From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

Room 3113.

A single shot, yet it stirred up a storm.

Melvin, like Carl, also believed that Little Frank was full of lies. He even praised Carl for staying clear-headed and finally seeing through Little Frank's lies, that the hotel and the room were all lies, just another game.

However, it wasn't.

So, this meant that Little Frank had just told the truth. If Carl sent someone to Stuyvesant Arms, they would be able to corner Little Frank.

Heh.

Suddenly, Melvin's breath was cut short—

Loneliness.

An extreme loneliness, and involuntarily, Melvin's mind replayed the look in Little Frank's eyes from the shadows, a heartbreaking bewilderment and loss.

At this moment, Steven Spielberg, unusually, did not switch shots or edit the scene, but focused only on "3113", but the thoughts in the screening room were intertwined and collided:

Carl's ridicule and teasing, Little Frank's embarrassment and vulnerability, everything surged up.

But, why?

Just like the audience and Carl's suspicion, Little Frank, who had been living in lies, seemed to be trapped in his own lies, unable to land, unable to feel reality no matter how hard he tried, hiding himself layer by layer, especially during an atmosphere like Christmas—

His truth could no longer be told to anyone. Including his father.

So, the only one who could glimpse Little Frank's truth was an FBI agent.

Did this mean that, at that moment, when Little Frank said the real address, he sincerely had the thought, why not just get arrested?

Only, Carl's mockery woke him up?

There was a slight rustling in the screening room, but it quickly subsided. Everyone had their own thoughts stirring up a storm in their minds, sparsely falling into thought, swallowing all the restlessness and noise, and the air became quiet again.

Carl didn't know he had missed the opportunity to catch Little Frank, but at least, Carl accidentally cracked the truth of "Barry Allen."

Even when going to the restaurant for breakfast, Carl was still working. He listed all the people in New York named "Barry Allen", preparing to investigate them one by one; but he didn't expect that the waiter refilling his coffee would be interested in the list.

"Are you a collector?"

Carl: ???

Obviously, Carl didn't understand what the waiter was saying at all, but he was patient. After communicating, the answer that was so close was revealed.

"Listen!"

"He reads comics. Comic books!"

"Barry Allen is the Flash."

"He's a kid, our target is a kid, so we couldn't find matching fingerprints, so he has no criminal record at all."

Carl finally found a breakthrough—

All along, they firmly believed that Little Frank should be a young man around twenty-seven to thirty years old; but now it seemed that they were completely deceived, even his appearance and age were a deception. From the beginning of the investigation, they had already made a mistake.

No wonder they could never find this criminal suspect.

Leaving the restaurant, the first thing Carl did was call FBI headquarters from a public phone booth, asking the agents to adjust the keywords and launch a full search.

Every second counts!

But, why New York?

"Because of the Yankees."

"He talked about the Yankees."

The clues, all connected, Carl used his ability, in the guise of an FBI agent, starting from the details, and finally found a breakthrough.

Sure enough, Carl was right.

Carl successfully found Paula Abagnale.

To be precise, it should be Paula Barnes, the remarried Paula Barnes, living in the suburbs and living a middle-class life again.

Obviously, Paula already knew about Little Frank using her Chase bank checkbook to write bad checks through the police, but she didn't think it was a big deal. She leisurely lit a cigarette, trying to defend her son in front of the FBI agent.

"It's only a thousand dollars."

"Half the kids his age are using powder and throwing stones at the police; they scared me to death, just because my son made a small mistake."

"A seventeen-year-old needs to eat, needs a place to sleep…"

Just like at school, when she learned that Little Frank was pretending to be a substitute teacher, Paula rebuked her son with her eyes, but didn't really teach him a lesson.

Now, it was the same, Paula even found a bunch of excuses to defend her son.

It wasn't until Carl confirmed that Little Frank Abagnale was the figure he saw in Hollywood through the photo in the yearbook that the atmosphere instantly became tense, so much so that Paula was also frightened.

"Is Frank okay? Is he in trouble?" Paula hurriedly followed Carl and the FBI agents who were leaving in a storm, anxiously asking.

"Madam, I'm sorry to tell you, your son is forging checks."

"Forging checks? Wait! We can definitely compensate." Paula quickly turned around and rummaged through her wallet from her backpack, revealing a polite smile, "I work part-time at the church, tell me how much he owes, and I'll pay you back."

Carl's expression was calm, "One million three hundred thousand dollars so far."

Paula was stunned, completely losing her ability to react, watching Carl leave, the door slowly closing, her entire cheek sinking into a shadow.

And what about Little Frank at this time?

Atlanta, Georgia.

Little Frank lived in a villa and held a grand party in the villa, with young men and women reveling to their heart's content, even though it was still a cold winter, the whole house was like a hot summer.

But obviously, Little Frank's mind was not on the party. Even though the whole house was full of people, he just felt noisy.

Until a friend had an accident, the party was forced to end, and Little Frank had to go to the hospital to visit his friend.

In the hospital, Little Frank saw a nurse, Brenda, being scolded by the doctor until she was tearful.

Little Frank once again used his charm, gently and softly comforting Brenda, and asking Brenda to help him inquire about his friend's situation.

Changing clothes, changing his look, Little Frank showed a charm that was completely different from the pilot, the image of a dashing young master making people's eyes light up, naturally revealing a lazy and casual free spirit, even more sexy and flirtatious. When Little Frank looked directly at Brenda, he was actually looking directly at the audience in the screening room.

Those blue eyes filled with smiles made the women in the screening room's hearts beat faster and hold their breath, twisting into a pretzel on their chairs.

If this was Steven Spielberg's purpose, obviously, he succeeded—

Who would have thought that a crime movie, an autobiographical movie, would become a fashion movie, bringing Anson Wood's charm to the extreme.

Now, Melvin finally understood why Edgar hired him, a surge of excitement and agitation quietly brewing in his dantian, turning into a storm in the blink of an eye.