From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

Ring, ring, ring.

The machines all stopped running, the factory's quitting time bell continuously echoing in the vast space.

Checks and papers flew everywhere, like a storm. Amidst the chaos and grandeur, a figure stood up, a goose-yellow halo falling on him like a spotlight, his whole body drenched in sweat. His golden-brown curly hair was messy and languid, yet one could clearly see the light cascading down his muscle lines.

Like a god.

In a split second, just a brief moment, the mind and soul were completely sucked into a black hole. This was a movie moment.

More thrilling than the plot, the acting, or the language, this was a movie moment.

"Carl?"

Little Frank was slightly stunned, not daring to believe his eyes.

"Carl!"

A smile bloomed, a genuine joy, brightening the whole world.

He took a step forward, raising both arms.

"Merry Christmas!"

The smile was so bright and happy.

"We always talk on Christmas, how does that feel? Every Christmas, I talk to you, Carl."

Yes, for three consecutive years, three consecutive Christmas Eves, Little Frank and Carl always accompanied each other.

And they only had each other.

Carl, however, didn't buy it. "Put on your clothes, Frank, you're under arrest."

Carl told Little Frank that there were more than twenty French police officers surrounding the place outside, but he requested to personally handcuff Little Frank, so all the other police officers stayed outside, and he came in alone.

Obviously, Little Frank didn't believe it. More than twenty French police officers working overtime on Christmas Eve? It sounded like a fairy tale. But there were no windows here, so he prepared to open the door to take a look.

Carl stopped him. Without his signal, the outside would pull the trigger on anyone who appeared. He handed over the handcuffs, telling Little Frank to surrender.

Little Frank laughed. He believed that Carl had come alone and had no backup at all.

"If you want to catch me, then you have to do it yourself."

The phone in the factory rang. Carl answered it, saying that Marseilles police officer Luke demanded they come out immediately, giving him only one minute.

Little Frank still didn't believe it. He knew these tricks. He thought Carl had the hotel front desk call at a timed interval. He firmly believed that Carl was alone.

Little Frank kept stuffing the scattered checks into his pockets, continuously circling the factory, holding a thick stack of checks, preparing to rush out.

"Frank, Frank, you have to believe me on this."

Carl shouted.

"These people are embarrassed, they are angry. You robbed their bank, stole their money, and live in their country. I'm telling you this is how it will be. There is no other way to end this."

Watching Little Frank prepare to crash through the front door, Carl grew anxious. "Don't make a mistake."

Little Frank held the checks tightly, using all his strength, as if this was the last straw. "Good, this is good, Carl, you know what? Keep making it up, keep making it up, until it becomes real."

Little Frank refused to meet Carl's eyes, turning sideways to slam into the door panel.

"They will kill you," Carl yelled.

Little Frank gasped for breath, finally turning his head. Only a sliver of light fell on his eyes, still clear and bright but filled with bloodshot and fatigue.

He stared at Carl, a hint of pleading in his slightly trembling voice, "Is it true?"

Carl stood quietly in place, meeting Little Frank's gaze, and nodded gently, "Yes."

Little Frank walked back with the checks, cautiously approaching Carl, trying to see clearly the expression in his eyes. "Do you have children? Carl."

Carl swallowed, "I have a four-year-old daughter."

Little Frank, "Do you swear on your daughter?"

"Do you swear?"

One step, then another. Little Frank approached, released his hands, his arms hanging down wearily and heavily. The checks scattered to the ground again.

"Do you swear?"

Finally, Carl grasped Little Frank's outstretched right hand, nodded solemnly, and then handed the handcuffs to Little Frank.

Little Frank looked up at Carl, his tired and confused eyes carefully examining Carl. The sound of Christmas Eve carols reached his ears, sadness and desolation shattered and remained in place in the harsh winter, a solitary loneliness gripping his throat, almost unable to breathe.

Time, freezes.

It was only a moment, and the movie sparkled again.

Then.

Little Frank handcuffed himself.

Bang.

Carl led Little Frank out the door, but the street outside was quiet and peaceful. The empty winter night showed no sign of any police officers.

Heh heh.

Little Frank laughed, not angry, but laughing, looking up at Carl, "Good performance just now, Carl."

However, before Carl could respond, police cars swarmed from all directions, surrounding them completely in less than three seconds.

The French police kept shouting at them in French, fully alert, and surrounded Little Frank with the dark muzzles of their guns.

Carl kept emphasizing that the situation was under control, but to no avail. No one paid attention to him, and no one paid him any mind.

The French police ignored Carl, directly escorting Little Frank into the car. Carl kept trying to make his voice heard, "I need it officially recorded that Little Frank Abagnale voluntarily surrendered."

"Hey, I need you to record it."

"Where are you taking him? I should go with you. Where are you taking him? Let me… let me get in the car."

Carl's voice was swept into a chaos.

Little Frank huddled up in fear, his blue eyes filled with helplessness, constantly searching, but never able to find a focus.

Then, he saw the choir at the church entrance.

The choir was still singing noble and sacred hymns, but they looked at him warily and distantly, as if he were a monster.

Little Frank froze, just froze like that.

Carl squeezed in from the side, "Don't worry, Frank, I will extradite you back to America, don't worry."

However, the French police ignored Carl, and a group of people drove away.

1969, on a flight from Paris back to New York.

Little Frank watched as New York came into view, not nervous, but happy.

"Carl, you have to remember, we call my father as soon as we land. I just want to talk to him before he sees the news on TV or something."

But he didn't expect Carl to freeze, his expression stiff.

Hesitating for a moment, Carl unbuckled his seatbelt, moved from the aisle seat to the middle seat, approached Little Frank, looked at Little Frank's expectant face, and said in a low voice, "Frank, your father passed away."

Little Frank froze.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to say anything until we got home."

"He, he fell down the stairs at Grand Central Station while rushing for a train. I didn't want to tell you myself."

Carl didn't even dare to look Little Frank in the eyes.

Little Frank finally turned to look at Carl, a smile appearing on his face, "You're lying, right? Carl, this joke isn't funny. You said I could talk to him."

"Carl, you, how can you tell such a lie, how dare you!"

Anger, suddenly gripped his heart.