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

Half an hour later, Sean, Matthew, and Vincent stood at the door of Thomas's apartment.

The police tape has been removed, but a seal is still affixed to the door.

A young policeman stood in the doorway. He paused, looking at Sean. "You're Sean Penn?"

Yes, it's the real deal.

"The prosecutor has called." The policeman tore off the seal, opened the door, and said, "You have one hour."

The chief prosecutor certainly can't directly mobilize the police, but he can use his connections to persuade their superiors. And as everyone knows, the police are all very simple-minded, born to serve their country loyally.

"Thank you," Sean said, then went into the apartment.

This is a very small studio apartment with sparse furniture, and even the paint on the walls is peeling off.

The bathroom door was open, and Sean could see the bathtub inside.

The bathtub was empty, but some water stains remained on the tiles.

"Let's split up and search," Sean said. "Matthew, you're in charge of the bedrooms. Mr. Carter, you're in charge of the living room. I'll go to the bathroom."

The three people began their search.

Sean went into the bathroom, crouched down, and carefully examined the area around the bathtub.

The edge of the bathtub was smooth, with no signs of struggle. There were also few water stains on the floor, which likely indicated that the floor was dry before Thomas entered the bathtub.

Sean then stood up and opened the bathroom cabinet. Inside were some everyday items: a toothbrush, toothpaste, a razor, and a few bottles of medicine.

Sean picked up one of the bottles of medicine and looked at the label.

"Clonazepam."

This is a sedative, commonly used to treat anxiety and insomnia.

Sean opened the bottle; there were a few pills left inside.

He put the bottle back in the cabinet and continued his search.

Just then, he noticed a small gap under the bathtub.

Sean crouched down and put his hand into the gap.

He touched something hard.

He pulled hard and yanked the thing out.

It was a cell phone.

A cell phone that has been soaked in water.

"Found it." Sean stood up and held up his phone.

Vincent and Matthew came over immediately.

"Is this Thomas's phone?" Vincent asked.

"You're actually asking me? Aren't you his lawyer?" Sean sighed, then tried pressing the power button, but the phone didn't respond. "Damn it. It got wet, it probably won't turn on."

"I know a friend who knows how to fix phones," Matthew said. "Maybe he can recover the data."

"Matthew, I didn't know you had such a wide network of connections. Let's go find that expert now." Sean carefully put his phone into his pocket.

Vincent, staring at the still-dripping phone in Sean's hand, suddenly interrupted:

"Something's not right."

"What's wrong?" Sean asked, as he tried to wipe the water stains off the screen with his sleeve.

"While the Philadelphia Police Department's investigation unit may not be the top in the federal government, they're not completely blind either," Vincent said, pointing to the gap under the bathtub. "In a tiny studio apartment of only 20 square meters, in a bathroom that was clearly the primary crime scene, how could they possibly have missed a cell phone? Unless they didn't want to find it at all, or..."

"Or was the phone put there later?" Matthew chimed in.

“Anything is possible.” Vincent’s voice turned stern. “But whatever the truth is, Mr. Pan, I must warn you now as your lawyer. In Pennsylvania, moving, taking away, or concealing evidence related to a criminal case without authorization is obstruction of justice, a felony. If we walk out of this door with this phone now, and we’re caught, you’ll be spending the rest of your life in jail, and you won’t even need to fill out the presidential candidacy vetting.”

Sean's hand froze in mid-air. He looked at the phone, then at Vincent's serious face.

He knew Vincent had a point. After all, in the American legal system, procedural justice is sometimes more important than substantive justice. Evidence obtained through illegal means, no matter how convincing, may be excluded by the court.

"So we should put it back?"

"If you don't want to give Attorney General Harrison a pretext to arrest you, this is the best you can do."

"I believe that it's only illegal or criminal when it's discovered. But before that, let's put it back where it was." Sean weighed the options for a few seconds before finally bending down and stuffing the phone back into the dark, damp crevice.

Vincent's words do make sense, and maybe someone is deliberately trying to frame him?

Of course, just to be on the safe side, Sean had Matthew take a few more photos of the phone's location...

"It seems we can only hope that some police officers with a change of heart will come back and conduct another search."

"Don't worry, I will use all my methods to make this phone a reliable piece of evidence."

Finally, he sighed helplessly.

The three of them returned to the small space of the living room.

A reality was laid out before them: the trail seemed to have gone cold.

"However, we need to re-examine the conclusion of 'suicide'," Sean broke the silence. "I just saw clonazepam in the bathroom."

“Anxiety medication,” Matthew said. “I think that makes sense. Thomas has been under tremendous pressure lately. Debt, testifying in court, being exposed by the media. Maybe he just couldn’t take it anymore, took a handful of pills, and then…fell asleep in the bathtub.”

"If that's the case, it's still suicide. It's just drowning aided by drugs."

"Not entirely." Vincent shook his head. He walked to the bathroom door, picked up the medicine bottle, and said, "If it were a drug overdose leading to unconsciousness and drowning, a forensic toxicology test would easily detect it. But that only shows he was under a lot of mental stress, not that he was forced into it."

Vincent shook the medicine bottle, and the pills inside rattled against the bottle, making a clear, clattering sound, suggesting a considerable quantity.

"Matthew, pour it out and count it." Vincent handed the medicine bottle to Matthew.

Matthew was a little confused, but he did as instructed. He poured the pills onto the coffee table and began counting them one by one.

Vincent then took out his phone and pulled up Thomas's information.

“As his lawyer, I have copies of his medical records.” Vincent’s finger slid across the screen. “Thomas was diagnosed with severe anxiety two months ago. The doctor prescribed clonazepam, one tablet a day, to be taken before bed. This bottle of medicine was… prescribed on the 15th of last month, a total of sixty tablets.”

"Forty-two pieces," Matthew finished counting. "There are forty-two pieces left."

Vincent narrowed his eyes as he quickly calculated the days in his mind.

"What's the date today?"

"What other date is Martin Luther King Jr. Day? January 15th," Sean replied.

"Hmm, it's been exactly a month since the prescription was given." Vincent looked at the small white pills on the coffee table. "If he had taken his medication on time, there should have been only about thirty pills left in the bottle. But now there are twelve more."

"That means he stopped taking his medication," Sean reacted quickly. "About twelve days ago."

“Twelve days ago…” Vincent looked up. “That was around the time I was assigned to be his lawyer, and also around the time he decided to testify in court.”

"A person with severe anxiety disorder suddenly stops taking their medication when facing the greatest pressure of their life?" Sean countered. "That doesn't make sense. Unless someone tells them or forces them to stay awake."

"Or someone convinced him that as long as he stopped taking the medication, as long as he did what they said, everything would be fine." Vincent's voice lowered. "This isn't simple suicide. Nor is it the kind of murder where a gun is pointed at your head."

The lawyer carefully put the pills back into the bottle.

“This must have been a cover-up,” Vincent said. “They cornered him. They exploited his fear, his debt, and perhaps even his hope.”

"For someone who is under constant pressure and on the verge of a mental breakdown, death can become a relief with just a gentle push or even just a suggestion."

"That's even more vicious than killing him outright." Matthew felt a chill run down his spine after hearing Vincent's guess.

"And it's even harder to convict someone that way." Vincent put the medicine bottle back in its place. "Legally, proving 'incitement to suicide' or 'death by psychological pressure' is extremely difficult, especially when the perpetrator has power and resources."

“But this also proves one thing.” Sean turned to the other two. “Thomas isn’t the mastermind. He’s just a pawn being used. And the one who really wants to bring me down is hiding in the shadows, thinking he’s done it perfectly.”

"Since we can't take the phone or touch the medicine bottle," Sean straightened his collar. "Then let's look for any living clues."

"You mean...?"

"Gloria said that Thomas was brought into the Avalon Foundation by a friend, and later he went to California to do promotions." Sean thought about this point. "There are always people who haven't died in that chain of interests. As long as you're human, you'll have weaknesses, and you'll speak up."

"Let's go, we don't have much time left."

The three left the apartment, which reeked of death. As Sean stepped out of the building, he glanced back at the tightly closed window on the third floor.