In the quiet suburbs of Waxhaw, North Carolina, Stephen Federico once lived a life centered around family, dreams, and the simple joys of watching his children grow. That all shattered on May 3, 2025, when his 22-year-old daughter, Logan Hailey Federico, was brutally murdered during a home invasion in Columbia, South Carolina. The alleged perpetrator, Alexander Devonte Dickey, a 30-year-old career criminal with a staggering record of 39 arrests and 25 felonies, had been cycling through the justice system for over a decade, yet spent only about 600 days behind bars. Dickey’s repeated releases—often through plea deals, lenient sentencing, and systemic failures—allowed him to escalate from burglaries to murder, claiming Logan’s life in a senseless act of violence. For Federico, this tragedy “changed everything,” transforming a grieving father into a fierce advocate for “Logan’s Law,” a proposed federal measure aimed at overhauling how repeat offenders are handled, ensuring dangerous criminals no longer walk free to prey on the innocent.

Logan’s story is one of promise cut short. A vibrant young woman from Waxhaw, she was pursuing her passion for helping others, having recently decided to become an elementary school teacher after initial aspirations in nursing. Described by her father as kind-hearted and full of life, Logan was visiting friends near the University of South Carolina when the unthinkable happened. In the early morning hours, Dickey allegedly broke into the rental home where she was sleeping beside her boyfriend. Armed with a stolen 12-gauge shotgun, he shot her in the chest during the burglary, an execution-style killing that left her begging for her life on her knees. After the murder, Dickey fled in a stolen car and embarked on a brazen spending spree using Logan’s credit and debit cards, highlighting the callous disregard for human life that Federico attributes to a broken system.

The details of Dickey’s criminal history are chilling, painting a portrait of a man the justice system failed to contain. Starting his crime spree at age 15, Dickey amassed arrests for serious offenses including first-degree burglary—a crime carrying a minimum 15-year sentence in South Carolina. Yet, in 2023, he pleaded guilty to a lesser charge as a “first-time offender,” despite prior convictions, due to gaps in record-keeping like missing fingerprints and incomplete charging documents. These administrative oversights, combined with plea bargains that downgraded felonies, allowed him to evade lengthy incarceration. Federico has calculated that, had Dickey served full sentences, he “should have been in jail for over 140 years.” Instead, the system’s leniency—rooted in overcrowded prisons, prosecutorial discretion, and policies prioritizing rehabilitation over public safety—set the stage for Logan’s death.

Federico’s path to advocacy began in the depths of unimaginable grief. Learning of the invasion and shooting, he was consumed by guilt and rage, feeling he had “failed” his daughter by not protecting her. But from that pain emerged a resolve to prevent other families from suffering the same fate. “You woke up a beast and you pissed off the wrong daddy,” he declared during emotional testimony before a U.S. House Judiciary subcommittee in Charlotte, North Carolina, on September 29, 2025. The hearing, focused on violent crime and repeat offenders, came amid national outrage over similar cases, like the stabbing death of Ukrainian refugee Iryna Zarutska on a Charlotte light rail by another repeat offender. Federico’s raw testimony, where he held up Logan’s photo and corrected a lawmaker who confused her with Zarutska, went viral, amplifying his call for reform. “Her name’s Logan Federico, not Irina. And you will not forget her, I promise you,” he vowed, his voice trembling with fury.

At the heart of Federico’s crusade is “Logan’s Law,” a proposed federal legislation designed to address the very failures that enabled Dickey’s freedom. The measure would mandate seamless communication between counties and states to track repeat offenders accurately, require prosecutors to fully account for prior convictions in charging and sentencing, and close loopholes that treat serial criminals as novices. It aims to standardize penalties for violent felonies, potentially tying federal funding to states that implement stricter repeat-offender protocols, and push for federal oversight in cases involving interstate criminal histories. Federico envisions it as a tool to “stop protecting the people that keep taking [our children] from us,” emphasizing that reoffenders escalate crimes, often culminating in murder. He has been in talks with Department of Justice officials, including Deputy Attorney General Todd Blanche, to pursue federal charges against Dickey, arguing state courts are too compromised to deliver justice.

The broader context of Logan’s murder underscores a national epidemic of crimes by repeat offenders. In South Carolina, Attorney General Alan Wilson urged prosecutors to seek the death penalty for Dickey, citing the burglary-murder nexus and his extensive record. Federico supports this, stating, “When you take someone’s life, you have to know that you’re gonna get your life taken. Period.” Yet, he believes state efforts fall short without federal intervention. Similar tragedies, like Zarutska’s killing, have fueled bipartisan calls for reform, with critics slamming “soft-on-crime” policies that prioritize criminal rights over victim safety. Federico has joined forces with other grieving families, such as that of Mary Collins, whose granddaughter was also murdered, to amplify their voices in Washington.

Social media has played a pivotal role in keeping Logan’s story alive. Posts on X (formerly Twitter) sharing Fox News headlines about “Logan’s Law” have garnered thousands of engagements, with users expressing outrage and support for stricter laws. One viral post highlighted the father’s push, sparking discussions on criminal justice reform. Federico’s testimony videos, showing his emotional confrontation with lawmakers, have been reposted widely, turning personal tragedy into a rallying cry. He plans to establish a scholarship fund in Logan’s name for aspiring teachers, ensuring her legacy inspires positive change beyond legislation.

Critics of current policies argue that plea deals and early releases, often due to resource constraints or ideological shifts toward decarceration, endanger communities. In Dickey’s case, prosecutors failed to “do their homework,” as Federico put it, missing his full history in under 10 minutes of review. Logan’s Law seeks to remedy this by enforcing mandatory background checks and escalating penalties for repeats, potentially saving lives by keeping predators incarcerated. While some advocate for rehabilitation, Federico counters that for violent reoffenders, public safety must come first: “There are more people fighting for the rights of a career criminal than for my daughter to be safe.”

As Dickey awaits trial on charges including murder, burglary, and theft, Federico vows to fight “until my last breath.” His journey reflects the profound impact of loss, turning sorrow into systemic change. Logan’s Law represents hope amid heartbreak—a federal bulwark against the revolving door of justice that claimed his daughter. In a nation weary of preventable violence, Federico’s voice echoes: No more innocents lost to the free-walking dangerous.