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Chapter One: Heaven for the Rich, Hell for the Poor

"Frank Garcia, busted for trespassing and screwing up big time, got slapped with a $200,000 fine and a year in the slammer."

The side gate of California State Prison in Chino creaked open, and out walked Frank with his buddy Daniel Taylor. That first gulp of freedom hit him like a ton of bricks, bringing back memories from a year ago. Maybe he was the unluckiest dude to ever get a second chance. He'd crossed the Pacific to LA, expecting glitz and glam, but got a front-row seat to a disaster instead. The LAPD nabbed him, slapped him with a bunch of charges, and he ended up doing almost a year in the joint.

"What’s on your mind, man?"

Next to Frank was a typical Latino dude, built like a tank, who gave Frank a friendly slap on the shoulder with his inked-up hand, pointing to a car parked nearby. "C’mon, our ride’s here."

The prison was way out in the sticks, so getting a lift wasn’t a piece of cake. Frank nodded and followed him to the car. The two guys by the car grinned at Daniel and swung open the back doors for them.

Frank didn’t think twice and slid into the car with Daniel. They hit the road, heading for LA, fifty miles away.

The car picked up speed, especially once they hit the highway.

After a year behind bars, Frank had toughened up. In a men’s prison, a decent-looking guy like him had to get hard or get hurt.

"So, what’s next for you?"

The Latino dude turned from the window and looked at Frank. "Why not roll with me, Frank? I promise you cash and hot chicks..."

"Daniel," Frank cut him off, shaking his head. "You want me to push drugs and guns with you? No way, man. I’m not going back to prison."

He said it straight up. After all they’d been through together in prison, there was no need to sugarcoat it. Frank took a deep breath and said with conviction, "I’m gonna make bank, and I want the hottest movie stars. My future’s in Hollywood!"

"Dream on, buddy," Daniel gave him another pat on the shoulder. "You still dreaming? Your house got seized to pay the fine. How’re you gonna make it in LA? Frank, tens of thousands of people come to Hollywood every year chasing dreams. How many actually make it?"

Even though he was just a student about to graduate from some no-name film school across the Pacific, Frank had done his homework on Hollywood, the movie capital of the world. He knew Daniel wasn’t exaggerating; the reality was even tougher.

How many people come to LA and actually make it big? One in a thousand? One in ten thousand?

Frank knew this road was gonna be rough. But if he didn’t take it, what else was there? He was just some kid from a crappy film school, and all he knew was movies. Back in LA in '99, after a year in the clink, if he didn’t stick to what he knew best, was he really gonna end up slinging drugs with Daniel?

Daniel had a point, though.

Staring out the window at the blur of scenery, Frank thought back on everything since he landed in this world.

He’d come to terms with the fact that he’d crossed the Pacific and become this twenty-year-old named Frank, but the frustration was real. The whole identity and language switch was a nightmare at first. Merging with the original Frank’s memories felt like someone was jamming another person’s thoughts into his head, like his brain was getting scrambled.

The only silver lining was that over the past year, Frank had pretty much nailed the language and settled in.

Shaking his head, which felt like it was gonna explode, Frank sighed. His old life was a mess, but this new one? Way worse.

In the jumbled memories, this Frank was a freelance journalist, or more bluntly, a jobless dude with no steady gig. He scraped by selling random street footage to local TV stations. His financial situation was a joke. Besides that, he had zero skills. The only thing he had going for him was knowing LA’s streets like the back of his hand, having grown up there. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to hustle like that.

"Born in the slums of LA, parents met their maker in a drunk driving accident."

Seeing Daniel lost in thought next to him, Frank replayed the sad story of this body’s previous owner in his head. "Dropped out of public high school at sixteen; tried mowing lawns for a month, got hay fever; worked as a car mechanic, got canned for wrecking a customer’s ride; tried selling drugs but chickened out; stole manhole covers and airport fence nets, but luckily didn’t get caught."

"You really are a mess."

Frank repeated the phrase he’d been telling himself all year. Compared to now, his old self was way luckier. He was just a kid from a crappy film school, staring down the barrel of unemployment after graduation. But now? How was he gonna survive?

The old Frank was a total money-chasing idiot. Frank admitted he was all about the cash too, but he’d never be dumb enough to land himself in prison.

Back then, as a so-called freelance journalist, he took a gig from a private detective agency to snap pics of media mogul Paul White’s personal life. Not only did he trespass into Paul’s crib and get busted, but in the chaos, he accidentally hurt a visiting British director. He could’ve just paid a fine, but Paul felt humiliated and leaned on the LAPD, which got Frank a year behind bars.

A year in prison was no walk in the park, and the scars on Frank’s body were proof. If he hadn’t buddied up with the influential Daniel, things could’ve been way worse. More importantly, his first precious year in this world was totally wasted.

That unlucky guy was definitely a fool, caught up in a mess he couldn’t handle, becoming a pitiful pawn.

This was the price of the old Frank’s greed and upbringing, but now Frank had to deal with the fallout.

Frank also admitted that these experiences were self-inflicted. The person he injured, Paul, reportedly still had lingering effects, with his mind not functioning well. But having to pay for the previous owner's mistakes left Frank feeling resentful.

Especially Paul, who directly sent him to prison. Frank remembered clearly that due to Paul's immense pressure on the California judicial system, not only did he end up in jail, but his house in Los Angeles was also confiscated to pay the fine.

Because of the harsh experiences in prison, Frank harbored a grudge. However, he knew Paul was an untouchable giant, far beyond his current reach. Giants like Paul might glance at a dragon-slaying warrior with a sword, but they wouldn't even look at a bare-handed drifter like him.

If a year ago Frank was still a somewhat naive student, a year in prison had taught him how harsh and cold this world really was.

For someone like him, even basic survival was not an easy task.

The car finally arrived in Los Angeles, not stopping in the suburbs but heading straight into the city center. Despite everything, Frank had the memories of a native Angeleno, and after a year of personal experience, he had some understanding of the area. Like most places in this country, the city center was synonymous with slums rather than prosperity.

If Frank were to give his own assessment, this country was definitely a paradise for the rich and a hell for the poor.

"Frank, are you sure you don't want to reconsider my offer?"

Daniel piped up again. Sometimes the bonds you make in prison are the strongest. "Hollywood ain't what you think, man. For guys like us, finding a job is tough as hell."

Climbing the ladder in any field was a grind. Hollywood was just Frank's long-term dream. Right now, he had a simpler goal: survive in this country.

In plain terms, he needed to make some cash to keep himself afloat.

He was flat broke and had no clue where his next meal was coming from.

"No, Daniel." Frank didn’t want to waste more time behind bars and shook his head again. "If I really can't make it, I'll definitely come to you."

Selling drugs and guns wasn’t the life Frank wanted.

"Turn right up ahead."

Remembering the route, Frank told the driver, "I'll get off at the next intersection."

Even though his house got seized, his workspace as a freelance journalist was a converted apartment from his aunt who had moved to the UK. It could also be a place to crash.

The car stopped at the intersection. Frank grabbed his bag and was about to hop out when Daniel stopped him. He pointed to the guy in the passenger seat and said, "Hand over your phone and wallet."

The guy in the passenger seat hesitated but eventually handed over a Nokia phone and a black wallet. Daniel took them, tossed the phone to Frank, and opened the wallet, pulling out over two hundred bucks and handing it to Frank.

In the past, Frank would’ve never taken it, but faced with harsh reality, he had little choice. After a brief hesitation, he took the money and phone, nodded to Daniel, and said to the guy in the passenger seat, "Thanks, man. I'll pay you back as soon as I can."

Frank opened the car door and got out. Turning to look at Daniel inside, Daniel had already moved to the window seat and shouted, "If your Hollywood dream doesn’t pan out, don’t forget you got a friend in me."

He lowered his voice a bit, "If we team up, we can totally dominate the downtown drug and underground gun market."

"Just wait and see!" Frank stood by the roadside, his posture straight, the brown stubble on his face catching the sunlight. He replied with extreme confidence, "Daniel, you'll soon see Frank's name all over America."

Daniel didn’t buy it. "That would be if you managed to get a nude photo of Paul."

The car slowly drove away from the intersection. Frank’s gaze left the receding car and turned to his surroundings. The buildings here were old, run-down, and packed—a typical slum.

This was where he’d live and survive.

Despite his big dreams, Frank knew his immediate concern wasn’t the elusive Hollywood but how to make it day by day.

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