676-680

*Chapter 676: Relentless Pursuit*

Crime? Biography? Fashion drama? Comedy?

Obviously, when the audience entered the Chinese Theatre to watch Catch Me If You Can, they did not expect this scene, nor could they accurately describe the genre of the film.

But that didn’t matter—

Steven Spielberg’s storytelling and pacing flowed seamlessly, masterfully maintaining the audience’s attention as they were drawn into the story.

As the audience watched young Frank, with just a few words, bring a tearful Brenda back to smiles, they too seemed captivated by Frank's charm, making the next events feel completely natural.

Brenda not only quickly found information about Frank's friends, but even eagerly explained to him how to read medical charts.

Seeing Brenda’s smiling face, a new idea popped into Frank's head:

“Brenda, do you know if the hospital is hiring?”

“I’m not sure. Why do you ask?”

“I’m a doctor.”

Forged degree, Harvard Medical School.

Forged résumé, Children’s Hospital of Southern California.

For young Frank, it was all a piece of cake. Thus, with nothing else to do, Frank found a new career:

Dr. Frank Connors.

Frank’s life as a doctor went more smoothly than expected. Although he faced some challenges, he managed to bluff his way through with his wit.

Meanwhile, women continued to be drawn to him, and Frank began a sweet romance with Nurse Brenda. Life seemed back on track.

Everything felt so perfect, so blissful, that Frank began to entertain another thought—

When he and Brenda were preparing to take their relationship to the next level, something unexpected happened. Brenda broke down.

Only then, Brenda cautiously revealed the truth: this wasn’t her first time. Two years ago, she had an abortion, and after recovering, she was kicked out of her family home. For the past two years, she had pleaded with her lawyer father, but he refused to let her come back.

Holding the sobbing Brenda in his arms, Frank fell into deep thought.

Not long ago, during a night shift in the ER, a patient with a broken bone and covered in blood arrived. The on-duty doctor couldn’t make a decision and called Frank in.

He almost slipped up, barely keeping his cool, and bluffed his way through by testing the on-duty doctor. But afterward, he was so disturbed by the bloody scene that he threw up. This made him realize he couldn’t keep up the doctor charade for long.

And that wasn’t the only thing on his mind.

Frank stared into the void, his gaze slowly unfocusing. Without realizing it, he tightened his hold on Brenda, deeply savoring the warmth and intimacy of the embrace, almost losing himself in it.

Brenda, feeling Frank's touch, was also caught up in the moment.

“…If you were engaged to a doctor, would that change anything?”

Dazed and nearly hypnotized, a thought from the depths of his mind slipped out.

Brenda froze, and Frank was taken aback by his own words.

Brenda: "What?"

Her voice snapped Frank’s thoughts back to reality—

Family.

Frank had been running away from the collapse of his family, refusing to face it. All he ever wanted was to reunite his family, even if his father couldn’t do it, he hoped he could.

But how?

Now?

Frank took a deep breath. That fleeting thought slowly became clear, and a determined look appeared in his bright blue eyes. He looked down at Brenda, his smile genuine, radiant, and full of happiness.

“What if I went to your parents and talked to your father, asked for his blessing, and permission for us to get married?”

Hic.

Caught off guard, Brenda hiccuped, staring at Frank in shock.

Not just Brenda, the whole theater seemed to freeze—

So sudden?

Yet, Melvin, fully immersed in the film, didn’t find it jarring. Somehow, it felt as though an unseen character arc had quietly tied together every one of Frank's actions, smoothly intertwining with the plot, moving forward, keeping the audience glued to their seats.

Unexpected as it was, it didn’t feel out of place. The film continued to grip the audience’s attention, shifting into a dual-protagonist mode, with Frank and Carl busy in their own worlds.

Unbeknownst to Frank, Carl was still relentlessly pursuing him.

And getting closer.

Carl visited Frank Sr.’s house, trying to extract information about Frank Jr.

Frank Sr. immediately sensed something was off and casually lied, claiming that his son had forged an identity and was now serving in Vietnam.

But Carl, ever sharp, spotted Frank Jr.’s address in a pile of letters and immediately sent a team to Atlanta.

Unfortunately—

They were too late.

By the time Carl arrived in Atlanta, Frank had already left with Brenda for New Orleans.

Sitting in front of Brenda’s parents, Frank nearly gave himself away.

Frank realized he couldn’t continue pretending to be a doctor, so he planned to use Brenda’s father’s connections to become a lawyer in New Orleans. He casually lied, claiming he had attended UC Berkeley's law program before going to Harvard Medical School.

What he didn’t expect was that Brenda’s father was also a UC Berkeley graduate.

This was awkward.

Frank was almost certain that, under his future father-in-law’s relentless questioning, his lie would be exposed. He was sure the man knew he had never attended UC Berkeley.

Did this mean all his other lies would soon be revealed too?

Standing on the edge of a cliff, alone in the study with his future father-in-law, Frank once again displayed his quick thinking.

“Tell me the truth, Frank. What are you doing here? What is someone like you doing with Brenda? If you want my blessing, if you want my daughter, I want to hear it from you now.”

Low, calm, sharp, direct.

No wonder he was a lawyer.

Frank was cornered. He lowered his eyes in thought, his expression showing unprecedented sincerity.

“The truth is, sir…”

Was he about to reveal everything? Drop the façade and show his real self?

“The truth is, I’m not a doctor. I’m not a lawyer… I’m not a pilot either…”

Ha.

Melvin almost dropped his jaw. Around him, gasps filled the theater, and for a moment, everyone seemed to freeze.

The truth was at the tip of his tongue.

“I…” Frank took a deep breath, “I’m nothing.”

And just like that, the biggest secret was out.

Chapter 677: Difficult to Distinguish the Truth

Silence.

The entire screening room was dead quiet. Everyone was stunned, not even a breath could be heard.

No one expected Little Frank to choose to marry Brenda. Even less did anyone foresee him spilling all the details of his past crimes and escapes to a stranger he'd just met, unraveling all his efforts up to this point.

For a moment, it was hard to grasp the emotions—shock? Bewilderment? Relief? Or was it... bitterness and a tinge of sadness?

A flood of emotions surged, overwhelming everyone.

“I... I’m nothing.”

Little Frank tried to stay calm, but the slight tremble in his voice betrayed the fear and vulnerability he felt inside. His deep blue eyes seemed to flicker with light as he slowly shed his mask, exposing his true self without any defenses.

Then, Little Frank looked up at the man in front of him, without pretense or manipulation, revealing his sincerity.

“I’m just a kid who fell in love with your daughter.”

The man stared into Little Frank's eyes, expressionless, maintaining the calm and sharp demeanor of a lawyer. He shook his head slightly.

“No.”

He spoke.

The tension in the screening room heightened as the man stood up, and everyone held their breath, hearts racing as they watched him sit beside Little Frank, clearly caught in the same storm of emotions.

His gaze seemed to pierce through any façade, looking straight into Little Frank's soul.

“Do you know what you are?”

Hearts stopped.

“You’re a romantic.”

Wait. What?

Amid the audience's stunned silence, the stern man smiled, his eyes full of warmth.

“Without the women we love, men like us are nothing. I must admit, I’ve had that same foolish and strange thought before.”

“After just five dates with Carol, I proposed. Empty pockets, not a penny to my name, but I knew she was the one.”

He gave Little Frank a hearty pat on the shoulder, openly showing his approval.

Little Frank escaped the crisis once again.

But Melvin was briefly confused—

Were those words a carefully crafted lie to escape the situation, or were they genuine feelings from Little Frank?

For a fleeting moment, Melvin believed it was the latter.

Just like how Little Frank called Carl on Christmas Eve—he was lonely, lost, and no amount of money or parties could fill the emptiness inside.

He craved sincerity.

He longed to be his true self, to build a family, to leave behind the lies and running and finally settle down.

He was truly in love with Brenda, the girl who was willing to risk everything for love.

When he told Brenda he wanted to marry her, it was real; when he spoke to Brenda’s father, it was real, too.

For a fleeting instant, Little Frank’s shoulders relaxed, the heavy burden he had carried for so long finally lifting. He had found a safe harbor, a place to rest, ready to leave his life of crime and grab hold of the future he truly desired.

At least, that’s what Melvin believed.

However.

That brief moment quickly passed, and Melvin once again became cautious—

Could Little Frank's words really be trusted?

It wasn’t paranoia; Little Frank was a chronic liar, blurring the line between truth and falsehood. Even his sincerity came with strings attached.

Thoughts swirled in Melvin’s mind.

At this moment, Melvin finally understood Little Frank’s loneliness. Perhaps that’s why, after falling into such predicaments again and again, Little Frank had finally grown tired. He wanted to return to a normal life, to a family, to reality. He wanted to begin a new chapter by standing on his own two feet.

And in truth, that’s what Little Frank was doing.

On one hand, he was planning his wedding with Brenda.

On the other, he was preparing for the Louisiana Bar Exam.

On December 26, 1969, on a flight from Paris to New York.

The scene cut back to the present.

Carl and Little Frank sat on the plane, and Carl couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Frank, do you know what I’ve never understood?”

“How did you cheat and pass the bar exam?”

Melvin’s eyes lit up; he was curious about this, too.

Just as curious as he was about whether Little Frank's actions and words were lies or truths—was he really leaving his life of crime behind? And what about the bar exam?

Little Frank seemed confused. “Why? Does it matter?”

Carl pressed on. “Someone took the test for you, right?”

Little Frank replied, “Carl, I’m going to be in prison for a long time. Seriously, does it matter?”

Carl was a little frustrated. “It’s just a simple question.”

Little Frank looked at the pastry Carl had in front of him. “Are you going to eat that éclair?”

Carl protectively moved the éclair away. “Yeah, I’m saving it for later.”

Little Frank said, “If you give me half, I’ll tell you.”

Carl opened the box of éclairs, making sure Little Frank saw him as he bit into one, savoring it with exaggerated pleasure.

A low chuckle rippled through the screening room. It was these small, humorous moments that kept the movie lighthearted, even though it was a crime story, even though it was sad. It still managed to keep the audience engaged and entertained.

Little Frank was serious—

About settling down.

Brenda Strong was the girl he wanted to marry.

Because Brenda loved him, and he loved her. And because the Strong family’s marriage was so happy and full of love, even after all these years. Every time Little Frank saw the Strong couple, he was reminded of his parents and their past happiness. Those feelings of admiration and nostalgia didn’t lie.

Little Frank was serious about living a normal life, more than ever before.

Not just for himself, but for his parents, too.

When he learned that his father’s tax issues were finally resolved, and his father was even planning to sue the IRS, Little Frank handed his father an invitation to his engagement party. He also planned to invite his mother, hoping the event would bring his parents back together.

It was only then, through his father, that Little Frank learned his mother had remarried.

And it was at this moment that Little Frank realized the FBI had found his father.

The FBI wasn’t going to give up.

Little Frank was thrown into chaos. The conversation with his father muddled his thoughts. His father kept talking, but Little Frank was still reeling from the news of his mother’s remarriage.

This plunged Little Frank into despair. He prepared to leave but turned back when his father called out.

“Come here, sit down, let's have a drink. I’m your father.”

In one swift motion, Little Frank leaned on the table with his left hand, staring down at his father.

“Then order me to stop.”

Chapter 678: The Chase

Outside, the sky was still clear, so the lights inside the bar were off.

Old Frank sat by the window, bathed in the moonlight streaming through. The backlighting made it hard to see his facial features or expression, only the shadowy outline of his profile was visible.

It was like a paper cutout.

Old Frank slightly raised his chin, staring at Young Frank. In those eyes, he could clearly see a mixture of sorrow and madness.

"Then order me to stop."

Young Frank gazed down at his father. His words were both a command and a plea, with a slight tremble in his voice, though it was unclear whether from anger or despair.

At that moment, Young Frank's face was hidden, his expression and eyes unseen; yet the silhouette revealed a trace of sorrow and pain.

He had been running, hiding, refusing to accept his parents' separation, like an ostrich burying its head in the sand, thinking that as long as he ignored it, the crisis wouldn’t exist. However, he could no longer escape. The bloody reality was laid bare before him.

It was over. Everything was over.

Young Frank stood there, silently, desperately, staring at his father. His silhouette trembled slightly, and although nothing could be seen, the sound of a world falling apart echoed in his ears. The quiet murmur of the bar only made the moment feel more still and oppressive.

Old Frank couldn’t speak.

Young Frank slowly stepped closer to his father, forcing each word through gritted teeth, "Then order me to stop."

The more resolute, fierce, and determined he seemed, the more fragile he became.

His voice was stretched to its breaking point, ready to shatter at the slightest touch.

Time froze in that moment, and the silhouette exploded with an unimaginable energy, cutting through all sound in the room like a blade.

Young Frank stared at Old Frank.

Old Frank stared back at Young Frank.

In a brief exchange of glances, father and son stood as if on quicksand, sinking slowly, inevitably, toward the abyss.

Finally, Old Frank spoke, "You can’t stop."

Young Frank held his breath.

Old Frank, sensing movement in his son's eyes, quickly tried to call out to him, "Where are you going?"

But it was too late to stop Young Frank.

With a sudden turn, Young Frank stumbled backward, ignoring his father’s shouts, barely keeping his footing as he staggered away. The dim light flickered across his face, revealing the struggle, despair, pain, and loss in his eyes.

It was like free fall.

In the end, Young Frank crashed through the bar's doors and stumbled out.

Another Christmas Eve, and once again, it was at the FBI office.

Carl was busy eating takeout, but this time, he wasn’t alone.

The phone rang, and Carl stood up abruptly, signaling to his colleagues. Counting, "One, two, three," three agents picked up the phone at the same time.

"This is Hanratty."

"Hello, Carl, Merry Christmas."

The weary voice was unmistakably Young Frank.

Carl quickly gestured to his colleagues, and they prepared to jot down key information.

Carl tried to act nonchalant, "How are you, Dr. Connors?"

But Young Frank sounded unusually calm. "Carl, I haven't been Dr. Connors for months."

Carl: …

Carl cleared his throat, "Alright, it’s Christmas Eve, I’m here in the office. What do you want?"

And where was Young Frank?

He was alone in a bar again, another Christmas Eve, still by himself. Different setting, but the same loneliness.

Young Frank doodled on the bar counter with his finger, not answering Carl right away. He was lost in thought for a long moment before letting out a heavy sigh.

"Okay."

"I want it to end."

"I, uh, want this all to end. I’m getting married, you know. I’m ready to settle down."

But clearly, Carl wasn’t buying it. "You stole nearly four million dollars. Do you think we’d consider that a wedding gift?"

"No."

"This isn’t something you can run from, Frank."

Young Frank replied, "I want a truce."

Carl, "There’s no truce."

Carl was calm but relentless. "You’re going to be caught, and you’re going to jail. What do you think is going to happen?"

On Christmas Eve, Young Frank sounded vulnerable and weak. He murmured softly, "Please, Carl, just let me go."

"Please?"

But Carl had a different perspective. "I’m about to catch you, aren’t I?"

"The closer I get, the more scared you are. I know you rented a car in Shreveport and are staying in a motel near Lake Charles."

"You want to run? Go ahead. But your checks won’t lie like you do."

Shreveport and Lake Charles were both in southern Louisiana, about a three-hour drive from New Orleans.

In that instant, Young Frank knew his father had been right—FBI wasn’t giving up, and they were still chasing him.

Young Frank grew frustrated, even a little angry. "Stop chasing me."

Carl took a deep breath, "I can’t. It’s my job."

Carl expected Young Frank to lash out in fury, but instead, his voice on the other end sounded tired, even amused.

"That’s okay, Carl. I just thought I’d ask."

Self-deprecating. Playful.

"Hey, Merry Christmas?"

Young Frank’s lips curved into a faint smile, and then he hung up the phone.

This time, Carl didn’t get mad.

"I love my job."

"Alright, let’s go through the local newspapers in Louisiana for the past two months."

"Engagement announcements. Under Connors."

The other agents froze, smirking in disbelief. "Connors? Come on, that kid’s changed his name by now."

Carl shook his head, picking up his takeout box again. "No, he can’t change it. She knows him as Connors. If he changes his name, he’ll lose the girl."

Carl, once again, was right.

The FBI found the Strongs’ house, making a grand entrance on the night of the engagement party.

Young Frank noticed the commotion and rushed to escape, but he couldn’t bear to leave Brenda, the woman he loved. In the chaos and confusion, he told her everything—this time, it was all true.

"I’m not a doctor. I never went to medical school. I’m not a lawyer, not a Harvard graduate, and I’m not a Lutheran."

"Brenda, a year and a half ago, when I was sixteen, I ran away from home."

No lies, no omissions, no holding back.

Young Frank laid himself bare before Brenda, revealing who he truly was.

Brenda was overwhelmed and shocked. Clearly, she couldn’t keep up with everything; the man she loved seemed like a stranger.

"You’re not Lutheran?"

That was Brenda’s first reaction.

But Young Frank didn’t have time to explain. He had already prepared everything. With cash from the checks, he had two suitcases full of money—enough to support them for a long time and live a hidden, happy life.

Brenda had a thousand questions, but Young Frank had to cut her off.

"Do you love me, Brenda?"

"Yes."

"Do you love me?"

"I love you."

Dragging the suitcases, Young Frank prepared to escape through the window, hurriedly explaining the escape route to Brenda, telling her to wait until her parents were asleep, then take a taxi out of town. They would meet at 10 a.m. at Miami International Airport two days later, and then they’d leave together.

"Frank, please, tell me your name before you go. Please."

"Frank-William-Abagnale Jr."

Finally, he said it.

*Chapter 679: Dizziness*

Dizziness, spinning.

The large screen swirled like a vortex, pulling the entire audience into it, engulfing them in the story as if swept into a storm.

In this segment, Steven Spielberg once again demonstrated his unparalleled mastery of direction, editing, and pacing, executing a brilliant piece of filmmaking—

Dual narratives, cross-cutting, parallel advancement.

On one side, the FBI agents, led by Carl, were closing in.

At the engagement party, the clinking glasses and joyful atmosphere gave no hint of the impending danger, but Carl was tightening the noose, closing in step by step.

On the other side, young Frank was fumbling to make his escape.

Brenda, who had just been floating in joy and happiness, suddenly plummeted into confusion and sorrow. Tears streamed down her face as she trembled in fear. Her panic and Frank’s frantic actions intertwined, making the oppressive tension so palpable it felt like it could silently choke both of them.

Calm and tension.

Stealth and chaos.

The switching of camera angles, the seamless transitions in rhythm, the collision of visuals—all formed a giant vortex, with a suffocating sense of tension quietly spreading, dragging the entire theater into it.

No one was exempt. No one.

Until—

“Frank, please, before you go, tell me your real name. Please tell me.”

Brenda, sobbing uncontrollably, clung to Frank's arm. The lace curtains on the window thrashed wildly in the wind, slapping both Brenda and Frank’s faces, while moonlight cast shifting shadows on their youthful expressions.

For that moment, they were like Romeo and Juliet, standing on the balcony, pouring out their hearts.

Frank paused, momentarily stunned.

In his deep blue eyes, Brenda’s heartbroken face was reflected. Amidst the panic and haste, fear and confusion, it was like someone hit the pause button.

At that instant, Melvin's heart stopped as well. He stared at Frank, staring at Brenda’s reflection in Frank’s eyes, holding his breath.

Would Frank tell the truth this time?

“Frank William Abagnale.”

He spoke.

No more lies.

The entire theater froze, but hearts began to plummet uncontrollably, as if in freefall from the sky—

It was all real.

Frank truly loved Brenda. What he told Mr. Strong was true. Frank genuinely wanted to settle down and start a family. All the loneliness, bitterness, and sorrow were real.

But.

It was impossible to achieve.

Now, Melvin finally understood the conversation between Frank and his father in the bar, when Frank asked his father to stop him, but his father told him that he couldn’t stop.

At that moment, Frank finally realized that his initial escape was an attempt to save his family and return to them, but he had taken the wrong path, one from which there was no return. Not only had the Abagnale family become a thing of the past, but Frank had also destroyed any chance of building a future with Brenda.

So.

He turned, dazed and disoriented, and ran.

Like a dog with its tail between its legs.

What else could he do?

Run.

Keep running.

Melvin involuntarily closed his eyes.

He knew Frank was a criminal, deserving of punishment, and that Frank was responsible for his own downfall. He shouldn’t feel sympathy for Frank.

But in that moment, the sadness and regret were real.

A bittersweet feeling spread across the entire theater.

Two days later, Frank appeared at Miami International Airport, immediately spotting Brenda in a pink suit, standing weak and helpless at the entrance, looking around, waiting for her lover to appear.

Frank was ecstatic, opening the car door, ready to run to her, but something felt off. Instantly alert, he scanned his surroundings.

Then, Frank realized it—FBI agents were everywhere, setting a trap just waiting for him to fall into.

Frank got back in his car, passing by Brenda without her noticing.

The FBI believed Frank had sensed something and wouldn't show up. But Carl disagreed—he was convinced Frank would leave the U.S.

And, he would do it from Miami International Airport.

"How do you know he won’t rent a car and drive to New York or Atlanta to fly out?" one agent asked.

Carl replied, "Because I’m not in New York, and I’m not in Atlanta."

Once again, Carl's instincts were correct. Frank was indeed planning to leave from Miami International Airport. Meanwhile, the FBI had placed over a hundred agents around the airport, monitoring everything 24/7. If Frank appeared, there was no way he'd escape their watchful eyes.

What now?

Frank once again used his cleverness.

He posed as a Pan Am pilot and went to an all-girls high school to conduct a recruitment presentation for flight attendants. As part of a "live experience" program, he actually held interviews at the school, eventually selecting eight girls of varying shapes and sizes. He dressed them in flight attendant uniforms—

And brazenly walked into Miami International Airport.

The group passed right in front of the FBI agents, but their attention was entirely on the beautiful girls, paying no mind to Frank.

“You know why the Yankees always win?”

Melvin's mind echoed the same conversation.

Meanwhile, the FBI agents were monitoring the cars around the airport. Someone noticed something suspicious and immediately informed Carl, who rushed over with the team.

But.

It was a decoy.

“Don’t shoot! I’m just a driver. A guy gave me a hundred dollars to put on this uniform and come to the airport to pick someone up.”

A trembling young man, dressed in a pilot’s uniform, raised his hands high.

Carl was furious. “Who are you picking up?”

The boy obediently retrieved a sign from the passenger seat. "Hanratty."

The FBI agents had been completely fooled. Frank had once again successfully escaped, leaving the United States.

And this time, he disappeared for seven whole months.

The FBI finally got wind of him again—South America, Australia, Singapore, Egypt—Frank had been everywhere.

This time, Frank had upped his game—

For more than six months, neither the FBI nor the banks noticed anything unusual. The reason? Frank wasn’t forging checks anymore. He was printing real checks, so perfect that neither the airlines nor the banks could detect the difference.

The last check was cashed in Madrid.

Carl tried to go to Spain to continue his pursuit of Frank, but the FBI wouldn’t approve it. Budget issues and cross-border operations restricted them.

Carl’s request was denied.

Nevertheless, Carl didn’t give up. He began investigating the ink, the printers, and consulted a number of veteran experts. Finally, he found a clue: the checks were likely printed in Germany, the UK, or France.

Then it hit Carl—Frank’s mother came from a small village in France—

Montrichard.

So, Carl went to Montrichard, a village in southern France, where he found an old printing factory.

Even though it was late at night, the machines were still humming, the place bustling with activity.

Carl hit the switch, shutting everything down. A storm of checks fluttered in the air, and a familiar figure hurriedly stood up, bathed in the warm yellow light, like a Greek god.

“Carl!”

It was Frank.

Chapter 680: Unattainable

Ring, ring, ring.

All the machines came to a halt as the factory's closing bell echoed through the vast space.

Checks and papers fluttered in the air like a storm, chaotic yet grand. In the midst of the mess, a figure stood up, illuminated by a soft yellow spotlight. His body, drenched in sweat, glistened in the light, showing the muscles beneath. His tousled brown curls framed his face, giving him an effortlessly lazy look.

He looked like a god.

For a brief moment, just a split second, hearts and souls were drawn into a black hole. This was a movie moment—more breathtaking than plot, performance, or dialogue.

"Carl?"

Frank Jr. froze, unable to believe his eyes.

“Carl!”

A smile spread across his face—a genuine, heartfelt joy that made the whole world seem brighter.

He stepped forward, arms raised high.

“Merry Christmas!”

The smile was wide and filled with happiness.

"We always talk on Christmas, don't we? How does it feel? Every Christmas, I speak to you, Carl."

Yes, for three consecutive years, on three consecutive Christmas Eves, Frank Jr. and Carl had been there for each other.

And they only had each other.

Carl, however, wasn’t amused. "Put on your clothes, Frank. You’re under arrest."

Carl informed Frank Jr. that more than twenty French officers had the place surrounded. But he requested to personally cuff Frank Jr., so the others stayed outside while he came in alone.

Clearly, Frank Jr. didn’t believe him. Twenty officers working on Christmas Eve? It sounded too ridiculous to be true. But since there were no windows, Frank Jr. went to check the door.

Carl stopped him, warning that any movement without his signal would get them shot. He handed over the handcuffs, telling Frank Jr. to surrender.

Frank Jr. laughed, thinking Carl had come alone, without backup.

“If you want to catch me, you’ll have to do it yourself.”

The phone in the factory rang. Carl picked it up. It was Officer Luke from the Marseille police, telling them they had one minute to get out.

Still, Frank Jr. didn’t believe it. He figured Carl had timed the hotel’s front desk to make the call. He was convinced Carl was alone.

Frank Jr. continued stuffing scattered checks into his pockets, circling around the factory with a pile of them in his arms, ready to make a break for it.

“Frank, Frank, you need to believe me,” Carl called out.

“They’re embarrassed. They’re angry. You robbed their banks, stole their money, and lived in their country. I told you it would come to this. There’s no other way out.”

As Carl watched Frank Jr. prepare to run for the door, he grew desperate. “Don’t make a mistake.”

Frank Jr. clutched the checks tightly, using every ounce of strength, as if they were his last lifeline. “This is good, Carl. You know? Keep making things up until they become real.”

Frank Jr. refused to meet Carl’s eyes and lunged toward the door.

“They’ll kill you,” Carl shouted.

Frank Jr. froze.

Carl continued, “If you go out that door, they will kill you.”

Frank Jr. panted heavily, finally turning around. A single beam of light illuminated his eyes—still clear and bright, though bloodshot and weary.

He looked at Carl, his voice trembling with a hint of plea, "Is it true?"

Carl stood there, meeting his gaze, nodding gently. “Yes.”

Frank Jr. walked back, still clutching the checks, edging closer to Carl, trying to see the truth in his eyes. “Do you have children, Carl?”

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

Frank Jr. pressed on, “Do you swear on her?”

“You swear?”

Step by step, Frank Jr. inched closer, finally releasing his hold. His arms fell, exhausted, and the checks scattered across the floor once again.

“You swear?”

At last, Carl grabbed Frank Jr.'s outstretched hand, nodding solemnly, and handed him the cuffs.

Frank Jr. looked up at Carl, his tired, confused eyes studying him closely. In the background, Christmas carolers sang, their voices holy and pure. But the winter air left behind was cold and desolate, choking him with loneliness.

Time froze.

Just a split second, and the movie shone again.

Then.

Frank Jr. cuffed himself.

Bang.

Carl pushed open the door with Frank Jr. at his side, but the streets outside were silent and peaceful. There wasn’t a single police officer in sight on the cold, empty winter night.

Frank Jr. laughed—not out of anger, but genuine amusement. He looked up at Carl, “Nice performance, Carl.”

But before Carl could respond, police cars swarmed in from all directions. In less than three seconds, they were completely surrounded.

French officers shouted orders in French, their guns aimed at Frank Jr.

Carl insisted the situation was under control, but it was no use. No one listened to him.

The French police ignored Carl, forcibly taking Frank Jr. away. Carl kept trying to make his voice heard, “I need it on record—Frank Abagnale surrendered voluntarily.”

“Hey, I need you to record this.”

“Where are you taking him? I’m supposed to go with you. Where are you taking him? Let me—let me get in the car.”

Carl’s voice was drowned out in the chaos.

Frank Jr., curled up in fear, his blue eyes full of helplessness, kept searching for something—anything—but found no focus.

Then he saw the choir outside the church.

The choir was still singing their holy songs, but their eyes were wary and distant, looking at him as if he were a monster.

Frank Jr. froze. He just froze.

Carl squeezed through the crowd, “Don’t worry, Frank. I’ll get you extradited back to the States. Don’t worry.”

But the French police paid no attention to Carl, and they drove away.

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

Frank Jr. could see New York in the distance, and instead of feeling nervous, he felt excited.

“Carl, remember, once we land, I need to call my dad. I just want to talk to him before he sees anything on TV or hears about it.”

But Carl froze, his face tense.

After a pause, Carl unbuckled his seatbelt and moved from the aisle seat to the middle, closer to Frank Jr. Looking at Frank Jr.'s hopeful face, Carl spoke softly, “Frank, your father passed away.”

Frank Jr. was stunned.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to say anything until we got home.”

“He… he fell down the stairs at Grand Central while rushing to catch a train. I didn’t want to tell you myself.”

Carl couldn’t even look Frank Jr. in the eye.

Finally, Frank Jr. turned to Carl with a small smile, “You’re lying, right? Carl, this joke isn’t funny. You said I could talk to him.”

“Carl, how could you lie like that? How dare you!”

Anger gripped his heart.