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

The campaign office was filled with a rich, sweet aroma of pineapple and ham.

Sarah was placing a huge pizza box on the table, her face full of disgust.

"Sir, your Hawaiian pizza," she said, carefully pushing the box towards Sean, pinching the edge between two fingers. "God, if I am guilty, let the law punish me, not let me see someone put pineapple on a pizza. That would be considered treason in Italy."

Sean, however, grabbed a piece without hesitation, took a big bite, and mumbled:

"This is America, Sarah. Here, the combination of pineapple and pizza is protected by the Constitution."

Of course, the U.S. Constitution protects many things, including him!

As he chewed, he turned to Vincent, who was frowning at the whiteboard, and his earlier joking expression vanished instantly.

"Mr. Carter, we need to talk about those cigarette butts. Are you listening?"

Vincent turned around. "You mean what you saw on the scene?"

“That’s right. There was a pile of cigarette butts there, mostly Marlboros, left by Brown and his white officers. But next to that pile of ‘police junk,’ I saw a few Newports.” Sean swallowed the food in his mouth. “Menthol cigarettes. You know what that means.”

"What does it mean?" Sarah asked curiously, though she was still trying not to look at the pizza.

“Sarah,” Sean held up one finger, “CDC data shows that over 80% of Black smokers prefer menthol cigarettes, especially Newport. Among white smokers, that figure is less than 30%.”

Vincent shook his head, clearly finding the deduction somewhat far-fetched: "Sean, that's a public road. Thousands of cars pass by every day, and any passing driver could easily throw a cigarette butt out the window. That doesn't directly mean the killer is Black."

"Besides," Vincent added, "they were a group of professional robbers who got it done in three minutes, leaving no fingerprints, no DNA. Do you really think people like that would make such a basic mistake as leaving a half-smoked cigarette butt at the crime scene?"

"Maybe it wasn't left at the time of the crime." Sean put down his pizza, wiped his hands, and said, "Brown once said, 'Criminals always return to the scene.' What if they went back sometime after the crime, or even after the police left? To check if anything was left behind, or simply to admire their 'masterpiece'?"

"Did you tell Brown about this idea?" Vincent asked.

“No.” Sean smiled. “I’m not that stupid. Brown is a megalomaniac. If I told him directly, ‘Hey, go check out the Black community,’ he would think I was telling him what to do, or even that I was a racist. But I gave him enough hints. He’s a jerk, but he still has the instincts of a veteran detective. Once that seed was planted, he would definitely check that pile of cigarette butts.”

"But I'm not sure if the evidence I find will be in my favor, and I don't dare to touch the evidence casually." Sean's smile didn't look so good for a moment.

After saying that, he stood up and walked to the whiteboard, where he drew a question mark heavily under the suspect column.

"I think the suspect is very likely Black, and very likely a member of the transport workers' union. This explains why they are so familiar with the roads and know where the surveillance blind spots are."

“More importantly,” Sean looked intently at Vincent, “if the killer really is a union member, then the union gathering on Martin Luther King Jr. Day becomes a huge, natural alibi. ‘Oh, we were celebrating the holiday that day, hundreds of people were together’—what a perfect cover.”

"That might explain why Marcus ran so fast today."

"You suspect Marcus?" Vincent's voice held a hint of disbelief. "Sean, I spoke to Marcus on the phone when Thomas died. He's an upright man, always fighting for his coworkers' rights. I don't believe he'd be involved in such a serious crime as assaulting a police officer."

"I didn't say he was the mastermind, nor did I say he was necessarily guilty. I just had suspicions." Sean spread his hands. "Isn't suspecting everything a lawyer's professional instinct?"

“Besides, I really need that list.” Sean’s tone hardened. “I need to know exactly who was at the union that day, and whether anyone happened to be absent, or ‘happened’ to leave for a while. Marcus’s attitude is ambiguous right now; he promised to give me the list, but then made excuses to slip away. This isn’t normal.”

"Should we go to him?" Vincent asked.

"No, that would alert him." Sean shook his head. "If he really has something to hide, our visit will only force him to destroy the evidence. If he's being threatened, our visit will only harm him."

"You've already treated him as a suspect," Vincent sighed.

"Hmm... I was at the union that day, and I saw him with my own eyes. Looking at the timeline, he was giving a speech not far from me during those three minutes of the attack. He could not possibly be one of the four masked gunmen. But he might have been aware of the situation, or even an accomplice in some way."

"Okay." Vincent rubbed his temples. "Assuming your reasoning is correct, the perpetrators were from the union. Then who was behind it all? Who ordered these truck drivers to rob the police car? What were they after? That box of evidence was worthless to them."

"Richard Brennan," Sean uttered a name.

"Brennan?" Vincent was stunned. "That retired senator? That's too..."

"That's ridiculous!" Sean sneered. "But someone hinted at it to me. However, I don't have any political figures in my circle. Even someone as powerful as Musk doesn't have much contact with Pennsylvania bureaucrats, so he's not transparent to us, and I have no way of confirming any of this."

Sean sat back down in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

"They stole the evidence not to destroy it, but to frame me. They wanted this box of evidence to 'disappear forever' and then claim that I hired someone to do it. That way, I would never be able to clear my name. Even if there is no evidence to convict me in the end, the public will still think that I definitely have a problem."

Who would want to hear a person with a criminal record clarify their actions? He has already pulled the "retirement" trick time and time again, and cannot afford to arouse public hostility or suspicion once more.

"But public opinion is still on your side, Pan," Vincent comforted him. "You have a high approval rating online."

"I know. But public opinion is like a weather vane; it can be manipulated." Sean's eyes darkened. "Just one piece of solid evidence, or a lie that looks like solid evidence, and the wind will shift instantly. Right now, the Pennsylvania prosecutors only think I'm a suspect, and I can still move around freely. But what if they actually fabricate some false evidence and nail me to the ground..."

"So what can we do now?" Sarah asked with some concern.

"Wait." Sean glanced at his phone. "Wait for Marcus's list. Or, wait for Brown's investigation results. As long as we can clear up this suspicion, I can free up my hands to deal with those bastards in New Jersey."

He picked up another slice of Hawaiian pizza and took a big bite, as if he were biting the throat of an enemy.

"Mr. Carter, you said you have a good friend named Charles in the police force, is that right?"

“Yes,” Vincent replied, then, knowing what he was thinking, “I’ll get him to help. Brown has absolutely no way of twisting the evidence.”

Sean nodded and said, "Thank you."

"By the way, I've already spoken to Brown. I'm willing to publicly announce my cooperation with the police, which will put pressure on the suspects. Only when they're thrown into disarray will we have any leads."

"Yes, I understand," Vincent said. "But what if they're no longer in Philadelphia?"

"As long as we know who they are, it's secondary whether they're in Philadelphia or not."

"Are you planning to have Matthew make this video?"

"Oh no, I'll hold a press conference in a few days to let the public know that I'm going to cooperate with the police as necessary." Sean scratched his head. "As for Matthew... I plan to have him recruit people!"