This portly man was my father, Hall Lyon. A descendant of Polish immigrants, it was precisely because of this heritage that when Vitagraph Studios was acquired by Warner Bros., Sam Warner, also of Polish descent, didn’t let my father lose his job. Instead, he allowed him to continue managing the theater and even offered him favorable terms. Naturally, my father, benefiting greatly from this arrangement, turned the theater into one of Warner Bros.' screening locations in Burbank. It was a win-win situation, and everyone was happy.

  "Uncle Hall, where’s my dad? Why didn’t he come to pick me up?" Berg took a handkerchief from my father and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

  "Your dad’s tied up with work, so I came instead. Andre, are you feeling okay? Your face looks so red." My father reached out with his hairy hand and felt my forehead, then his own, making sure I wasn’t running a fever before he relaxed.

  "Maybe it’s just the heat," I said, swallowing hard, my voice trembling.

  My father chuckled, took the luggage from my hands, and said to the three of us, "Come on, let’s get home. We’ve got food ready for you."

  After walking a few blocks, we stopped in front of a movie theater. I looked up at the sign and nearly gasped. Despite being a modest theater that could seat no more than a hundred people, it had the audacious name: Dream Factory. I couldn’t help but wonder what the future director Spielberg, who wouldn’t be born for decades, would think if he saw this.

  I turned to my mother and asked, "Who’s Wallace?" She gave me a strange look. "He’s the former owner of Vitagraph Studios. Now he oversees most of Warner Bros.' theaters in Los Angeles, including ours. How could you forget him? You two had a great conversation last time."

  "Still staring at that sign? Get inside!" Just as I was examining the theater’s name, I felt a light tap on my head. My father shot me a glance and led us into a small white-fenced yard behind the theater.

  As soon as we reached the door, a plump woman rushed over and hugged me tightly. "Andre! My baby! I’ve missed you so much!"

  I stared at her in shock: her face was covered in freckles, her body was out of shape, her voice was hoarse, and her hair was streaked with gray. She reeked of cheap perfume, but her eyes were filled with love and concern.

  After dropping our things in my room, we all gathered around the table to eat. Gance, Berg, and I hadn’t had breakfast, so we devoured the food like a pack of wolves, leaving the table in complete disarray. My mother complained that the school must not be taking good care of us, while Gance flattered her, coaxing a smile onto her face.

  "Mom, where are my brothers?" I asked through a mouthful of sandwich.

  At this, my mother’s cheerful expression froze, and my father fell silent.

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  "What’s wrong? Did something happen?" I lowered my voice, sensing trouble.

  "Carl went to New York. He said he didn’t want to stay in this small town and wanted to see the world. As for Bogie... two days ago, he and a gang robbed the town’s jewelry store. He’s in jail now, waiting for trial." My mother’s eyes welled up with tears as she spoke.

  Bogie was my younger brother and the family’s biggest headache. He had dropped out of school early, hanging out with a group of troublemakers, smoking marijuana, drinking, and committing petty crimes. No matter how many times he was scolded, he never changed.

  Gance and Berg immediately fell silent. After hurriedly finishing breakfast, they made an excuse and left for Berg’s family farm. I, on the other hand, stayed behind to comfort my parents, all the while cursing Bogie for being so irresponsible.

  That night, lying in bed and listening to the sighs from the next room, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. In stories, people who traveled through time or were reborn usually ended up with extraordinary skills, surrounded by beautiful women, or rolling in wealth. But me? Why was my life so miserable?

  Our family wasn’t well off. The cheap perfume my mother wore said it all. And now, with this mess Bogie had caused, we were bound to lose a significant amount of money. Strictly speaking, they weren’t my biological parents, but this was still my home. At 20 years old, it was time for me to step up and take responsibility.

  Outside the window, the night was serene, with a bright moon hanging in the sky. Cats yowled and played in the distance, and the wind howled through the trees, making the leaves rustle like a downpour. Far away, the glittering lights of Hollywood shone, a place where famous directors and stars made their mark. But it had nothing to do with me. I was just a poor young man from a small town.

  "Andre, why aren’t you asleep yet?" My father’s voice came from outside the door. Through the crack, I could see his tired, portly figure.

  "I’m about to," I replied casually, turning over.

  The door closed softly, and the room returned to its deathly silence.

  The next morning, instead of attending Berg’s cousin’s wedding, I accompanied my father to the town courthouse. The mayor, Zinneman, informed my father that Bogie had caused quite a stir. Not only had he robbed the jewelry store, but he had also injured two police officers. Fortunately, he wasn’t the ringleader, so he wouldn’t be sent to prison. However, he would be confined for two weeks as punishment and fined five thousand dollars.

  Five thousand dollars was no small sum. It was equivalent to a year’s income from my father’s theater. But for Bogie’s sake, my father had no choice but to grit his teeth and pay the fine.

  "Well, if it isn’t the youngest Corleone! I hear you’re about to graduate. When you make it big in Hollywood, don’t forget about me," Zinneman said, patting my shoulder before gleefully counting his money.

  On the way back from the courthouse, my father remained silent, puffing on his pipe. My mother held my hand, her eyes red.

  "Hall, most of our money went into renovating the theater. After paying this five thousand, we won’t have much left. What are we going to do?" my mother fretted.

  "All of this is thanks to that little brat Bogie! Ugh! The Corleone family has never had such a disgrace. And now, in this generation, we’ve got two of them. Andre, you better not turn out like your older brothers, or I’ll disown you," my father grumbled, biting down hard on his pipe.

  My mother gave me a loving look and said softly, "Andre has changed a lot since he came back. He used to be as mischievous as his brothers, but now he’s much more sensible. Hall, I told you to send Carl and Bogie to school, but you wouldn’t listen. If you’d spent the money back then, we wouldn’t be in this mess."

  My father snorted and said nothing more. The three of us walked home in silence, only to find a car parked at our doorstep.

  "Isn’t that Wallace’s car? What’s he doing here?" My father grew tense at the sight of the vehicle and hurried inside.