From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

FBI.

“Hi, I’m Frank Abagnale, I should be starting work today.”

Little Frank enters the scene.

With a neat, short haircut and a well-tailored suit, he exudes vigor, but what’s different is that the lively spark in his deep blue eyes is gone, replaced by a hint of fatigue and a touch of world-weariness subtly spreading across his brow.

Entering the office, little Frank can sense the hostility emanating from the entire room, everyone staring at him as if he were a monster, except for Carl.

Although the stares can’t inflict physical harm, little Frank can still clearly feel their sharp sting on his skin.

He feels slightly uneasy.

“Carl, how long do I have to work here?”

“From 8:15 AM to 5:00 PM, with a forty-five-minute lunch break.”

“No, I… I mean… how long in total?”

“Every day. Every day, Frank, until we let you go.”

Little Frank is trapped, moving from one cage to another, like a bird with its wings bound. His unease, frustration, and disappointment grow with each document piled on his desk, tightly gripping his throat, making it hard to breathe.

On the way home from work, little Frank sees a pilot uniform in a clothing store window, and his steps involuntarily halt.

Little Frank finds Carl and tries to find something to do for himself on the weekend, but Carl doesn't have time; he's busy because he's preparing to visit his daughter in Chicago on the weekend, and he has to finish his work now to avoid working overtime on the weekend; naturally, he doesn't have time to pay attention to little Frank's weekend.

Little Frank leaves Carl's office dejectedly.

Back in his own office, little Frank flips through the FBI's criminal suspect files and sees his own file.

After a moment's hesitation, little Frank abruptly tears up the front-facing photo taken of him upon his imprisonment.

Huh.

The screening room is stunned—

Including Melvin.

They genuinely believed that the story was over, that the cat-and-mouse game could finally be brought to a close when Carl finally arrested little Frank.

However, they never expected that not only was it not over, but there would actually be more twists and turns?

Unexpected, completely unexpected!

But thinking about it calmly, this is the right way to go.

Little Frank has tried to escape from the FBI's hands and from prison countless times, again and again, relentlessly. He is always able to use his intelligence to find a way out. Does imprisonment really mean that he can settle down?

The answer is obviously no.

So, if the story ended there, it wouldn't be complete enough, lacking aftertaste, lacking chewiness, and lacking room for improvement.

Continuing is the right thing to do.

Sure enough, little Frank is restless again and flees again.

“Passengers on American Airlines Flight 355 to Chicago and San Francisco, please prepare for boarding…”

Airport.

Little Frank appears.

Upright, tall, and dashing.

A man in a pilot's uniform enters the scene, like a model walking onto a runway. Although you can't see his expression, you can feel the joy emanating from within from his open shoulders and unhurried steps.

It seems that he can finally breathe again.

However.

Immediately following, another figure appears from behind, unhurriedly, not rushing to catch up, but calling out from a distance with his hands in his pockets.

“How did you do it, Frank?”

It's Carl.

“How did you pass the Louisiana bar exam?”

Little Frank's shoulders tense up again, and he turns to look at Carl, “What are you doing here?”

“If you try to go anywhere else in America from here, we'll lock you up in Atlanta for fifty years.”

Little Frank doesn't buy it, “I know.”

With a turn, little Frank continues forward.

Carl follows closely, “I spent four years trying to get you out. I have to prove to my superiors and the chief prosecutor that you won't run.”

Little Frank doesn't slow down, “Why would you do that?”

Carl, “You're just a kid.”

Little Frank, “I'm not your kid.” A pause, “You said you were going to Chicago.”

Carl, “My daughter can't see me this weekend. She's going skiing.”

Little Frank frowns, “You said she was four. You lied.”

Carl, “She was four when I left. She's fifteen now.”

Little Frank glances at Carl.

Carl, “My wife remarried eleven years ago. I see Grace occasionally.”

Little Frank, “I don't understand.”

Carl, “No, you do. Sometimes, it's easier to lie.”

This sentence makes Little Frank stop, standing at the crossroads, looking down at the ticket in his hand, but not taking another step forward.

Carl catches up, but keeps a distance, “I'll let you leave tonight, Frank, I won't even stop you. Because I know you'll be back on Monday.”

Little Frank finally turns around and looks at Carl again, “Ha ha, how do you know I'll be back?”

Carl chuckles, steps aside, and shows the empty passage behind him, “Look, Frank, no one is chasing you.”

Without saying anything more, Carl still has his hands in his pants pockets, leisurely turning around and leaving.

Little Frank is stunned, actually stiffening in place, watching Carl's back as he falls into deep thought.

The camera cuts to the clock.

FBI office, Carl stares at the clock, the ticking of the second hand reverberating in his ears.

Obviously, it's not just Carl.

Melvin also can't help but clench his fists and hold his breath, staring intently at the clock, his heart beating slower and slower, but heavier and heavier.

The sound in the screening room gradually settles down, and they are waiting like Carl, waiting for a result:

Little Frank may appear, or he may not.

Melvin is almost 100% certain that Little Frank will appear, no matter what happens in real life, this is Hollywood, and they are all looking forward to a perfect happy ending. Only in this way can Little Frank's character arc be complete; but what is that unease and apprehension all about?

The passage of time makes breathing become scorching.

However, Little Frank does not appear.

Carl asks his secretary, but there is no news from Little Frank.

Carl puts his hands on his hips and lowers his head in disappointment, but there is still work waiting for him in front of him.

“Good morning, I am calling this meeting to discuss a new type of check fraud and forgery, where the suspect alters the check and then sends it to Arizona…”

A rush of hurried footsteps quickly rushes towards the conference room.

Could it be Little Frank?

“This suspect is a gambler, and the check is filled out for five figures…”

Bang.

The conference room door opens, and the entire screening room and Carl all hold their breath and look towards the doorway—

It's not Little Frank, but another FBI agent, “Sorry, I'm late.”