."
The voice wasn't loud, but it carried an undeniable air of authority.
People in the gallery began to stand up and move toward the door.
The footsteps were quick, but no one ran.
The lawyers and clients in the plaintiff's and defendant's seats also stood up, packed their documents, and walked out with their heads down.
Thirty seconds later, only three judges, James, and his teammates remained in the courtroom.
James walked to the side of the judge's bench, pushed open the small door of the isolation barrier, and went up the steps.
Rodriguez tried to stand up.
James reached out and placed his hand on his shoulder.
"Sit down."
Rodriguez sat back down.
James looked at the other two judges.
"You too. Sit down."
The two did not move.
Two teammates behind James stepped forward, one on each shoulder, and pushed him back into his seat.
"Now,"
James said, "Tell me, where is the Supreme Court's inventory of assets, case files, and financial records?"
Rodriguez gritted his teeth.
"This is illegal. You didn't—"
'
James clenched his right fist and slammed it on the wooden table of the judge's bench.
boom.
A crack appeared in the desktop.
"I'm asking about the location, not your opinion."
Rodriguez remained silent for three seconds.
Then he said, "The archives are on the third floor, east side; financial records are in the safe in the administration office; and the asset list is..."
Write it down.
James pulled a pen and a note from his pocket and tossed them onto the table.
Rodriguez picked up his pen and began to write.
The other two judges looked at him, their faces pale.
Grand Rapids, headquarters of the State Health Insurance Corporation.
10:05 AM.
Airo Equitebo sat in his office.
He was fifty-three years old, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, his hair was neatly combed, and he wore a custom-made dark gray suit with platinum cufflinks peeking out from the cuffs. A thick legal document was spread out on his desk.
This is a case he's been handling recently:
A 67-year-old lung cancer patient was denied compensation by the insurance company because the company determined that his treatment plan "did not meet standard procedures".
The patient's family filed a lawsuit, but Airo has found three legal loopholes that would allow the case to be dismissed during the pre-trial mediation stage.
He is revising the wording of his defense statement to make the language more precise and impeccable.
The office door was pushed open.
It wasn't a knock, it was a direct push.
Airo looked up.
A man wearing camouflage pants and a black short-sleeved T-shirt walked in.
The man was about forty years old, with a thin face, deep-set eyes, and a cross-shaped scar on his arm.
He wasn't carrying a weapon, but he was followed by four men, all of whom were carrying guns.
Ai Luo put down his pen.
"Who are you? This is a private office, no appointments available—"
"Airo Equitebo?"
The man asked.
"It's me. All of you."
"Stand up and get out."
The man interrupted him.
Aira didn't move.
"I don't understand. This is a legal workplace, I have the right—"
The man took two steps forward, walked to the desk, bent down, and placed his hands on the table.
"I said, stand up and get out."
Ai Luo looked at him.
There was something in the man's eyes that he couldn't understand.
It wasn't anger, it wasn't a threat, it was something purer—indifference.
"According to Section ———— of the Michigan Code of Civil Procedure"
The man's right hand suddenly reached out, grabbed Airo's collar, and pulled him up from the chair.
Ai Luo stumbled, and her glasses slipped down to the tip of her nose.
He reached out to help, but the man had already pulled him toward the door.
"Let me go! This is illegal detention! I have the right—"
The man didn't say anything and continued to drag him away.
The corridor was already full of people.
They were all insurance company employees, men and women, about a hundred people in total, surrounded by armed men, heads bowed, no one speaking.
Ai Luo was dragged to the middle of the corridor and thrown to the ground.
He got up, adjusted his glasses, and straightened his suit.
"This is illegal! I'm calling the police! I want to—"
A military boot kicked him in the lower back.
Airo fell forward, his face hitting the carpet.
The glasses flew off and landed two meters away.
He looked up and saw the man standing in front of him.
"Illegal?"
The man squatted down and looked at him.
"What law? With the Lord's witness, these are confiscated."
Airo's lips were trembling.
"You—do you know what you're saying? This is private property, protected by the constitution, and governed by comprehensive contracts and laws—"
The man lifted his foot and stepped on his back.
Airo's face was pressed against the carpet again.
"His mouth is full of laws and contracts."
A man's voice came from above, "It's really all about power and wealth."
He stomped harder.
Airo is having difficulty breathing.
He tried to struggle, but the man's weight made it impossible for him to move.
Then he heard footsteps.
More people entered the corridor.
One of them walked up to the president of the insurance company, said something, and the president, pale-faced, nodded and was then taken away.
Another person began directing the staff to line up and register their names and positions one by one.
Ai Luo watched all of this.
His mind was racing, trying to find legal grounds, applicable clauses, and loopholes to retaliate.
But every time I tried to think, the pressure on my back interrupted me.
The man finally moved his foot away.
Ai Luo coughed as she propped herself up.
The man bent down, grabbed him by the back of the neck, lifted him up, and slammed him against the wall.
"Listen, lawyer."
The man's face was very close to his, his breath hitting his face.
"How many people have you pushed onto the line of death with those articles? Hmm?"
Ai Luo opened her mouth.
No sound was made.
"Deliberate traps set by medical insurance."
The man continued, "A compliant and legal murder. You think I don't know? Or that you don't know about the live declaration of death?"
Eiro's throat was dry.
"That's—that's legal procedure. We're just—"
The man's fist slammed into his face.
Airo's head slammed against the wall, and his vision went black. He felt his nose break, and blood gushed from his nostrils, flowing into his mouth; it tasted salty.
He slid down to the ground.
The man looked down at him.
"Damn capitalist lackey, if you weren't white, I would have shot you right now."
Then the man turned and left.
Ai Luo sat on the ground, leaning against the wall, blood dripping from his chin onto the front of his suit jacket.
He heard sounds around him: footsteps, whispered instructions, and occasional sobs.
But he couldn't hear the specific content.
His mind kept repeating the same question: "How could this happen?"
Isn't the law perfect?
Doesn't it have supreme authority?
Does simply obeying it guarantee protection and power?
That man hit him.
The man stepped on him.
The man was not punished in any way.
Why?
Lord, where is your power?
Isn't the law a reflection of your will?
Why didn't it protect me?
Ai Luo lowered his head and looked at his blood-stained hands.
For the first time in his fifty-three years of life, he realized that pain could be this intense.
My nose is broken and bleeding. My lower back is throbbing from the kick, and my head is throbbing from hitting the wall.
He opened his mouth as if to speak, but only made gurgling sounds.
Then he started crying.
It wasn't sobbing, it was wailing and crying.
A man in his fifties sat on the ground, leaning against the wall, his face a mixture of blood and tears, crying like a child.
Everyone around him was watching him.
But no one came over.
No one spoke.
Only the sound of footsteps, continuous, moving from one end of the corridor to the other and back again.