Scene 1: Superior Court, Courtroom 16 — 3:35 PM
The courtroom smelled like cheap cologne and fear. Elias Crowe sat poised in his designer suit, a man of elegance among the ruins of human failure. His client — a drug lord accused of orchestrating three murders — sat beside him, calm, because he understood one truth about this city: if you can afford Elias Crowe, you are already halfway innocent.
The prosecutor's voice cracked under the weight of weak evidence and public pressure.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury… the defendant is a monster who hides behind money and lawyers. We ask only for justice."
Crowe rose slowly. Buttoned his jacket. His movements said: I own this room.
He strolled before the jury with the grace of a man giving a eulogy at someone else's funeral.
Elias Crowe (calm, measured):
"Justice? Yes. But not fear. Not assumption. Not rumor. You came in believing my client guilty because you were told to. But what you have seen? What you have heard? That is not justice. That is doubt. That is manipulation dressed as truth. And in this country, in this court, doubt means freedom."
He gave them that faint smile. The one that said: We both know how this ends.
"The defense rests."
Scene 2: Courthouse Steps — 4:10 PM
Cameras flashed. Microphones lunged.
"Mr. Crowe! How does it feel to win another impossible case?"
"Are you defending criminals or creating them?"
"Any comment on the rumors about your connections to the underworld?"
Elias Crowe paused only long enough to let the silence become heavy.
Crowe (smiling politely):
"Justice was served. That's all that matters."
He moved on, leaving the reporters to choke on their own bitterness.
Across the street, Detective Marcus Heller leaned against his unmarked car, cigarette burning between two steady fingers. Watching. Calculating.
Heller (thought):
The law isn't broken. The law obeys him.
Scene 3: Somewhere Cheap, Somewhere Rotten — Same Time
Nathan Voss watched the news in a filthy motel room lit only by static from a busted TV. His grin was wide, his teeth chipped. His hand bled where he'd carved into his palm with a pocket knife. Letters shaky but clear:
"NOTICE ME."
Voss (to himself, laughing quietly):
"He's still ignoring me. That's rude."
He picked up a lighter. Flicked it open. Closed. Open. Closed.
Soon. Very soon. I'll make him look. Make them all look.
Scene 4: Iris Quinn's Apartment — 5:12 PM
A small apartment cluttered with newspaper clippings, legal documents, and half-empty coffee cups. A corkboard dominated the far wall, covered in red string and names. At the center, pinned with a black tack:
ELIAS CROWE.
Beneath it, handwritten in thick marker:
"LAWS OF THE CRIME."
Iris Quinn hit record on her voice memo.
Iris (into recorder):
"Elias Crowe. Defense attorney for the damned. Ties to every major case of corruption, murder, organized crime in this city… yet no charges. No investigations. No leaks.
Either he's the devil himself… or he's writing the rules."
She leaned back. Lit a cigarette with shaking hands.
Iris (muttering):
"And devils bleed too."
Scene 5: Crowe's Penthouse, Midnight
Glass walls. City skyline burning soft orange in the distance. Crowe sat alone, scotch in hand, staring out over the chaos he pretended not to control. His phone buzzed once. Unknown Number.
He answered without speaking.
Distorted Female Voice:
"Your psycho is loose. Your killer is watching. The police are cracking under pressure."
Crowe smiled faintly. Sipped his drink.
Crowe (softly):
"Good. The game's begun."
He ended the call. Sat back. Watched the city like a spider admiring its web.
End of Chapter 1
(PREVIEW)
First body drops. Voss escalates his madness. Maddie leaves her first clue. Heller starts connecting dots. Iris makes her first dangerous move.