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

Chapter 101 The Determination to Leave

On the same day, at an earlier time.

Inside Senator Harris Crane's office in Washington, D.C.

This meeting was not the usual strategy meeting to discuss how to attack Democratic opponents; instead, Crane's core team of advisors sat around the long table.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Harris Crane said, seated at the head of the table, his hands clasped on the polished surface. He was sixty-two years old, his face well-maintained, but the shadows under his eyes and his taut jawline betrayed the pressure he was under. "We made a mistake. A serious strategic mistake."

“We underestimated this guy.” He pointed to Sean on the screen. “We thought he was a fleeting entertainment figure, a scandal to be exploited—but now, he’s becoming, in their words, a ‘phenomenon.’”

Communications Director Sarah Wayne adjusted her glasses and cautiously began, "The senator's national name recognition has indeed surged in the last two weeks, particularly among 18-35 year olds and independent voters. But his actual approval rating remains unknown in most polls—"

"A threat?" Crane interrupted her, his voice laced with a sharp sarcasm for the first time. "Sarah, a threat doesn't only exist when he gets more than 15 percent of the vote! A threat is when he stands on the stage, talking about the 'rust belt' and the 'left-behind men,' and our traditional supporters, those hardworking, patriotic workers and small business owners who feel betrayed by both parties, start nodding in agreement!"

"Our prosecution doesn't seem like a pursuit of justice; rather, it looks like an old lion being attacked in a fit of rage by a new hunting dog!"

The office was silent; people were now bewildered by his somewhat flowery metaphors and excited emotions.

Legal counsel Robert Keane cleared his throat: "Senator, the proceedings have begun. We are confident that we will find more material against him during the discovery phase."

"The legal process is too slow!" Crane said coldly. "Waiting for court scheduling, waiting for evidence exchange, waiting for hearings—until the primaries are over! We need to change the narrative now, immediately! We need to throw this suddenly appearing 'deer' back into the mud pit where it belongs!"

His gaze swept over everyone.

"Sarah, I want you to mobilize all our media allies and get everyone thinking about how Sean Penn, a former actor who has never run a business, never served a day in government, and whose private life is a mess, managed to fool the public and try to seize the highest power through elaborate performances and empty slogans. In particular, his open admission of nonreligious affiliation should be a major talking point in conservative districts in the South and Midwest."

"Robert, continue to put pressure on the lawsuit and request expedited proceedings. At the same time, investigate the background of everyone on his team—that Chinese assistant, that former journalist, that old left-wing campaign manager—find dirt on them, even the smallest flaws. I want to put pressure on each and every one of them."

He issued orders one by one, speaking quickly and clearly, with the commanding air of someone who had long held power.

The staff members buried themselves in taking notes, occasionally exchanging glances.

Finally, Crane's gaze fell on a relatively young man at the end of the table.

His name is Benny Archer, in his early thirties, a Stanford PhD in political science, and he has been with the team for just over a year, primarily responsible for data analysis and outreach to young voters. He has always been the "innovator" on the team, often proposing suggestions to learn from digital campaigning and focus on emerging issues, but most of these suggestions are rejected by more senior advisors on the grounds that they are impractical or deviate from core values.

"Benny," Crane's tone softened slightly, "I've received word that there's a discussion about his policies at UC Berkeley tonight, with his team in attendance. I need you to go in person, or send Tom over."

Go and observe, see which students are supporting him, what they care about, how they discuss things—and more importantly, see how competent the people he sends are, and whether they can find any dirt on him," he added.

Benny Archer looked up, his intelligent face now appearing troubled. "Senator," he said, "I think we should perhaps adjust our approach. Simply attacking Sean Penn personally might not solve the fundamental problem. Data shows that the interest of young and independent voters in him largely stems from deep dissatisfaction with the existing two-party system. Perhaps we could consider, while adhering to our core principles, appropriately adjusting some of our rhetoric and—"

"Adjust the rhetoric?" Crane interrupted him. "Benny, are you suggesting that we change the principles our party has upheld for decades just because some actor suddenly appears and says a few nice words? To pander to kids who've been indoctrinated with radical ideas by left-wing professors in universities?"

"It's not about pandering, it's about dialogue and understanding." Benny tried to remain calm. "Senator, Republican support among 18- to 29-year-old voters has declined for three consecutive election cycles. If we push all the young people who disagree with every word we say to the opposite side, if we simply define this discussion brought up by Sean Penn as 'enemy propaganda,' then we will lose not only this election, but potentially a whole generation."

The office fell silent. The other staff members lowered their heads, avoiding getting involved in the sudden argument.

They all knew that, given Hariskran's nature, he would find it difficult to tolerate subordinates kissing him.

Crane stared at Benny for several seconds, then gave a smile that was a mixture of disappointment and superiority.

“Benny Archer,” he said slowly, “I guess during your years at Stanford you learned not only political science, but also something else—something more fashionable. Like, the idea that the foundations of this country are flawed, and that patriotism is an emotion that needs to be redefined, even criticized.”

Benny's face paled slightly. "Senator, this has nothing to do with patriotism, it's about reality. The country is changing, the voters are changing—"

"The nation hasn't changed!" Crane's voice suddenly rose, slamming his hand on the table, making the coffee cup clink. "It's the American spirit that's being corrupted! Corrupted by you young people who've read too many books and forgotten where you came from! Corrupted by politicians and media who dare not call terrorists terrorists, dare not defend the borders, dare not say that America is the greatest nation in history!"

"Who is Sean Penn? He's yet another poisonous fruit of this corruption! A fickle opportunist with no faith, no foundation, only theatrics!"

He stood up and looked down at Benny.

"If you think this is a wrecked ship, if you think what we're defending is outdated, if you think the 'spirit of Republican representation' is out of touch with reality," he sneered, a laugh devoid of any warmth, "then, Benny, the door to this office is open. Nobody's chaining you. You can get out right now and go find your future, go find your Sean Penn."

Sarah Wayne opened her mouth as if to say something, but ultimately remained silent. Robert Keane stared at his notebook as if it contained the most interesting words in the world.

Benny Archer's face flushed red, then slowly regained its composure. He stood up slowly and began to tidy up the documents and his laptop in front of him.

After finishing packing, he picked up his briefcase and looked at Harris Crane.

"Senator," Benny's voice was calm and even, "you're right, the door is open. I'll leave."

But please remember: the last person to leave should turn off the lights.

Later that day, at the same time, in the outdoor corridor of Durant Hall 200 at UC Berkeley.

Benny Archer stood by a side window overlooking the auditorium, now dressed in a well-fitting dark blue suit and with his hair neatly styled, looking completely different from his earlier confrontational demeanor in the office.

He came, but not for Krain. He came for himself.

He held a flyer for the discussion he had just taken from the campus information board, his gaze passing through the glass as he looked into the gradually filling auditorium.

He could see Matthew Chen in the front row adjusting the equipment, and the slightly nervous young face was probably Liam, according to the information.

In addition, he saw several familiar faces scattered among the audience, people from the Berkeley Republican Club, and two "activists" he recognized as frequent contacts of Crane's office.

The auditorium was filled with the constant chatter of young people, brimming with youthful energy and anticipation.

Benny Archer folded the flyer and put it in his pocket.

Inside the auditorium, the lights gradually dimmed, and the professor walked onto the stage and tapped the microphone.

Good evening, everyone. Welcome to tonight's discussion session, "Technology, Employment, and Us."