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

Musk's private message came directly, followed by a coordinate and a time.

Two hours later, Sean was sitting in a Tesla driven by a tall white man. The windows were specially modified so that no one could see inside from the outside. He was then taken to a private helipad on the outskirts of Los Angeles.

There, a Gulfstream jet waited quietly, with several security personnel in black suits standing by the cabin door, their expressions stern.

Sean silently walked up the gangway and then entered the cabin. The cabin's interior design was highly futuristic, with no superfluous decorations, only smooth lines and cool-toned lighting.

The man, who is probably the richest in the United States and even the world, was sitting in a large leather swivel chair, holding a tablet computer in his hand, without looking up.

Sean sat down opposite him, his gaze sweeping over the other man's transplanted hair.

【35】.

This is an extremely low initial level of favorability.

"Sean Penn? At first I thought it was Sean Penn who had gotten into trouble; I was watching 'Mystic River' starring him just a few days ago. Then I realized, his is Sean, and yours is Shawn."

"Alright, let's not get that far off topic!"

"I watched your video," Musk finally put down his tablet, looking at Sean with his gentle yet indifferent eyes. "Not bad acting. If you can maintain this level in Hollywood, perhaps you won't have to resort to running a Ponzi scheme."

“Elon, that’s not acting, that’s my survival instinct,” Sean replied. “And I didn’t do anything fraudulent, I was just the unlucky guy who ended up on the billboard.”

“Everyone says they’re a loser,” Musk chuckled, “but I like the word you used: ‘parasites.’ There are definitely these things everywhere in Washington. They don’t create value, they just make the rules, take a cut, and then clean out the ones who don’t listen.”

He leaned forward and crossed his arms.

"You want to run for president, that's interesting, but not much crazier than building rockets. And you happen to know that to play in this system, you need a megaphone. And I have that megaphone."

"So I'm here," Sean said calmly. "What do you want?"

"That's too blunt, Sean. You're too blunt."

"But let me be frank: I want a headache for those bureaucrats," Musk said. "I can provide you with a platform, and even a professional PR team. I'll arrange a live-streamed launch event for you, tomorrow. I'll get the algorithm to give you the highest level of weight, so that you'll be in every American's news feed."

"Short videos corrupt the human brain, and I don't like doing that. So you need to prepare a live broadcast."

Sean didn't immediately show his delight; he was considering the consequences.

Standing before him was a businessman who had suffered repeated defeats, struggled back from the brink of bankruptcy, and gradually climbed to the top of the world.

He was extremely intelligent, but also arrogant; he was magnanimous, but also stubborn and inflexible.

But no matter how complex and contradictory he is, Sean knows very well that he is not a philanthropist.

Sure enough, Musk continued, "In exchange, I would like to include some content about 'deregulation' and 'legalization of digital currencies' in your public speeches, as well as content related to new energy sources. Don't worry about that, I have a dedicated team to handle it for you."

"Furthermore, all your financial information must be disclosed to my team. I want to ensure that the so-called list you have can be used to its fullest potential when necessary."

This is a trap.

Musk wants to turn Sean into his mouthpiece, and even intends to use the list to blackmail his political enemies. If Sean agrees, he might survive, but he will become Musk's complete puppet. Once he loses his usefulness, Musk will not hesitate to throw him out to be fed to the fish.

Furthermore, he didn't mention his campaign platform, only saying it was a public statement. It seems he also felt he was just creating hype, rather than genuinely wanting to run for president.

Hype dogs always have a clear sense of their own kind.

At the same time, Sean noticed that the number above Musk's head was changing and had become [38].

“I can support some of your arguments,” Sean began, “but I won’t be anyone’s puppet. If you just want a compliant spokesperson, you can go to Silicon Valley and find any failed CEO; they’ll lick your boots. But they don’t have my real experience of being utterly disgraced.”

"A real experience?" Musk laughed. "What do you mean?"

"Yes. Voters know I'm a bastard, but this bastard is now turning against me. This kind of impact is something no elite can simulate. What you need isn't someone to speak for you, but a madman who can break down a hole in your wall."

Sean looked directly into Musk's eyes.

"I'll keep the list; it's my trump card. But I can promise you, I'll work with you to remove the obstacles to your grand plans. However, we're partners, not employees."

Musk paused for a moment, then burst into laughter. "Sean, nobody wants you dead. From the moment you made a scene, they've been using smarter methods to deal with you. They'll lull you into a false sense of security for a month, two months, and then launch a surprise attack!"

"And you, a powerless nobody, might be able to dangle around a little longer thanks to your internet memory, but what about in the long run?"

His current favorability rating is [42].

"In the long run, we're all going to die," Sean said calmly.

"You'll fail, Sean," Musk scoffed.

"Then try again and again, just like YouTube's algorithm. A video can be resurrected thousands of times; you can scroll through videos from years ago on your homepage. And I won't give up, I won't get discouraged." Sean then adopted a more determined tone.

"I never will!"

"Hmm...quoting a classic, who said that? Abraham Lincoln?" Musk looked at Sean with interest.

"No, you said that. About eight years ago, during a visit. Back then, your rockets exploded again and again, but now it's a success."

When he finished speaking, Musk remained silent for a long time, as if recalling something. Finally, his silence turned into a few dry laughs.

"You're more interesting than I thought, Sean. It's been a long time since anyone dared to negotiate with me on my plane." Musk stood up, walked to the cabin bar, poured two glasses of whiskey, and handed one to Sean.

"Actually, I really like the word 'cooperation.' If you're willing, I'll prepare a press conference for you at Vandenberg Space Force Base in California, which I've rented for rocket launches."

"I want the whole world to see a sinner who has crawled out of hell standing in front of a rocket leading to the future, announcing that he will take over this country."

"Isn't that dramatic?"

Sean took the glass, but didn't drink. "I have one more question. Will you be arranging for Tom to participate in the Q&A session at the press conference?"

“No,” Musk said with a sly grin, “I’ll invite the media outlets that hate you the most, and representatives of the victims of the Avalon Foundation. I want to see how you survive the spittle of thousands of people. Only if you can convince them will you truly be worthy of my money.”

This is the second trap Musk has set. If Sean is torn to pieces by the angry mob at the scene, Musk can easily distance himself, saying he was merely providing a platform for free speech.

He saw it clearly: this country needed someone who could remain calm and composed even in the face of a collapsing mountain to serve as its image, not a coward.

"No problem," Sean replied with a smile, then downed his drink in one gulp. "I'm best at dealing with people who hate me."

Musk looked at him and said in an approving tone, "Then it'll be 10 a.m. tomorrow, don't be late, Mr. President."

"Okay. Merry Christmas, Mr. Musk."

Merry Christmas, Pan!

After a few insincere pleasantries, Sean stepped off the plane, and the Los Angeles wind began to grow colder...