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

Philadelphia, Chestnut Street, United League Club.

This red-brick building, constructed during the Civil War, has always been the backyard of the powerful class in Philadelphia and the surrounding towns.

At this very moment, Richard Brennan was standing on the second-floor terrace, swirling a half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand.

He wore a tailor-made gray suit, and there was nothing wrong with his physique or expression. He had been in Washington for many years, and even if he was cursing in his heart, he could still smile like a kind pastor.

"Have you heard about the latest developments in Washington?"

In the banquet hall behind them, several members of the Democratic Party were gathered together, talking in hushed tones.

"You mean the old president?" a voice murmured. "I heard the DNC (Democratic National Committee) has already held a private meeting. The old man's health... is really worrying. He can't even see the teleprompter clearly anymore, how can he run for office?"

"Then who should go? It seems I have no choice but to step in..."

"It's hard to say. Opinions within the party are very divided right now. Radicals want younger, more left-leaning faces, while the establishment wants more conservative options..."

Richard listened to this meaningless nonsense and sneered inwardly.

This is the current Donald Party – a bunch of headless flies buzzing around a cake that's about to go moldy. Or they post attention-grabbing remarks on social media to gain public support and echo their colleagues' sentiments.

Sigh, where have all the political elites of their era gone?

He turned around and walked into the hall.

His presence slightly quieted the previously noisy discussions. This was the intimidating power of seniority. Even though he had stepped down, with the mayor and other truly powerful Democrats absent, he could be considered a godfather figure in the Philadelphia Democratic Party.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Richard raised his glass, "we're not here tonight to gossip about Washington. Leave that to Politico."

"The Gospel of Matthew says: 'Every nation divided among itself will become a wasteland.' Isn't that true?"

"This is an election year. No matter who Washington puts in, we must be a united front. Our enemy is clear: the Republicans who want to take America back to the Middle Ages."

Everyone nodded and raised their glasses in agreement.

“However,” Richard’s originally gentle eyes turned serious, “before we fight against external enemies, we must first clean up our own backyard.”

His gaze swept through the crowd and landed on a woman in the corner.

Catherine Donovan.

This city councilor, who usually holds his head high like a fighting rooster, was unusually silent today.

"Our good sister, a leading figure of the younger generation, Congressman Donovan who always cared for the vulnerable," Richard's voice carried a hint of mockery, "has recently run into some big trouble."

All eyes in the room instantly focused on Catherine.

“Those reporters, like flies, are always swarming around her.” Richard walked over to Catherine and patted her on the shoulder like an elder. “They questioned her about whether she was involved in the embezzlement of government funds by community support centers across Pennsylvania. Even the White House is involved.”

Catherine didn't flinch; she simply looked up and gave a forced smile. "That's all slander, Richard. You know that."

"Of course I know," Richard said with a smile, but in his heart he was thinking:

You idiot, you've done such dirty work that you've been caught red-handed and you expect me to clean up your mess? Radicals are radicals, they do things so radically.

But he said, "Of course we believe in Catherine's innocence. However, public opinion doesn't rely on evidence. We need to help her through this difficult time."

"Is it Rachel Jones from the Los Angeles Times?"

In the crowd, a bald man with a large belly spoke up indignantly. He was a high-ranking official in the Philadelphia Port Authority.

"That bitch has too many problems! I thought she was only targeting the Republicans, but it turns out she's even targeting us, constantly reporting in the news that our accounts are flawed!" He scoffed. "Hmph, I have a few friends working in the Los Angeles news industry. With a little maneuvering, we can shut her up, or just send her back to her hometown!"

At that moment, a voice rang out.

"Rude."

Everyone looked in the direction of the sound and saw James Watkins walking over with a cane.

This Pennsylvania philanthropist, often referred to as an "outside Democrat," wields influence in Philadelphia comparable to that of the mayor, despite holding no public office. However, he appeared older since his last charity event at the Ritz-Carlton.

"Gentlemen, we're not the Mafia," Watkins coughed twice. "However, I also believe we should all stand together. We've watched Catherine grow up, and her vulnerable protection committee has helped many people. If she falls, Philadelphia's grassroots organizations will be severely damaged. That's bad for the election."

"Well said, James." Richard nodded in agreement.

However, a discordant voice suddenly broke in.

"Come on, Richard. And everyone else... um, the elders?"

The speaker was a man in his forties, dressed in a somewhat flamboyant bright blue suit with a gold chain around his neck. He was Derek Morrison, a well-known real estate developer in New Jersey and one of the Democratic Party's major donors.

What he and Watkins have in common is that they were both on Sean Penn's list and were both exposed.

Morrison was swirling his wine glass, his face full of disdain.

"I came all the way from New Jersey not to see you Philadelphians put on a show of being one big family, nor to see how you unite under the American flag."

He walked up to Richard and said without any politeness:

"The issue in New Jersey is also important! Don't forget, Pennsylvania is just a swing state, sometimes red, sometimes blue. But New Jersey is a Democratic stronghold! We're supplying the party headquarters with more money and votes!"

"These past few days, things have been in an uproar over there because of the 76ers!" Morrison became more and more excited as he spoke, his spittle practically flying out of his mouth.

"It's not just the government that's putting pressure on us business owners; we're under a lot of pressure too! That damned Sean Penn is stirring up public opinion like we're going to become Hitler and exterminate Asians!"

"Damn it, those rednecks are the ones who hate immigrants the most!"

"But what was the result?" Morrison continued with a sneer. "As far as I know, the Philadelphia city government gave in. That Mayor Howard, for the sake of so-called public opinion, actually let Sean Penn continue his actions. If it were me, I would have arrested him directly! Arrested him in jail!"

The atmosphere suddenly became awkward.

The group exchanged glances, some of them dissatisfied, but none of them dared to express it.

But Richard didn't care; he was a major financial backer of New Jersey, not theirs. The party spends so much money on New Jersey every year, and yet the city government almost caused another Chicago riot.

Whose fault is this?

"Damn nouveau riche," Richard cursed under his breath.

But his smile only widened. He stepped forward, gently placed his hand on Morrison's shoulder, and said in a soothing tone, like comforting a puppy:

"Derek, my friend, calm down."

"We all understand your anger. The Party has seen your sacrifices. But..."

"Politics is not business; you can't just look at immediate gains and losses. Philadelphia's concessions were a tactical retreat, not a strategic defeat."

In conclusion, the advantage still lies with me.

“That Sean Penn…” Richard laughed. “He’s jumping around a lot now, but he’s still just a clown. He thinks he can win with those little populist tricks? How naive.”

"We have prepared a great gift for him; leave everything to us."

Richard turned to face everyone and raised his glass.

"Everyone, whether it's Catherine's troubles or New Jersey's grievances, it all boils down to some rule-breakers who have broken the rules of the game."

"As the rule-makers, we have an obligation to teach these young people what respect means."

"Respect America."

"Respect America!" the crowd echoed in unison.

Richard tilted his head back and drank the wine in his glass in one gulp.

The spicy liquid slid down his throat, but his mind was no longer on it. Looking at the hypocritical faces, he suddenly asked Catherine beside him, "Um...where's George? Didn't he come?"

"You mean Mr. Kelly?"

"Ah, right! Where is he?"

He was trying to find that cunning political broker.

"Have you forgotten? He left the party a long time ago. I remember that was after the Occupy Wall Street movement..." Catherine said, at a time when she hadn't even joined the Democratic Party yet.

"Is that so?" Richard sighed. "I was counting on my old friend to help me deal with our enemy."