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

In a corner of the underground parking lot, Vincent was analyzing the documents in his hands with great enthusiasm.

"Although Pennsylvania is a traditional industrial state, the protection of union rights has actually regressed in recent years," Vincent said, pointing to a court record. "Especially regarding the 'arbitrary dismissal' clause, employers have a lot of room to maneuver. This has led to many transportation workers having to accept harsh schedules and low wages in order to keep their jobs."

"This creates a vicious cycle," Vincent continued. "Workers feel exploited, but legal recourse is blocked, so some people take risks and engage in gray-area activities to make quick money. Like smuggling, or like this time, taking on 'dirty jobs'?"

But what kind of dirty work involves murder and robbery?

Brown listened, yawning repeatedly. His attention wasn't on the legal texts at all; he was glued to a video on his tablet.

That was a video recording of a union meeting provided by Marcus and others.

"God, why do they all look the same?" Brown couldn't help but complain. "All black jackets, jeans, and that damn low-resolution camera. How am I supposed to tell them apart?"

Sean glanced at the screen, ignoring the racially stereotypical remark, and simply said:

"Even if you can find everyone in the video, what does that prove? Videos can be edited, and time can be faked. What's more important is: witness testimony."

"What if the brothers in the fraternity give false testimony about each other?" Sean leaned against the car. "'Oh, I saw Old Joe by the barbecue grill that day,' 'Yeah, yeah, he even gave me a beer.' That kind of rhetoric is all too common in fraternities."

"That's what friends are like," Sean added meaningfully.

Not to mention they probably can't even tell who's who!

Vincent nodded: "This is what's called the 'Blue Wall of Silence,' except this time it's a wall for blue-collar workers."

"Are you mocking us police officers, Attorney Carter!" Brown scoffed. He knew that the blue wall of silence referred to the informal code of silence among American police officers, which meant not reporting misconduct or inappropriate behavior among colleagues.

"Ah, it was unintentional," Vincent apologized.

"Alright, enough of that," Brown interrupted impatiently. "I just want the names. Tell me, who are the prime suspects?"

Vincent pushed up his glasses and pulled a piece of paper from the pile of documents, on which were listed a dozen or so names.

"These are union members with criminal records or who have recently been involved in large financial disputes. Statistically, they are the most likely to do this for money."

Brown grabbed the paper, glanced at it, then pulled a pen from his pocket and quickly crossed out a few names on it.

"This guy's legs aren't very strong anymore, he couldn't possibly ride a motorcycle. This one was in the drug rehabilitation center that day. This one was reporting to his parole officer at the time of the incident..."

In less than a minute, only four names remained on the list.

It seems his investigation over the past two weeks, almost a month, has been somewhat effective. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to identify the problem so quickly.

"These five," Brown said, pointing to the remaining names, "these five guys are tough nuts to crack, and they all have racing records. Especially this one called 'Big Dog,' he used to be a member of a biker gang."

After saying that, Brown put away the list and turned to get into the car.

"You're just going to leave like that?" Sean called after him. "How are you going to investigate? Go door-to-door asking, 'Hey, did you steal a police car?'"

"I have my ways," Brown said, opening the car door. "However, getting these guys to talk won't be enough with just the police. We need the union's cooperation."

"union?"

“Congresswoman Donovan,” Brown said, uttering a name. “She has deep ties to the unions. If she’s willing to put pressure on us or act as a mediator, things will be much easier. And if she can help the police solve this big case, it would be a relief for her current public relations crisis.”

Upon hearing the name Donovan, Sean's face instantly contorted, as if he had swallowed a fly.

The woman who might stab him in the back?

"You think she'll help us?" Sean sneered. "She'd love for us to die in that pit."

"What are you thinking? It's not about helping you, it's about helping herself. You can help the police solve cases, and so can she. If Donovan were really willing to offer help, wouldn't that be a huge help in dealing with her political scandals?"

With that, Brown started the car. "Pan, you can dance with your enemies if your interests align. Just like me and you, right?"

Watching the police car speed away, Sean turned to look at Vincent.

"So what can we do? Just sit here and wait?"

"No." Vincent put away the documents. "Brown will investigate those four people, and we'll investigate the most crucial point."

"Marcus."

"Didn't you say they might protect each other?" Vincent looked at Sean. "We need to make sure that's not true."

……

Green Cemetery, a cemetery in the western suburbs of Philadelphia. This cemetery was provided by the city government to coal miners who had worked in Philadelphia for more than twenty years.

At that moment, a dilapidated car slowly pulled up to a stop on the side of the road.

Marcus Williams got out of the car, carrying a bunch of white chrysanthemums. He was wearing a work jacket and his boots were covered in mud.

It was a cloudy day, so there was a damp, chilly mist in the cemetery.

Marcus did not go directly to his father's grave. Instead, he wandered around the cemetery paths a few times. He would stop every now and then, pretending to tie his shoelaces or straighten his collar, while his eyes warily scanned his surroundings.

On the way here, he had a feeling that a black car was following him.

He deliberately took a longer route at several intersections, then suddenly accelerated and changed lanes, finally managing to shake off that tail.

"Damn it," Marcus muttered under his breath.

After confirming that no one was around, he quickly walked towards a tombstone deep in the cemetery.

It was a simple granite tombstone with a line of text engraved on it:

Forty years I toiled underground, carrying pickaxes and shovels on my shoulders. Born a slave to the coal king. Now, thank God, I am finally free.

This is his father's grave. An old man who spent his entire life mining coal in Pennsylvania and eventually died of lung disease.

Marcus placed the flowers in front of the tombstone, knelt down, and gently stroked the inscription with his rough, large hands.

"Dad, I've come to see you again."

He closed his eyes, and the image of his father's perpetually dirty face and his hands, always covered in scars, appeared in his mind.

My father often said that for Black people to survive in this country, they have to huddle together like coal to make a fire.

Going it alone will only get you crushed.

This belief was etched into Marcus's heart like a nail.

This is why he continued to work, organized his fellow workers, and established mutual aid societies in the transportation industry even after the Bethlehem Steel plant went bankrupt.

No matter what happens, we must stay united. Even if we're wrong, we'll face it together!

"Mr. Marcus, is your phone bill overdue?"

Unfortunately, a jarring sound shattered the tranquility of the cemetery.

Marcus suddenly opened his eyes, turned around, and saw that Vincent's car had stopped behind his car at some point.

Sean Penn and Vincent Carter were standing not far from him.

"You..." Marcus looked at them, his eyes filled with complex emotions.

He thought he had shaken off his pursuers, but he was found after all. Oh no, he hadn't shaken off the car at all. It seems he misjudged the situation.

He has indeed been under a lot of mental stress since handing over that list.

"Don't be nervous, Marcus." Vincent raised his hands to indicate that he meant no harm. "We're not here to cause trouble. We just want to ask you a few questions."

"What are you asking?" Marcus stood up, brushing the dirt off his knees. "I've already given you the list. I've also sent the video to the police. What else is there to ask?"

"We want to confirm if anything on the list has been missed." Vincent took a few steps closer. "For example, were there any people who signed in that day but left for a few hours in the middle? Or was anyone behaving particularly strangely that day?"

"Marcus, the law has a human touch," Vincent said sincerely. "If you know anything, or if you've been threatened by someone, please tell us. Don't take sides for the sake of so-called loyalty. That will only harm everyone."

"Should we leave this to the professionals?"

Marcus looked at Vincent with a bitter smile on his face.

"Professionals? You mean police officers? Or lawyers?"

"He's the lawyer," Sean said, pointing to Vincent.

Marcus: "..."

"Cough cough, I've told you everything I know." Marcus's voice sounded exhausted. "Why won't you believe me? Just because we're Black? Does that mean we're bound to commit crimes and protect criminals?"

“This isn’t a race issue, Marcus,” Sean interjected. “It’s a matter of justice.”

There are two white people here, one living Black person, and a group of dead Black people. They're clearly the most politically correct ones right now!

Sean stared at the steadily decreasing number above Marcus's head...

【25】

【15】

……

He sighed inwardly.

It seems we need to take drastic measures.

"Marcus, to tell you the truth," Sean suddenly raised his voice, "the police have identified those four...five people: they've confessed."

"They say they were instructed by someone within the union," Sean continued his bluff. "The police are now applying for an arrest warrant for you. We're here to give you one last chance. If you cooperate, it might be considered a voluntary surrender."

"They confessed?" Marcus looked at Sean and suddenly laughed. "If they really had confessed, it wouldn't be you standing here now, it would be the police officers with handcuffs."

"You probably haven't seen the news," Sean said calmly. "I have a good relationship with the police now. Officer Brown specifically asked me to talk to you first, since I'm practically a party to this."

"Ha! Then let them come and arrest me. Put me in jail, or just shoot me like they did with those innocent black kids," Marcus sneered involuntarily.

Vincent felt a strong sense of unease at that attitude of facing death.

"Marcus, what are you hiding?" Vincent couldn't help but ask. "It's just a few documents! Is it worth risking your life for a few sheets of paper?"

The wind blows through the cemetery, silently carrying away a few withered leaves.

"I didn't attack any police officers," Marcus finally spoke, his voice so low it was as if he were talking to himself. "But there's something else I was involved in on Martin Luther King Jr. Day."

He raised his head, his gaze piercing Vincent like a knife.

"Attorney Carter, I orchestrated the death of your client, Thomas Reynolds."