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

In fact, Robert Harrison's office was more modest than Sean had imagined.

There were no luxurious decorations or expensive works of art here, only a large oak desk, several bookshelves filled with law books, and a few family photos hanging on the wall. He looked like a good family man.

Harrison himself sat behind his desk. He was a man in his fifties with a square face and bright eyes, and he did not look old.

The system shows that his favorability rating is [-15].

"Mr. Pan, please have a seat." Harrison gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "I didn't expect you to actually come here on your own initiative, and that you came to see me instead of the police."

"I never expected the prosecutor to indict me on New Year's Eve," Sean said politely as he sat down. "It seems we've both surprised each other."

"Mr. Pan, I hope you understand that this prosecution is based entirely on evidence and legal procedures. There are no political factors involved."

“Of course,” Sean said sarcastically. “I have complete faith in the impartiality of the Pennsylvania justice system.”

“Since you’ve come here on your own initiative, I’ll be frank.” Harrison took a document from his drawer and pushed it in front of Sean. “This is crucial evidence we have. An agreement you personally signed proves that you knew the true nature of the Avalon Foundation back in 2021.”

This is an investment advisory agreement dated March 15, 2021. The agreement is complex and full of legal jargon, but the core terms are clear: the signatories agree to act as "brand ambassadors" for the Avalon Fund and acknowledge that they understand the fund's operating model and risks.

At the very bottom is a signature: Sean Penn.

Sean stared at the signature for a few seconds.

He searched through the original owner's memories and did find some vague fragments. In March 2021, the original owner was at a low point in his career and had a severe alcohol problem. Someone approached him, saying they could give him some money to help promote an investment project.

The original owner was drunk at the time and signed a bunch of documents in a daze.

However, there seem to be some discrepancies in this agreement.

To be honest, given the original owner's mindset, signing these legal clauses was as casual to him as checking "I agree to the above terms." If it were really true, he wouldn't be able to do anything about it.

"Mr. Prosecutor," Sean put down the documents, "I have a few questions."

"Please speak."

"First, is this agreement the original?"

"The original is with the FBI in California. Our people are in the process of handing it over. What you are seeing now is a copy."

"Where did you find this agreement?"

Harrison hesitated for a moment: "This was discovered during the investigation, but I cannot disclose the specific source."

"Fine," Sean wasn't about to let it go, "Then I'd like to ask, did you have the handwriting analyzed for this agreement?"

At this moment, he also noticed that the number above Harrison's head had dropped from -15 to -18.

"Handwriting analysis takes time, don't worry. As soon as the original arrives in Philadelphia, we'll send it for testing," Harrison said. "But we have other evidence to prove the authenticity of this agreement."

"What evidence?"

“Witness testimony,” Harrison said. “There are people willing to testify that they saw you sign this agreement.”

"Who?"

"I can't tell you that right now. But your lawyer will get all the evidence during the formal court proceedings."

The so-called "witnesses" are very likely to have been bribed.

But the question is, how does he prove that?

In court, the burden of proof rests with the prosecution. But in the public eye, he has already been convicted.

"Mr. Attorney," Sean began, "may I ask you a personal question?"

Harrison frowned. "What's the problem?"

Why did you choose to sue me on New Year's Eve?

"As I said, this is based on the progress of the investigation..."

“No,” Sean interrupted him, “I’m not asking for the official reason. I’m asking for the real reason.”

He stared into Harrison's eyes.

"Prosecutor, you've been in this position for eight years. You're a cautious person who doesn't take risks easily. But this prosecution is too timely and too fast; it's completely unlike your style."

"So I'm wondering, did someone put pressure on you? Or made you some kind of promise?"

Harrison's number plummeted from -18 to -35.

"Mr. Pan, what are you trying to say?"

Sean smiled, stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to Harrison.

"Mr. Prosecutor..."

"Three days ago, on December 28th, you had dinner with former Senator Richard Brennan at a restaurant near Ritton House Plaza. The restaurant was called Le Bec-Fin, one of Philadelphia's most expensive French restaurants."

"You talked for about two hours. I don't know exactly what you talked about, but I guess the topic was related to me."

Sean turned around and looked at Harrison.

"Senator Richard is a veteran of the Democratic Party in Pennsylvania. Although he has retired, he still wields considerable influence within the party. If he asks you for help, it's hard to refuse."

"Furthermore, next year is an election year. If you want to be re-elected, you'll need the support of the party. Richard can give you that kind of support."

"Son, the Attorney General of Pennsylvania can only serve two consecutive terms, and this is your hometown. Besides, what Brennan said back then was..." Harrison suddenly realized what he had said wrong and quickly shut his mouth.

Now, the number above his head has dropped to -52.

"Alright, Mr. Pan. Are you threatening me?" He finally let out a heavy sigh.

“No, I’m stating the facts,” Sean said. “The threat was this: if you insist on suing me, I will publicly reveal your meeting with Richard at a press conference. I will tell everyone that this lawsuit is a political persecution, a conspiracy orchestrated by certain people within the Democratic Party for their own benefit.”

"You have no evidence."

“I have a photo.” Sean pulled his phone out of his pocket and showed a picture, “A photo of you shaking hands at the restaurant entrance. It’s been circulating online, but hasn’t attracted much attention yet. But if I connect it to this lawsuit…”

He didn't finish speaking, but his meaning was already very clear.

Harrison remained silent.

Sean observed the number above his head, which slowly rose from -52 to -45, and then dropped to -48.

This indicates that Harrison is hesitant.

But an old fox won't give in so easily.

“Mr. Pan,” Harrison finally spoke, “even if what you’re saying is true, so what? It’s not illegal for me to have dinner with Senator Brennan. And you did sign that agreement.”

"Evidence is evidence. Even if there are political factors involved in this prosecution, it doesn't change the fact that you committed a crime."

Sean nodded. "You're right. That's why I don't plan to rely solely on this."

He walked back to his desk and sat down again.

"Mr. Prosecutor, let me tell you something else."

"The signature on that agreement wasn't mine."

"How can you prove it?"

"I can't prove it, but I need to point out one thing."

Sean picked up the agreement and pointed to the signature area.

"Look at this signature, the handwriting is very smooth and steady. But in March 2021, I was at the worst stage of my alcoholism. During that time, my hand often trembled, and I simply couldn't write such steady characters."

"If you look at other documents I signed during that period, such as bank checks and credit card receipts, you'll find the handwriting is completely different."

Harrison's eyes narrowed. "You mean this agreement is forged?"

“I mean, this agreement deserves a thorough investigation,” Sean said. “If you’re really a fair prosecutor, you should do this work before you prosecute.”

"But you didn't. You rushed to announce the indictment on New Year's Eve without even conducting a basic handwriting analysis. What does that show? It shows that you don't care about the truth at all; you only care about sending me to jail as soon as possible."

"Is that what you think?"

The number above the other person's head fluctuated between -48 and -42.

"Alright, Mr. Pan, why don't you just tell me what you want?"

“I want justice,” Sean said. “I want you to postpone the press conference and conduct a full handwriting analysis and provenance investigation of that agreement. If the investigation proves the agreement is genuine, I will plead guilty. But if the investigation proves the agreement is forged…”

"Then, the person who fabricated the evidence should be the one prosecuted."

Silence fell over the office.

Harrison stared at Sean for a long time, seemingly weighing the pros and cons.

Finally, he spoke:

"Mr. Pan, I can postpone the press conference. But I need you to do one thing."

"What is it?"

"You cannot leave Philadelphia during the investigation. You must cooperate with our investigation at any time."

"no problem."

"And also," Harrison's eyes sharpened, "I hope you won't mention what you just said about my meeting with Richard to anyone."

Sean smiled and said, "Prosecutor, I'm a reasonable person. As long as you handle this case fairly, I have no reason to harm you."

He stood up and walked towards the door.

But then he stopped at the door and glanced back at Harrison.

His intuition told him something was off.

He wasn't sure if he was hallucinating, but he thought he heard a sigh of relief.

……

At 3 p.m., which was the originally scheduled time for the press conference.

Reporters gathered in the city hall's press conference room, waiting for the prosecutor to appear.

But the person who appeared on the podium was a spokesperson for the Attorney General's office.

"Ladies and gentlemen, due to new developments in the investigation, the prosecutor has decided to postpone today's press conference. The new time will be announced later."

The reporters immediately erupted in discussion:

"What new developments?"

"Is it related to Sean Penn?"

Why doesn't the chief prosecutor personally intervene?

However, the spokesperson did not answer any questions and left the scene even faster than the reporters.

Outside the city hall, Sean stood on the steps, facing another group of reporters.

"Mr. Pan, what are your thoughts on the postponement of the press conference?"

"I'm glad the prosecutor decided to handle this case more carefully," Sean said. "I've always believed the truth will eventually come to light."

"Did you reach some kind of agreement with the prosecutor?"

“There was no agreement,” Sean said. “I simply asked the prosecutor a few questions, and he decided not to rush to conclusions before answering them. That’s what a responsible prosecutor should do.”

"What's the problem?"

Sean's smile became meaningful.

"Well, you'll know after the investigation is over."

He turned and walked down the steps, disappearing into the crowd.

……

Ridtonhouse Square, the residence of Catherine Donovan.

Catherine stood by the window, watching the news report on television, her expression shifting between light and shadow.

"How did he do that?" she whispered.

Just then, her phone rang, quite by chance.

It was Richard Brennan.

"Catherine, I saw the news." Richard's voice also sounded unwell. "What happened to Harrison? Didn't he say everything was ready?"

“I don’t know,” Catherine said, “but Sean Penn met with Harrison this morning, and they talked for almost an hour.”

"What did you talk about?"

"I don't know. But after coming out, Harrison decided to postpone the press conference."

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

"Damn it, that bastard Harrison. I was wondering why he had to choose New Year's Day instead of a weekday!"

"Law enforcement is on holiday right now, whereas at this time normally he should be at his home in Harrisburg with his family, not just showing up there as if Sean Penn is coming to visit him in person!"

"And Sean Penn, he's more difficult to deal with than we thought," Richard finally cursed.

"So what should we do?"

"Hold your fire," Richard said. "Let's see what he does next. If he really has something on him, acting rashly will only make things worse."

"So we're just going to let him go like this?"

"It's not about letting him go, it's about waiting." Richard's voice turned somber. "Politics is a marathon, not a sprint. Winning this round doesn't mean he'll win in the end."

"We have plenty of time."