That room full of elites, those dozens of top minds charging thousands of US dollars per hour, that legal war machine operating with the efficiency of a precision instrument...

All of these vast resources existed solely to protect the private interests of a single oligarch.

Meanwhile, just a few blocks away in municipal court, countless ordinary people like Margaret couldn’t even afford a lawyer for a few hundred dollars. Their most basic right to appeal was unprotected, leaving them to despair in an endless wait.

He was shaken—he even felt a shudder, a primal tremor.

It wasn’t fear of Morganfield himself, but of this system of rules, a system completely warped by money and armed to the teeth.

Before that army of lawyers, so-called fairness and justice were as fragile as a piece of scrap paper.

Roosevelt, keenly sensing the shift in Leo’s mood, spoke up. "This is the American justice system, Leo."

"It’s like a luxury hotel."

"The doors are open to everyone. Everyone has the right to enter."

"But only those who can afford the exorbitant rates can stay in the presidential suite, enjoy the best service, and command a view of the landscape."

"As for those who can’t pay, they can only wait in a corner of the lobby to be thrown out by security."

’But it’s so ironic, isn’t it?’

Leo thought to himself.

’We originally wanted to use the law to protect the weak, but it ended up becoming the sharpest weapon in the hands of the strong.’

Roosevelt corrected him. "The law was never intended to serve the poor, not from the very beginning."

"In Philadelphia, in 1787, who were the men sitting in Independence Hall drafting the Constitution? Plantation owners, wealthy merchants, lawyers who owned vast tracts of land."

"Their primary purpose in making those rules was to protect their property from the mob, to ensure creditors could collect their debts, and to allow slave owners to legally own slaves."

"The law is a moat protecting private property, not a sanctuary for the poor."

"Rousseau said that man is born free, and that the state is a contract formed by the people for their common good. It sounds wonderful, even sacred."

"But in reality, the assertion of Thrasymachus is the truth—justice is the interest of the stronger."

"In this system, whoever has the money has the right to interpret the rules. Whoever has the resources is the master of the contract."

"For those at the bottom, the so-called social contract is nothing more than an indenture contract forced upon them. They trade their freedom for the mere right not to starve to death."

"So, don’t look for some sacred justice in a courtroom. All you’ll find there is calculation and gamesmanship."

"The law is just a weapon, Leo."

"It’s a sword, meticulously polished and gleaming, used to maintain the existing order and distribution of interests."

"The sword itself is neither good nor evil. What matters is the hand that wields it."

"In the future, how you choose to use this weapon—whether to protect the weak or to consolidate power..."

"The choice rests within you."

The elevator reached the ground floor.

Leo walked out of the Morganfield building.

The sunlight outside was a bit glaring.

He stood on the sidewalk, watching the traffic flow down the street, a complex feeling welling up inside him.

He had once despised the arrogance of capital and the way money trampled on the rules.

But today, that very power he had despised was protecting him.

It was ironic, and it was reality.

He took out his phone, about to call Ethan and tell him the legal crisis was over.

Just then, his phone screen lit up.

It was a call from Sarah.

Leo answered the call.

"Hello, Sarah? Tell everyone not to worry. The Morganfield situation is already..."

"Leo!"

Sarah’s voice cut him off. The background was a cacophony of frantic keyboard clacking and ringing phones.

"Leo, don’t come back—no, get back here! Now!"

Sarah shouted, her words a jumbled mess.

"Something’s happened! Public opinion has exploded!"

Leo frowned. "The dockworkers again? Tell Frank to handle it. I already told him..."

"No! It’s not just the dockworkers!"

"This time it’s everyone! All the community groups, all the social media feeds, they’re all blowing up!"

Sarah spoke at a rapid-fire pace, the sound of her keyboard clacking away.

"Open your X. Our own backyard is on fire."