The brutal murder of 22-year-old Logan Hailey Federico has ignited a firestorm of outrage across South Carolina and beyond, thrusting the state’s criminal justice system into the national spotlight. On September 30, 2025, South Carolina Attorney General Alan Wilson fired off a strongly worded letter to Fifth Circuit Solicitor Byron Gipson, demanding the death penalty for Alexander Devonte Dickey, the 30-year-old “career criminal” accused of gunning down the aspiring teacher during a home invasion in Columbia. With Dickey’s staggering record of 39 arrests and 25 felonies—yet only about 600 days behind bars over a decade—Wilson argued the case screams for capital punishment, citing statutory aggravating factors like the murder occurring amid a burglary. Logan’s father, Stephen Federico, hailed the move as “fantastic,” vowing to fight until “justice for Logan” is served, even calling for federal intervention if state prosecutors falter. As tensions rise between Wilson and Gipson, this case exposes deep cracks in how repeat offenders evade accountability, leaving families shattered and communities demanding reform.

Logan Federico was the epitome of youthful promise and unyielding spirit. Hailing from Waxhaw, North Carolina, the 5-foot-3, 115-pound vibrant young woman had recently pivoted her career aspirations from nursing to elementary education, enrolling at South Piedmont Community College with plans to transfer to the College of Charleston. A devoted Taylor Swift fan who claimed the song “22” was written just for her, Logan juggled two jobs while radiating kindness and fierceness—always standing up for the underdog. Friends and family remembered her as “fun, fierce, and full of heart,” a big personality who lit up rooms and cherished her loved ones, including her brother Jacob and parents. On May 2, 2025, Logan was in Columbia visiting friends near the University of South Carolina, enjoying a night out before returning to a rented home on the 2700 block of Cypress Street around 3 a.m. What should have been a safe haven turned into a nightmare.

In the pre-dawn hours of May 3, Alexander Devonte Dickey allegedly embarked on a violent crime spree that culminated in unimaginable horror. Police reports detail how Dickey broke into a Cypress Street home, rummaging through rooms to steal keys, a wallet, credit and debit cards, and crucially, a firearm. He then targeted the neighboring residence where Logan slept, entering her room and shooting her once in the chest—execution-style, as her father later described, forcing the petite woman to her knees, begging for her life. The Richland County Coroner’s Office ruled her death a homicide, her body discovered hours later by friends who called 911 at 11:14 a.m. Undeterred, Dickey fled in a stolen vehicle, embarking on a brazen “shopping spree” using Logan’s stolen cards at stores in West Columbia, before additional crimes like arson in Gaston.

Dickey’s background is a damning indictment of systemic leniency. Since 2013, the 30-year-old has racked up nearly 40 charges, including first-degree burglary in 2014 (which carries a 15-year minimum) and armed robbery in 2019, often pleading down to lesser offenses due to incomplete records, missing fingerprints, and prosecutorial oversights. In 2023, despite prior convictions, he was treated as a “first-time offender” for third-degree burglary, sentenced to five years but released after just 411 days with credit served. Judge Bentley Price, who oversaw that case, has faced scrutiny for the probation decision months before the murder. Stephen Federico calculates Dickey “should have been in jail for over 140 years,” yet the revolving door of plea deals and clerical errors kept him free. Columbia Police Chief Skip Holbrook branded him a “true convict” deserving life in prison, but critics argue “soft-on-crime” policies enabled escalation from theft to murder.

The immediate aftermath was one of profound grief and fury. Stephen Federico, learning of the invasion, was wracked with helplessness: “Bang! Dead. Gone. Why?” he later testified, painting a visceral picture of his daughter’s final moments. A GoFundMe raised over $50,000 for the family, with donors honoring Logan’s spirit. Dickey was arrested after a manhunt, facing murder, multiple burglaries, weapons possession, grand larceny, and financial card theft charges, held without bond at Lexington County Detention Center. His court date looms, but the real battle is over prosecution strategy.

Enter Attorney General Alan Wilson, whose intervention has electrified the case. In his letter, Wilson highlighted “clear statutory aggravating factors” and Dickey’s irredeemable history, assigning senior attorney Melody Brown from the Capital & Collateral Litigation Section to assist Gipson’s team and audit Dickey’s record. “We owe it to Logan’s family… to make sure justice is served,” Wilson declared, setting an October 10 deadline for Gipson to commit to the death penalty or risk his office taking over. Gipson pushed back, calling the timeline “reckless” and insisting on a thorough evidence review, noting most of Dickey’s priors fell outside his jurisdiction. The clash—Republican Wilson vs. Democrat Gipson—has politicized the proceedings, with Rep. Ralph Norman calling for Gipson’s impeachment over “neglect of duty.”

National figures have amplified the outcry. Rep. Nancy Mace urged Attorney General Pam Bondi for federal takeover, arguing state mishandling jeopardized the death penalty pursuit: “The state… blew it. That’s why Logan’s not here.” Lt. Gov. Pamela Evette decried the “failed justice system,” while Stephen Federico testified blisteringly before a House Judiciary subcommittee in Charlotte on September 29, slamming “soft-on-crime” policies alongside cases like Iryna Zarutska’s murder. “You woke up a beast,” he warned lawmakers, pushing for “Logan’s Law” to track repeat offenders federally. Social media erupts with support, posts decrying Gipson and demanding execution.

This saga underscores a national crisis: repeat offenders escalating to violence due to lenient sentencing and record-keeping failures. In South Carolina, policies favoring rehabilitation over incarceration have drawn bipartisan ire, with Federico asserting reoffenders “escalate to murder.” Calls for federal charges—citing interstate elements like stolen cards—grow, as the family eyes Logan’s legacy through scholarships for teachers. As Dickey’s trial approaches, Wilson’s death penalty push hangs in the balance, a test of whether South Carolina can deliver the ultimate accountability or if Logan’s death becomes another statistic in a broken system.