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

“I’m going with you.” Vincent frowned, looking at the two men. “This is an unofficial summons, Mr. Pan. I have the right to be present, and even more so, the right to demand an arrest warrant. If they don’t have one, I have the right to take you away right now.”

Officer Brown didn't even glance at the lawyer, merely letting out a snort from his nose. "Mr. Carter, perhaps your client doesn't see it that way..."

At the same time, Sean patted Vincent's hand.

"It's alright, Mr. Carter," Sean's voice was calm and even. "Go back to your office and wait for me. Or go buy me dinner? I guess the police station should have enough coffee, but maybe not sandwiches."

"But……"

"Go back." Sean gave him a look, a look that held no pleading, only a certain certainty.

Vincent understood that look. It was an employer's command to the lawyer, but also a display of confidence. He hesitated for a moment, then finally released his grip and took a step back.

"Keep your phone on," Vincent concluded. "If I don't hear from you within two hours, I'll contact the media directly."

"rest assured."

After that, Sean said nothing more, opened the car door, and got into the back seat. Brown also returned to his driver's seat.

With a dull thud as the car door closed, the interior instantly became a sealed-off world. A wire mesh separated the back seats from the front, and Sean silently pondered Brown's purpose.

An intuition told him that Brown needed his help this time.

But what exactly was the request? Before he could figure it out, the police car started and slowly drove away from the old neighborhood.

Brown looked at Sean through the rearview mirror, a rather sincere smile spreading across his face.

"I must say, that speech was truly brilliant," Brown said as he drove. "'...Tsk tsk, I was almost moved to tears. You were born for this, Mr. Pan. That kind of charisma, that ability to control a crowd's emotions—in my twenty years in the police force, I've never seen anyone with your skills.'"

Sean looked at the seemingly smiling eyes in the rearview mirror, then slowly moved his gaze upwards: the number above Daniel Brown's head was still a cold [-45].

"Officer Brown," Sean sneered, "there are no cameras here, and no superiors. Forget the empty pleasantries. Looking at those numbers, I feel tired just looking at you."

Brown's smile froze for a second in the rearview mirror before slowly fading away.

"Alright." Brown's voice regained its unfriendly gritty tone. "Since you're a smart man, I'll be blunt: we need your help."

"Help?" Sean laughed as if he'd heard the funniest joke in the world. "Police asking suspects for help? That's a new concept. What, do you want me to write your confessions?"

“Don’t be so quick to refuse, Pan,” Brown said, signaling as the car turned onto a main road. “You can use your influence. Don’t you claim to represent public opinion? Don’t you have a huge, enthusiastic following? Let them dig. Let them turn Philadelphia upside down.”

"I don't understand you."

"That gang that attacked the police car and stole the evidence," Brown said. "We've been searching for a month with nothing. But the power of the internet is immense, right? Just post something online, offer a reward, call for justice, and let your followers check CCTV footage, dashcam footage, and witnesses in the area. Even if they can't find the real culprit, the sheer scale of this city-wide manhunt will put enormous psychological pressure on that bastard who's still at large."

"Are you kidding me? You want me to launch an online riot? Or assemble an unregulated civilian riot squad? If something goes wrong, won't I be the one to take the blame again?" Sean frowned.

“You don’t have to do that,” Brown said, seemingly anticipating his rebuttal. “You can also contribute your intellect. I think you’re quite intelligent; you even speak Chinese, don’t you? If you’re a mystery fan, you might be interested in the police department’s files.”

Sean watched the street scenes rushing past the window, his mind racing with calculations.

"Even if I find some evidence, will the police accept it? Will you drop the charges against me?"

"Ahem, Pan. It's not unprecedented for suspects to assist police investigations. Have you seen 'The Silence of the Lambs'...?"

"Are you fucking messing with me?"

"Don't get so worked up," Brown sneered. "You know former Illinois House Speaker Michael Medigan, right? Federal prosecutors have been investigating him for corruption for at least a few years. And they offered one of Michael's political associates, Danny Solis, a deal in exchange for his involvement in the investigation. The details of the deal are unknown, but I heard it involved the federal government dropping the criminal charges against him!"

"So, it's just 'hearsay'? Please, Brown! Can you persuade the prosecutor to drop the charges against me?"

"I'll try my best..."

With that kind of authority, he can't possibly give any orders at all!

"In short, the police are willing to cooperate with you. You want to get rid of the charges, and I want to solve the case. That's it," Brown said, feigning sincerity.

"What if I don't agree?" Sean asked softly again. "What will you do? Continue to pin the 'self-directed and self-acted' label on me? Or will you drag this case indefinitely?"

He can't leave Pennsylvania freely now, and if prosecutors and police do so, it seems he'll have to conduct this year's election remotely.

For someone running for public office, having an unresolved serious crime charge on their record, even just a suspicion, is enough to deter many swing voters.

However, Brown didn't say anything, but gave him a knowing look through the rearview mirror.

"How could that be? This is a society governed by the rule of law and based on evidence," Brown said casually. "However, investigations are indeed lengthy processes. Sometimes three years, sometimes five. Who knows?"

"If you really don't want to, I can pull over right now and let you out."

As he spoke, the police car slowed down, seemingly waiting for Sean's decision.

Sean looked at the dimly lit road ahead.

Brown didn't explain his purpose at first, but instead lured him into the car, gradually throwing out threats in that cramped, enclosed space. This kind of invisible psychological pressure is indeed a veteran detective's tactic.

If he doesn't cooperate, this case will be a quagmire that will keep him stuck in it until the election is over.

But if we cooperate...

"Think about it, Mr. Pan," Brown said, adding fuel to the fire when he saw his silence. "If you really help the police solve the case and catch the real culprit who attacked the police, then you won't be a suspect anymore; you'll be a hero. You'll be Philadelphia's Sherlock Holmes. Wouldn't that be the best way to end your campaign?"

"At that point, even I will have to give you a Good Citizen Medal."

Sean weighed the pros and cons in his mind.

This is very risky for him. What if what they find out is actually detrimental to him? Or what if it's another trap set by the police?

For example...

Is this guy trying to lure me into this trap and then wipe me out in one fell swoop?

But to take it to an extreme, if he really discovers any evidence that is detrimental to him, wouldn't he be able to destroy it instead?

However, Brown wasn't wrong either; the truth coming out would benefit him immensely. Not only would it completely clear him of suspicion, but he could also turn the tables and transform the case into political capital.

Passive waiting will only make the situation worse.

"Don't give me empty promises, Brown," Sean finally spoke. "I want to see the files. If you don't even have this much sincerity, then don't even think about cooperating."

Brown whistled, stepped on the gas, and the police car accelerated again.

"make a deal."

……

Twenty minutes later, Philadelphia Police Headquarters.

It was already past closing time, and the main office of the Major Crimes Unit was empty, with only a few computer screens still dimly lit.

Brown led Sean into a conference room, casually pulled the blinds shut, and then took a thick stack of documents from a filing cabinet and slammed them onto the table.

"This is what you wanted."

Sean casually flipped to the top report.

"Keep it simple," Sean asked as he looked at the document. "Don't use any bureaucratic language."

Brown pulled out a chair, sat down, lit a cigarette, and took a deep drag.

"The incident occurred on the morning of January 15, Martin Luther King Jr. Day."

"It was a public holiday that day, and there were very few cars on the road." Brown pointed to a spot on the map. "The destination of the transport vehicle was a handwriting analysis center in Philadelphia. The vehicle was carrying a box of documents that had been seized from a secret office of the Avalon Foundation."

"It is said that there are several key confidentiality agreements inside, with your signature on them: supposedly, that is irrefutable evidence that you were aware of the situation."

Sean listened expressionlessly, as if the evidence had nothing to do with him.

"There were two police officers in the escort vehicle, and they were traveling on State Route 13." Brown drew a line on the map with his finger. "The accident happened just as they entered Philadelphia and passed through that abandoned industrial area."

"According to the dashcam, a heavy pickup truck suddenly rammed the armored vehicle from the side, overturning it onto the side of the road. Immediately afterwards, two motorcycles rushed out, along with four masked men armed with automatic rifles."

"They didn't kill anyone; they just knocked the officer unconscious with the butt of their gun. Then they used a cutting machine to cut open the back door and took the box containing the documents. The whole process took less than three minutes."

"By the time reinforcements arrived, they had vanished. And we couldn't find the vehicle at all."

Sean looked at the photos of the scene: the overturned armored truck, the shards of glass scattered all over the ground, and the cut-open back door.

Doesn't this clearly show that someone provided the intelligence?

"Aren't there any security cameras?"

"No." Brown exhaled a smoke ring. "That section of road is a blind spot for surveillance cameras. There are no traffic cameras, and no shops open around. It's the perfect ambush point."

"Moreover, they chose to strike on Martin Luther King Jr. Day, clearly having calculated that police presence would be relatively lax that day and there would be the fewest witnesses on the streets."

"So only that box was taken?" Sean asked again.

"Yes. There was other physical evidence in the car, even officers' service weapons, but they didn't touch them."

“That’s interesting,” Sean said. “If I had hired someone, I would have taken that box to destroy evidence. But this is so obvious, it’s practically telling the whole world that I have a guilty conscience.”

"You suspect someone is framing you?" Brown laughed. "No matter how much you suspect, you need solid evidence! If you agree to cooperate, I can allow you to participate deeply in the investigation."

"...Okay." Sean stopped and turned to look at Brown. "I agree to cooperate for now. We'll sign a formal contract after I speak with my lawyer."

"Of course, I have a few more conditions."

Brown stubbed out his cigarette. "Speak."

"First, I need absolute information sharing. Any new leads you find must be reported to me immediately. I don't want to be the last person to know what I'm 'investigating'."

"Can."

"Secondly, you cannot interfere with my investigative methods. I may use some... unofficial channels. As long as I don't break the law, you should turn a blind eye."

Brown frowned, but nodded nonetheless. "As long as you don't kill anyone or blow up the city, I can agree to anything you want."

"It's not like you promised me; I need the police chief's personal signature!" Sean said firmly.

"You... fine, go on!" Brown's face darkened.

"Third, if I do find that box, or catch the real culprit, I want the Philadelphia Police Department to hold a press conference and publicly acknowledge my innocence."

"And...you have to personally award me that damn Good Citizen Medal."

"You're a born politician. Even at a time like this, you still find time to put on a show." Brown was amused by him again.

"You're not bad either, Mr. Brown. You're a natural-born cop, making use of every resource that can help solve the case."

After a nauseating exchange of flattery, the two were left with only awkward laughter. Once the laughter subsided, Brown extended his hand to Sean.

"Deal! If you can solve the case, I'll do anything for you, forget medals, I'll even shine your shoes." He looked at Sean. "Pleasure doing business with you?"

However, Sean did not shake his hand; he simply picked up the copy of the dossier and stuffed it into his jacket.

"Keep your shoe polish, Officer Brown. I'm leaving!"