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

1515 Cherry Street, Rhys Street Meeting Room.

Although the place is located in the city center, the courtyard enclosed by the red brick wall is like a barrier, completely isolating it from the noisy traffic of the racetrack street outside.

When Sean pushed open the door and walked in, he felt as if he had traveled from the modern city back to Philadelphia three hundred years ago, giving him a nostalgic feeling.

However, today is Friday, neither a Sunday nor a special holiday, so there are not many people in the hall. Only two or three people are scattered around, as if they are daydreaming or meditating.

Sean spotted Marcus sitting in the corner immediately.

The union member has his eyes closed and his hands on his knees.

Sean walked over and coughed lightly.

Marcus opened his eyes and wasn't too surprised to see Sean, because Vincent had told him beforehand that they would come to him for the so-called clues. However, he simply pointed to the empty seat next to him, indicating that he should sit down, and then said in a low voice, "No loud noises here, Mr. Pan. We need to listen to our inner voices."

"Marcus, I'm sorry to interrupt your meditation," Sean said in a similarly low voice, "but I'm really puzzled. It's Friday, there shouldn't be any prayer meetings here, what are you doing here?"

“Sometimes when I’m feeling overwhelmed, I need to come here to calm down,” Marcus sighed. “But you, Mr. Pan, what brings you here? You can’t possibly be planning to convert to God, can you?”

Sean didn't beat around the bush and went straight to the point.

"We can talk about faith later; I need a list right now."

"What list?"

"A list of everyone who attended the union gathering on January 15th, Martin Luther King Jr. Day. More importantly, a list of who wasn't at the union that day, who was out driving, and who took sick leave."

Marcus's brow furrowed instantly.

"What are you investigating, Mr. Pan? Are you suspecting my brothers?"

[30], his favorability rating became [30].

"You know I'm investigating the attack on police officers on Martin Luther King Jr. Day, right?" Sean looked at him earnestly. "Marcus, someone took advantage of the slow traffic that day and pulled off a big heist. That person knows the roads well and the blind spots of the surveillance cameras. I don't want to suspect the union brothers, but only through elimination can we clear everyone's name."

"You should have called the police. Oh no, you've already made a deal with the police, haven't you?" Marcus became wary, this reminded him of what happened last night.

"I do have some contact with the police, but I still maintain my wild side," Sean said earnestly.

Marcus fell silent, seemingly struggling with his inner conflict.

Finally, he let out a long sigh.

"Okay. I was the organizer of the event that day, so I do have a sign-in sheet," Marcus said. "Wait here for me for a bit, I'm going to the restroom and make a call to have someone send me the record."

"You have my phone number, right?"

"Yes, Mr. Carter told me."

"Then give me your phone number."

"No problem," Sean said decisively, and the other party turned and left. His favorability towards the other party remained unchanged, but his steps seemed somewhat heavy.

Sean watched his retreating figure, pondered for a while, then sat listlessly on the bench and began to look around.

This church is indeed unusually quiet. It seems that the Quakers have indeed declined. But then again, how can such a niche sect compare to Catholicism?

Just then, an old man sitting on the bench to his right suddenly put down the Philadelphia Inquirer he had been holding, revealing a wrinkled face.

"Have you found your friend yet, child?"

The sudden sound startled Sean.

He turned his head sharply and found that the old man was like a puppet, sitting there motionless, and he couldn't even hear him breathing.

He'd seen this person before!

At the charity gala at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel that very day, an old man inexplicably recited a bunch of famous quotes to him.

"Mr. Kelly?" Sean recognized him. "What are you doing here? Philadelphia is so small."

George Kelly folded the newspaper, placed it on his lap, and gave a knowing smile.

"Philadelphia is indeed small, too small to keep secrets," Kelly said casually. "But today's meeting is no coincidence. I came with you."

"Tracking?" Sean raised an eyebrow. "That's quite a unique hobby of yours."

"To be precise, I live nearby. I saw you rushing into the synagogue on the street corner, so I followed you in." Kelly pointed to his eyes. "You're quite the celebrity in Philadelphia lately, no, you're a big shot all over the country. I'm curious if you're here to seek support from religious forces."

Sean glanced instinctively at the top of the other person's head.

【65】

It's that tall?

So he relaxed a bit, "You're wondering if I would really believe in God for the sake of votes?"

“In fact,” Kelly shook his head, “I’m equally curious about just how much a young man who suddenly appears out of nowhere can stir up this stagnant pool.”

"So you chased him all the way to the meeting hall just for this?"

“I come here often.” Kelly glanced around. “It’s a good place, not only quiet, but also… very quiet.”

"And perhaps there's a religious reason too?" Sean chuckled.

“No, no, no, I’m an atheist,” Kelly laughed. “But Quaker assemblies are very open; they don’t force you to believe anything. As long as you’re willing to sit down, shut your mouth, and listen to the voice in your head, they welcome you.”

"Do you know the difference between a church and a meeting house? Quakers believe that God does not live in a temple built by human hands, but in the heart of man. Therefore, the building itself has no sacredness. It is just a place to shelter from the wind and rain and a place for people to gather."

"That's quite accommodating," Sean shrugged. "But I'm not here to listen to the voice in my head; I'm here to ask a friend for help."

"Oh? What kind of help?"

"You've crossed a line, sir." Sean narrowed his eyes warily. "How can I be sure you weren't sent by those Democrats to trick me? After all, you're an insider, aren't you?"

Kelly looked at Sean, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes smoothing out like an old fox spotting interesting prey. "You checked my identity later?"

Sean remained silent.

"Even if you don't do that, it's fine, because I've said it before: you have a real talent for judging people, child. You can tell at a glance who the wolf is and who the sheep is."

At the same time, his favorability rating increased by [5] points.

"To prevent you from calling your friends over and using force against this old man, I'll give you a heads-up: it's not me who's trying to ambush you. It's Richard Brennan," Kelly said jokingly.

"Richard Brennan?" Sean repeated. "I know this guy, but I've never dealt with him personally? What grudge do I hold against him?"

"Because you're a paranoid person who's unwilling to cooperate with them, you rejected the Democrats' friendship, didn't you?"

Ah...it seems to be related to Donovan...

"In addition, you can also check how many friends he has with the New Jersey prosecutors."

"I see."

No wonder the New Jersey prosecutors are so persistent in their pursuit of him; it turns out there's someone pulling the strings behind the scenes.

"Why are you telling me this?" Sean stared into Kelly's eyes. "Why are you helping me?"

"I want to see how far you can go." Kelly leaned back in her chair, resuming her puppet-like posture. "Besides, although we're not friends, we have a common enemy."

"An enemy? Aren't you a member of the Democratic Party?"

"I'm not anymore," Kelly's voice held a chill. "Or rather, I never was. I've been abandoned by the times. The Donald Party has changed, but you give me a glimmer of hope..."

It feels like he might quote some English poetry at any moment to express his personal experiences...

Sean was about to ask another question when his phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket.

It's Marcus.

Sean answered the phone: "Hey? Mr. Marcus, have you got the list?"

Marcus's somewhat hurried and embarrassed voice came from the other end of the phone: "I'm sorry, Mr. Pan. There's a sudden emergency at home, and my wife wants me to go back right away. I have to go now."

"What? You're still in the assembly hall?"

"I'm out now, driving. As for the list... I'll send it to you later."

"Beep beep beep..."

The phone hangs up.

"Your friend stood you up?" Kelly suddenly asked, as if she had expected this.

"Yes, he said there was an emergency at home." Sean put away his phone.

"Then they wouldn't be true friends." Kelly shook her head, her tone indifferent. "A true friend shouldn't leave you at a time like this. Even if the sky were to fall, they should give you what they promised first."

Sean looked at the mysterious old man, his heart filled with mixed feelings.

"Sir, you're really being too long-winded." Sean stood up. "But thank you for the information. I have to go now, to catch up with that friend of yours who you said wasn't so sincere."

He paused, then said, "Since we have a common enemy, how about we exchange contact information? I think I'll have many things to ask you in the future."

Kelly picked up the newspaper, held it up in front of her again, and used it to cover her face.

"I never remember my own phone number."

You're insane!

George Kelly's voice came from behind the newspaper:

"If you survive this, we'll meet again, child. Go, and don't let the trail go cold."

Sean looked at the newspaper, shook his head helplessly, turned around and strode out of the hall.