America: From a Fallen Child Star to the Head of the University of the West

Inside the interrogation room.

Sean Penn sat at one end of the metal table, his hands resting flat on the cold surface, his gaze calmly fixed on the person opposite him.

Just now, he had just gone through a four-hour-long verbal battle.

The other party tried to prove that he had signed the contract suspected of being a money laundering agreement, but he pointed out a fatal time gap in the chain of evidence based on fragments of his memory.

The loophole was small, but enough to turn what was originally a solid accusation into a pile of worthless paper.

Above the head of the middle-aged man in the suit he was looking at, a semi-transparent number that only Sean himself could see was floating:

【35】.

Just fifteen minutes ago, this number was -10.

This is probably what's called "favorability," just like data in a game.

Whatever it is, Sean has no idea where it came from, just like he doesn't know why he was working on a project plan on the other side of the ocean one second, and the next second he possessed the body of a washed-up Hollywood child star named "Sean Penn".

But he knew very well that this sudden number had saved his life.

The rising numbers mean he's approaching a safe zone.

The declining numbers mean he's heading towards the abyss.

He was playing a game of Minesweeper without any hints, relying entirely on the feedback from the numbers to adjust his testimony.

Fortunately, he won.

The middle-aged man opposite him closed the folder.

"What are you thinking about, Sean?"

"It's nothing, I'm just thinking about how to defend myself next."

"That's enough, really," the man said. "You used to be a fool who would just fake a smile for the camera. But today, you're as difficult as a lawyer."

Sean smiled.

He has changed, of course. The original Sean Penn died at eighteen, succumbing to excessive indulgence and folly. The one sitting here now is a soul forced to be frugal in order to survive.

"Perhaps."

The man referred to as the agent, Miller, a senior FBI agent, did not lower his guard because of those words.

"You think you've won?" Miller looked at Sean. "That time gap loophole does exist, but it doesn't change the overall situation. Those special departments whose names neither of us can name are all watching you."

Sean didn't say anything because he knew Miller was telling the truth.

The original owner of this body was a complete mess-making machine.

He officially debuted at the age of eleven, and became a sensation across the United States with his angelic face and a family sitcom, becoming the so-called "Nation's Son".

That was his most glorious moment; everyone loved him, and everyone wanted to be like him.

However, with the arrival of puberty, their appearance changes, their voices deepen, and their originally cute behavior becomes ridiculous.

To maintain popularity, or to fill the emptiness in her heart, the original owner began to come into contact with things she shouldn't have.

He lent his name to several people to open offshore accounts. He thought it was just a simple signing fee, unaware that he had been drawn into a Ponzi scheme involving hundreds of millions of dollars.

Now, that Ponzi scheme has collapsed. The big shots behind it have either run away or died, leaving him alone, foolishly staying in America.

Simply because they told themselves:

They also created a series specifically for him about America, aiming to surpass House of Cards and JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 7.

Before he even received the script, he had already become the scapegoat for this scam!

Although the entire scam wasn't particularly shocking, the fact that the original owner, a former well-known child star, strongly promoted it caused the incident to quickly expand its reach.

His name is known across five continents and four oceans; this is arguably the hottest period of his life right now. If he still can't find a solution, he might as well just pick up a beverage bottle in the far east.

"I know my situation," Sean said softly, "which is why I'm cooperating with you."

"Cooperate?" Miller scoffed. "Is that what you call cooperation? You were practically rubbing my face in the ground. You took advantage of a small oversight in our evidence-gathering process, preventing us from putting you in jail today. But that's only temporary, Sean."

"It's really only temporary."

Miller stood up, walked around the table, and went behind Sean.

"Do you know what's going to happen next?" Miller's voice rang in Sean's ears. "First, there will be civil lawsuits. Those victims who lost their pensions will bite you like mad dogs. Your house, your car, the meager balance left in your account will all be used for compensation."

"Yes, you will go bankrupt, but this is just the beginning."

Sean stared at the one-way mirror in front of him, his reflection illuminating his current appearance.

"Then there are criminal charges," Miller continued. "While you've escaped direct money laundering charges today, other charges await you."

"Even if you can afford the best lawyer, you'll still spend at least twenty years in prison."

"Twenty years," Miller repeated the number. "For someone as pampered as you, federal prison is hell. You'd better pray you die in there, or escape like Andy Dufresne, or you'll suffer for it."

The seasoned agent was trying to break down his psychological defenses, wanting to see him break down, to see him cry, to see him kneel down and beg for mercy.

The original owner might cling to Miller's leg at this moment, tears streaming down her face, revealing all her secrets, just to get even the slightest bit of forgiveness.

But Sean won't.

He simply listened quietly, even analyzing the amount of information in Miller's words in his mind.

Miller was right, it was a dead end.

From both a legal and economic perspective, Sean Penn is finished.

Even if he manages to escape legal punishment, the masterminds behind the scenes who have suffered heavy losses because of him will not let him go.

"That doesn't sound good," Sean finally spoke, as if they were discussing what to have for dinner rather than his future.

"So, is this the end?"

"Don't you understand yet?" Miller sneered. "You've messed with someone you can't afford to mess with. They need a scapegoat, and you're the perfect candidate. The public will be happy to see you suffer, the media will tear you to shreds, and nobody will sympathize with you."

"Kid, you can hide for a while, but you can't hide forever. You want to live? The only way is to hide in one of those private jails that charge five thousand dollars a night. They have independent security and airtight walls, which might save your life. But you're out of money. You can't even afford a public defender anymore."

Even if you are proven innocent, your life will be completely ruined!

Sean looked at the numbers above Miller's head.

【38】.

It rose by three points.

Surprisingly, although Miller was threatening him, he seemed to secretly admire Sean's fearless attitude.

"Then what should I do?" Sean asked softly. "Detective, since you've described my future as so bleak, can you tell me how I can save myself?"

Miller frowned; he felt that Sean had lost his mind under some kind of extreme pressure.

"Save yourself?"

He snorted, unless a miracle occurred.

or……

He intended to continue mocking Sean, but a bold, and also most unrealistic, idea popped into his head.