In the quiet early morning hours of May 3, 2025, in Columbia, South Carolina, a young woman’s life was brutally cut short in a senseless act of violence that has since ignited a firestorm of public outrage and calls for reform. Logan Haley Federico, a vibrant 22-year-old college student from Waxhaw, North Carolina, was visiting friends at a rented home near the University of South Carolina when her world shattered forever. What began as a typical night out with companions turned into a nightmare as a career criminal invaded the residence, executing her in cold blood. Logan’s father, Stephen Federico, has emerged as a fierce advocate, vowing not to rest until the deep-seated failures in the criminal justice system that allowed her killer to roam free are addressed and rectified.

Logan Federico was more than just a victim; she was a beacon of promise and potential. Standing at just 5 feet 3 inches and weighing around 115 pounds, the aspiring teacher embodied the innocence and ambition of youth. Friends and family remember her as fun-loving, strong-willed, and deeply passionate about children. She had recently discovered her calling in education, dreaming of shaping young minds and making a positive impact on the world. A devoted Taylor Swift fan, Logan had attended a concert with her father just months before her death, cherishing those simple joys that defined her short life. Her father described her as “a strong, fun, loving individual,” whose spirit could light up any room. Tragically, that spirit was extinguished in an instant, leaving behind a family shattered by grief and a community reeling from the horror of preventable violence.

The events of that fateful night unfolded with chilling rapidity. Around 3 a.m., Logan returned to the rental home on Cypress Street after a night out, settling into bed unaware of the danger lurking nearby. Alexander Devonte Dickey, a 30-year-old with an extensive rap sheet, was on a burglary spree that evening. Police reports detail how Dickey first broke into a neighboring home, stealing items including a wallet, credit cards, and a debit card. From there, he entered the residence where Logan was sleeping, confronting her in her room. According to investigators, he dragged her from bed—naked and defenseless—forcing her to her knees with her hands over her head as she begged for her life. In a moment of unimaginable terror, Dickey fired a fatal shot into her chest with a stolen 12-gauge shotgun. She was gone—bang, dead, gone—as her father would later poignantly testify.

Dickey fled the scene in a stolen vehicle, embarking on a brazen spending spree using the pilfered credit and debit cards, including Logan’s own. Just an hour and a half after the murder, he was making purchases, callously exploiting his victim’s belongings. A manhunt ensued, culminating in his arrest after he barricaded himself in a home in Gaston, South Carolina, which he set ablaze in a desperate bid to evade capture. Charged with murder, multiple counts of burglary, possession of a weapon during a violent crime, grand larceny, and financial transaction card theft, Dickey now faces the full weight of the law—or so the Federico family hopes.

What has fueled the widespread fury surrounding Logan’s death is not just the brutality of the crime, but the preventable nature of it. Alexander Dickey was no stranger to the justice system; he was a “career criminal” whose history of lawlessness spanned over a decade. Court documents reveal a staggering record: 39 arrests and 25 felony charges dating back to 2014, including multiple instances of first-degree burglary, which carries a mandatory minimum sentence of 15 years in South Carolina. Despite this, Dickey had served only a little over 600 days in prison across 10 years—a mere fraction of the potential 140-plus years he should have faced for his cumulative offenses. Stephen Federico calculated this disparity during his emotional testimony, highlighting how the system repeatedly failed to incarcerate him long-term.

The reasons for Dickey’s freedom are rooted in systemic breakdowns that have sparked intense public backlash. Investigations post-murder uncovered clerical errors, such as missing fingerprints from a 2014 first-degree burglary arrest, which prevented his full criminal history from being accurately reflected in court records. In 2023, he pleaded guilty to a lesser third-degree burglary charge as a “first-time offender,” despite his extensive prior offenses, leading to a reduced sentence of just 410 days served out of a possible 1,825. Judge Bentley Price of Richland County Circuit Court has come under fire for releasing him early on probation, a decision that critics argue directly enabled the murder. Soft-on-crime policies, including cashless bail and lenient sentencing for repeat offenders, have been blamed for keeping predators like Dickey on the streets.

Stephen Federico’s response to this tragedy has been nothing short of heroic. At a U.S. House Judiciary Subcommittee hearing on violent crime in Charlotte on September 29, 2025, he delivered a raw, heart-wrenching testimony that left lawmakers and audiences stunned. “How many of y’all have kids? When I tell you this story… think about your child,” he began, painting a vivid picture of Logan’s final moments: dragged from bed, forced to her knees, begging for her “hero”—her father—who couldn’t save her. “Bang! Dead. Gone. Why? Because Alexander Devonte Dickey, who was arrested 39 times, 25 felonies, was on the streets.” He lambasted the “revolving door” of the justice system, accusing it of failing not just Logan, but countless others. “I’m not going away. My daughter isn’t going away,” he declared, pledging to fight until reforms are enacted.

Federico’s words resonated far beyond the hearing room, amplifying a chorus of public outrage. Social media erupted with posts demanding accountability, with users sharing videos of his testimony and decrying the lack of national media coverage—posts garnering tens of thousands of likes and reposts. High-profile figures like Elon Musk weighed in, calling for judges and DAs to be held responsible for releasing “vicious murderers.” Golfer Phil Mickelson echoed the sentiment, labeling the justice system a failure after viewing Federico’s speech. A GoFundMe for the family raised over $44,000, reflecting widespread sympathy and support.

Politicians across South Carolina and beyond have seized on the case to push for change. South Carolina Attorney General Alan Wilson sent a letter to Fifth Circuit Solicitor Byron Gipson, urging him to seek the death penalty, emphasizing Dickey’s history as a “senseless murder” warranting capital punishment. However, this has not quelled the controversy; U.S. Rep. Nancy Mace accused Wilson of jeopardizing the case by politicizing it and called for federal intervention to ensure the death penalty is pursued without prejudice. Rep. Ralph Norman demanded Gipson’s impeachment for “neglect of duty,” citing poor communication with the family and mishandling of evidence. Lt. Gov. Pamela Evette decried the “failed justice system,” stating there was “no reason” Dickey shouldn’t have been behind bars. Even Democrats at the hearing faced pushback, with some defending underfunded prosecutors, but Federico’s plea cut through: “It’s not rocket science: you keep criminals locked up.”

Federico has advocated for federal prosecutors to take over, arguing interstate elements—like the stolen cards used across state lines and Logan’s North Carolina residency—could justify it. He supports measures like North Carolina’s “Iryna’s Law,” named after another victim of a repeat offender, which aims to expedite death penalty appeals and expand execution methods. “My daughter didn’t get an appeal,” he poignantly noted, underscoring the urgency for swift justice.

The broader implications of Logan’s murder extend to a national debate on criminal justice reform. Her case parallels others, like the stabbing of Iryna Zarutska on Charlotte’s light rail by another repeat offender, highlighting a pattern of escalation among recidivists. Experts point to understaffed DAs, incomplete records, and policies favoring rehabilitation over incarceration for non-violent crimes bleeding into violent ones. South Carolina’s lieutenant governor and other officials have vowed to address these gaps, but critics argue it’s too little, too late. Public sentiment, fueled by social media and viral clips of Federico’s testimony, demands harsher penalties for felons, better tracking of records, and accountability for those who release dangerous individuals.

As the legal battle unfolds, with key forensic evidence still pending and Gipson’s office defending their communication efforts, the Federico family clings to hope for closure. Stephen Federico, holding a photo of his daughter close, remains resolute: “You can’t kill my daughter’s spirit.” Logan’s legacy, he insists, will drive change. She was what this country needed—a reminder that justice must protect the innocent, not coddle the guilty. Until the failures are fixed, her father’s fight continues, echoing the cries of a nation demanding better.