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

"Never plead guilty?"

McFarlane seemed unsurprised by the answer, but extremely uncomfortable with Sean's dismissive attitude. He pushed up his rimless glasses, trying to regain his composure.

At the same time, his liking for Sean immediately dropped to [0].

"Mr. Pan, I suggest you reconsider. This is your last chance. Once you enter the formal trial process, and the jury sees the images of those incited rioters, sees the 76ers president lying in a pool of blood... you won't just face community service, but up to ten years in federal prison."

"Ten years?" Sean exclaimed as if he'd heard a joke. "Mr. McFarlane, who are you trying to scare?"

"If the evidence you have is truly so conclusive, if the causal chain is as unbreakable as you claim, why would you travel all the way to Philadelphia to beg me to sign a plea agreement?"

If you want him to confess, go eat shit!

"You're afraid. You're afraid that if you go to court, you won't be able to prove a direct link between my statements and the shooting. You're afraid that the longer this case drags on, the more thoroughly the Camden city government's bluster and cowardice will be exposed!"

"And you, Mr. McFarlane. You and your backers won't make me abandon my supporters!"

"You..." McFarlane's expression changed, and he was about to retort when Sean interrupted him again.

"Enough!" La swung his hand sharply, his aura of a seasoned leader instantly exuding power. "Take your agreement and get out of my office!"

"Now! Immediately! Right now!"

This loud shout silenced the entire office for a moment.

McFarlane's face turned a deep shade of purple. He took a deep breath, grabbed his briefcase from the table, and gritted his teeth, saying, "You'll regret this, Sean Penn. This is a provocation against the justice system. We'll make you pay."

"The judicial system?" Sean sneered, pointing to the door. "Don't flatter yourself. You're nothing but a dog of the New Jersey prosecutor's office. Go back and tell your master, trying to force me to withdraw from the election using such underhanded tactics? Dream on!"

McFarlane then turned around awkwardly and walked out the door under Vincent's cold gaze.

With a bang, the door slammed shut, leaving only silence in the office.

After several seconds, Matthew cautiously spoke up: "Mr. Pan, weren't you being a bit too aggressive just now?"

"Aggressive? I don't think it's enough."

The anger on Sean's face vanished instantly, replaced by a gentle smile.

The recorder has recorded everything. As long as he finds a way to leak it, he can further build his anti-establishment image. Why not? Besides, he really enjoyed his rant just now!

No one can judge him, not even God.

History will declare him innocent.

"You really think he's here to uphold justice?" Sean continued in a nonchalant tone. "No, he's here to make a deal. This shows that New Jersey is getting anxious."

Vincent walked to the table: "Even so, it's not wise to completely enrage the prosecution. They might use every resource at their disposal against you now, even applying for an interstate arrest warrant."

"They won't," Sean shook his head. "If they were really confident, they would have acted already, instead of sending a special assistant here to waste time talking to me. I suspect there's a bigger conspiracy behind this."

"Carter, you may know a lot about the law. But politics is another matter."

Sarah, standing nearby, was puzzled: "What conspiracy?"

"Think about it, why are the New Jersey prosecutors so protective of the 76ers? Their owners haven't said anything, so why are they throwing all the dirty water on me?"

"Because I'm blocking too many people's way."

"It's not just New Jersey that's trying to save face; there are definitely people in Philadelphia cooperating with them too," Sean said, expressing his opinion. "Someone wants to completely ruin my political career. As long as I'm charged with a felony, even if I don't get convicted, my campaign is over. And I'll become a laughingstock."

Matthew gasped. "You mean... there are people within Philadelphia who want to kill you?"

"Yes, it could be Donovan, or it could be someone else? It could even be one of those people on my publicly available list. But there are no permanent enemies, only permanent interests." Sean gave a cold laugh. "But in any case, nobody wants to see an 'uncontrollable' independent candidate rise to power."

"So what do we do now?" Sarah asked anxiously. "We're completely surrounded."

After spending a long time together, she has come to regard herself as an official member of Sean's team.

"It's simple. First, we'll find the real culprit who attacked the police car, get our hands on that box of evidence, and the Pennsylvania charges will fall apart on their own. Then we can focus our efforts on the New Jersey prosecutors, and even..." Sean smiled confidently, "We can even turn the tables and drag all those hiding behind the scenes out into the sunlight."

"Chasing the killer?" Matthew narrowed his eyes. "What does that mean?"

"Mr. Carter, didn't you tell Sarah and Matthew?"

"Oh, I almost forgot... Matthew, Sarah, Mr. Pan plans to reach a verbal agreement with the police. I think it's generally fine, but it still needs some minor modifications..."

Vincent relayed what Sean had told him on the phone to Matthew and the other man, and Sean started to act before they could even process it.

"Come on, everyone. Stop spacing out." Sean clapped his hands. "We're a detective agency now. Get out all the files Brown gave me. We're not sleeping tonight, and of course, I'll pay you overtime."

For the next three hours, the campaign office was transformed into a makeshift command center.

The whiteboard was covered with photos, maps, and timelines. It contained all the information Officer Brown had provided, detailing everything about the armored carjacking on January 15th.

"It's spotless." Vincent stared at the crime scene reports. "These are professionals."

"Professionals also need to eat, sleep, and be employed." Sean's gaze swept back and forth across State Route 13 on the map.

Let's go back to where we started.

"Location of the incident: An abandoned industrial area on State Route 13. Date: Martin Luther King Jr. Day, January 15th."

"Brown said it was a blind spot for surveillance. There were no traffic cameras or business surveillance cameras."

"But..." Sean drew a large circle around the spot, "Is there really no one watching that place?"

"That area is an industrial zone. Although some parts have been abandoned, it is still an essential route for logistics and transportation."

A flash of inspiration struck Sean.

"Who knows the roads best? Who knows where there aren't surveillance cameras? Who would be on the road during a holiday?"

Sarah hesitated for a moment: "Truck driver?"

"Bingo!" Sean snapped his fingers. "Truck drivers! And all those blue-collar workers who drive big trucks and heavy pickups."

"That section of road is desolate for ordinary citizens, but for those who run transport, it's their backyard. They know where every pothole is and when the police will change shifts."

"And," Sean's eyes grew brighter, "even though it was a holiday, for many piece-rate delivery drivers, holidays mean fewer cars on the road and faster speeds. Someone must have passed by there, someone must have seen or heard something."

"But how do we find these people?" Matthew asked. "There are tens of thousands of registered truck drivers in Philadelphia. We can't possibly ask them all one by one, can we?"

“We don’t need to ask them one by one. We just need to find their leader, which is the union!” Sean shouted.

"The transport workers' union! This is our breakthrough!"

"Huh? A union?" Matthew looked at Sean, who was sounding excited. "Does that mean we'll have to deal with Donovan, or other politicians?"

“No, no, no,” Sean shook his head. “Matthew, you’re right. We do need to deal with unions, but not necessarily with those politicians in suits. Do you remember where we went on Martin Luther King Jr. Day?”

“We went to…” Matthew had a sudden inspiration, “We went to see Mr. Jerome Washington and ran into Mr. Marcus, who happened to be celebrating at the Transport Workers Union that day.”

Vincent, who was standing nearby, nodded. "That day was a Black holiday. Maybe the perpetrator was white?"

"It's too early to draw conclusions, but Mr. Marcus might be able to offer us some assistance..."