The pursuit of justice has defined my life, not as an abstract principle, but as a driving force that shaped my earliest memories, guided my education, and continues to inform every case I study and every voice I choose to amplify. From the time I first watched the coverage of the Casey Anthony trial, I found myself not only grieving for a child I never knew, but questioning how something so plainly tragic could result in so little accountability. I was twelve years old when the verdict was read. It was not just a moment of outrage. It was ignition.

I began asking questions no one around me could fully answer. How could such a miscarriage of justice occur in plain sight? Why was the system designed in a way that left a victim without closure? To understand, I reached out to none other than Dr. Jan Garavaglia, the renowned forensic pathologist known as “Dr. G,” who had been the Chief Medical Examiner on the case. She responded not with an autograph or a placation, but with an invitation. I was given the rare opportunity to visit her forensic lab, to peer through microscopes at real crime evidence, to hold in my hands the discipline and precision required to bring clarity out of tragedy.

I left that lab more than just fascinated. I left committed.

Throughout my academic journey, I have carried that commitment with me through every obstacle. I was diagnosed with learning disabilities and medical conditions that, statistically, should have made the path to law school all but impossible. I chose to see them as my personal training ground. I graduated from the University of Central Florida with a degree in political science and a pre-law focus, completed my certification through Boston University’s paralegal program, joined the Massachusetts Paralegal Association as a student-tier member, and have studied every case I could get my hands on. At every step, I have sought not only knowledge, but application: how do these doctrines and disciplines serve real people in real moments of pain, injustice, and systemic failure?

I now apply my energy and research to wrongful conviction cases, unsolved disappearances, and failures in police and prosecutorial conduct. These stories are not just stories. They are signals. They are proof of the fragility of fairness in systems too often driven by agenda or inertia. Nowhere has this been more evident to me than in the case of Suzanne Morphew, whose disappearance and the surrounding prosecutorial chaos became the subject of my forthcoming book, Broken Butterflies. This is not a work of speculation or voyeurism. It is an in-depth case study that highlights the dangers of evidence mishandling, insufficient forensic follow-through, and the broader implications for victim advocacy in the American legal system.

Raised in Florida but rooted in Boston by family, history, and legal legacy, I’ve always seen the streets of Massachusetts as sacred ground for anyone who values the Constitution not just as a founding document, but as a living contract we are all beholden to protect. My cousin, Leo Stella, graduated from Suffolk University and went on to serve as Chief of Staff for the Massachusetts Senate. His example, along with the strong legal community I built connections with during my time in Boston, has reaffirmed my sense that law is not only an intellectual calling but also a moral one. My summers spent walking through courthouses, talking with legal professionals, and sitting in on classes at Suffolk, University of Massachusetts: Dartmouth, and New England Law, have served to deepen that belief. But it is not where I have been that defines me. It is what I do with what I know.

This website is my home base, a digital repository for my research, my legal commentary, and my investigative writing. From missing persons cases to policy theory, every post reflects my deep commitment to justice, fairness, and advocacy for the voiceless. Here you will find thorough explorations of cases like Suzanne Morphew’s and Karen Read’s. You will also find writings on legal theory, public policy, and the enduring tension between liberty and accountability in our courts.

I invite you to read deeply, question everything, and reflect on the role we each play in ensuring the systems we rely on are truly just. Justice is not a passive state. It is an active pursuit. It is not inevitable. It is made real only when people refuse to let it erode. This is my refusal. This is my voice.


Until the Next Case,
Caroline Stella