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

After leaving the police station, Sean did not go straight back to his office. Instead, he had Vincent drive him to an old apartment building in the West Side of Philadelphia.

Vincent knew exactly where he was.

This is where Thomas Reynolds lived before his death.

"Why did you suddenly decide to come here?" He looked at Sean sitting in the passenger seat.

"Mr. Carter, do you know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking it's time to put an end to Thomas's matter. I must clear my name, I..."

"You want to give a speech here?" Vincent interrupted Sean before he could finish speaking. He looked out the car window at the desolate streets, his brows furrowed. "Mr. Pan, this is too risky. The media will say you're profiting from tragedy."

At the same time, his favorability rating also slightly decreased.

"...If we just stand downstairs at his house and shout slogans, that would indeed be exploiting the dead." Sean looked at the sealed window. "But what if his neighbors invited me?"

"Neighbors? You mean Mr. and Mrs. Williams?"

"Yes, and I've met Marcus before at union events; he's a smart guy. He might understand what I'm trying to do," Sean thought. "We can also use this opportunity to unite more workers."

"That's something the union does, Pan..."

"Mr. Carter, do you think the union is doing a good job?" Sean asked with a wry smile. "I don't think so."

"No, you misunderstood..." Vincent explained, "I mean, you did union work, which is really..."

"I don't care whose job I took. There are plenty of people in this city whose jobs have been taken away, aren't there?" Sean laughed, but then his expression turned serious. "I'm asking you: Do you think the union is doing a good job?"

Vincent looked into Sean's eyes, which had suddenly become incredibly determined, and his heart began to waver.

Okay?

If things were truly good, they probably wouldn't have ended up together.

Isn't this exploiting the dead? His conscience was torn. But finally, that very night, Sean and Vincent knocked on the Williams's door.

The Black couple were surprised by Sean's late-night visit, but Marcus remained silent for a long time after hearing why he came.

"Thomas was a good man." Marcus sat on the sofa with a very complicated smile on his face. "He would never have thought of implicating innocent people, even until his death."

"I know," Sean nodded. "That's why I came. I don't want him to die an unjust death, to be used by the prosecution as a dead tool to attack me."

"What do you want us to do?" Gloria asked.

“Gloria, I hope you can hold a memorial service,” Sean said. “You can take the lead and gather some of Thomas’s old coworkers and neighbors, preferably including his ex-wife and children. Not for protest, but simply to remember him. And I, as someone who was also caught up in this mess… am invited to say a few words.”

Marcus glanced at Sean. "You're trying to clear your name, Mr. Pan."

At this moment, the number above his head is only [40].

Sean laughed; he was innocent all along!

But he didn't say that. Instead, he looked at Marcus and solemnly said, "I want to tell everyone: the Avalon Foundation is the murderer, not me."

Marcus finished his beer and crushed the can.

"Alright, then it's tomorrow afternoon. I'll call him over." His voice sounded somewhat unnatural. "But his ex-wife and children probably can't make it. After Thomas died, I heard they died in a car accident in New York State..."

……

The next afternoon, thirty or forty people gathered in the open space downstairs from the apartment building.

These people were mostly middle-aged or elderly, wearing old jackets, with rough skin and tired expressions. They were people left behind by the train of time, and also the Avalon Foundation's favorite prey.

Vincent stood on the periphery of the crowd, taking Matthew's place, adjusting the angle of his camera. This was something Sean had specifically instructed him to do; every shot could potentially become campaign material later.

Marcus stood on a makeshift platform, holding a megaphone.

“Brothers, neighbors,” Marcus said, “we’re gathered here today to say goodbye to Thomas. We all know him; he’s not a bad guy. He worked in front of the steel furnace for thirty years until those big shots shut down the factory and sold the machines overseas.”

A few low sighs came from the crowd.

"He made a mistake, yes. He dragged everyone into investing in that damn fund. But he lost his entire savings. He was driven to the brink, and in the end..." Marcus pointed upstairs, "he died in that cold, lifeless bathroom."

"Some people say he was an accomplice to a swindler, some say he was a coward. But in my eyes, he was just a brother who was defeated by life."

Marcus paused for a moment and looked at Sean standing to the side.

"There's one more person here today. He's also caught up in this mess. Some say he's a villain, some say he's a savior. I think we should let him come up here and tell everyone himself."

Sean decisively stepped forward and took the microphone.

Instead of wearing a suit, he opted for a dark jacket, making him look no different from the crowd around him.

However, as soon as he took the megaphone, discordant voices came from the crowd.

"Hey! You're Sean Penn?" a man shouted. "Thomas died because of you! How dare you show your face here?"

"Yes, those are people from Avalon! You're one of their accomplices!"

"Young people may be swayed by you, but we won't!"

The crowd began to stir, and several hostile gazes fell on Sean.

Sean didn't back down, nor did he get angry. He just stood there quietly, waiting for the noise to subside slightly before speaking.

"Yes, I am Sean Penn. Thomas did testify against me. Just days before his suicide, the prosecution wanted him to testify that I was the mastermind behind Avalon."

"But I'm standing here today not to defend myself, nor to argue."

Sean looked at each of those different yet similar faces.

"I'm here because, like Thomas, I'm a victim of this damn system."

Why did Thomas die? Was it because he was bad? No. It was because he was desperate. It was because society told him: You're old, you're useless, your pension isn't enough, and your only way out is to take a gamble.

"The Avalon Foundation took advantage of his desperation, drained him dry, and then threw him away like trash."

"This reminds me of someone else. A young man in New Jersey named Kevin Chen."

The crowd quieted down a bit when the name was mentioned. Everyone had seen the recent news.

"That young man shot the 76ers' president. Why? Because someone wanted to demolish his house, someone wanted to destroy his community. Like Thomas, he was cornered, with no way out."

"Thomas chose to hurt himself, and Chen Kaiwen chose to hurt others. But ultimately, what turned them into this is the same thing: arrogance, indifference, and the logic of 'your life or death is none of my business.'"

Sean's words struck a chord with everyone present.

"Some say Kevin Chen is a thug, some say Thomas is a fraud. But in my opinion, they are both lost people. This country should guide them, not drive them to despair!"

"What we need is redemption, not judgment! What we need is opportunity, not imprisonment! If we don't even give them a chance to repent, what's the difference between us and those cold-blooded machines?"

When the speech ended, there was no applause, only a heavy resonance in the audience.

That kind of resonance is more powerful than applause.

As the crowd slowly dispersed, Sean stepped down from the stage, and Marcus kindly handed him a bottle of water.

However, his favorability rating towards Sean remains at 40, indicating that he is still unwilling to trust others.

"Well said, lad." Marcus smiled at him. "You really have a way with words that can talk the dead back to life."

"If I had that ability, I would be Jesus." Sean took a sip of water.

"If you are, it's not impossible. The Bible teaches us that when the Lord appears before us, we must not tempt Him. Speaking of which, that part about salvation..." Marcus leaned against the wall and asked in a low voice, "Do you really believe, Mr. Pan? Do you really believe that people like Thomas, or that kid who fired the gun, still have a chance at salvation?"

"Why isn't there a chance?" Sean didn't answer directly, but instead asked, "If we don't even have this much hope, what's the point of us living?"

In fact, if you force him to answer, he wouldn't be able to come up with a single answer that he himself would be convinced of.

Marcus smiled, a smile that carried a hint of world-weary wisdom.

"Are you religious, Mr. Pan?"

"I'm a pragmatist."

Unexpectedly, the other person's favorability rating became [35].

To be honest, he's not a believer in God. But in that sense, he'd better convince others in this country that he does.

“In this country, pragmatism alone isn’t enough to become a big shot,” Marcus said, pointing upwards. “You need to have a god-like presence. Voters like to see their leaders in awe.”

"You mean going to church to put on a show?"

"No, that's too cliché." Marcus shook his head. "Do you know about the Fraternity Society?"

"I know. Pennsylvania was founded by William Payne and the Quakers."

“That’s right. They emphasize ‘inner light,’ avoiding all those tedious rituals. Everyone sits together in meditation, and whoever has an insight speaks up. They are a cradle of left-wing thought in Philadelphia,” Marcus analyzed like a seasoned political advisor. “This suits you well, Mr. Pan. It shows historical depth and fits your current image as a voice for the underdog. Moreover, it works very well in Pennsylvania.”

"A Quaker politician?" Sean laughed. "Sounds like I'm being asked to become a saint."

Not to mention that the Quakers have been declining day by day.

"You don't need to be a saint, just let people feel that you have light in your heart." Marcus patted him on the shoulder. "Think about it. God can sometimes be a political resource."

"I'll consider it. Thank you for your suggestion, Marcus."

Just then, a sudden screech of brakes shattered the tranquility of the alley.

Three police cars blocked the intersection, their red and blue lights glaringly bright in the dim twilight.

The car door opened, and Officer Daniel Brown stepped out with seven or eight fully armed police officers.

Clearly, this was no ordinary patrol; they had come prepared.

Vincent immediately stepped in front of Sean and shouted, "Officer Brown? What are you doing? A legitimate private memorial service has just ended here!"

Brown ignored Vincent and walked straight up to Sean.

"Sean Penn," Brown's voice was as cold as ice, "I'm not here to arrest you for illegal assembly. We've found something interesting, and we need you to come with us."

"Another investigation?" Sean looked at Brown, his face showing no panic. "Haven't I had enough coffee yet?"

"This time is different." Brown leaned closer and said in a voice only the two of them could hear, "This time, it's to get you to do us a favor. Or rather, to do yourself a favor."