Grant informed me that the city government had recently received funding to support young filmmakers and new production companies. He said he saw great potential in me—called me ambitious and hardworking—and offered to help me apply for a grant. All I had to do was fill out a form.

  Holy hell! So the rumors were true—flattery really could get you everywhere! Just a few well-placed words, and I had secured funding. Who in their right mind would say no to free money?

  Grinning ear to ear, I followed Grant into his office. He rummaged through his desk and pulled out a wrinkled sheet of paper, placing it in front of me. I glanced at the bold title: Rainbow Project Sponsorship Application.

  D*mn. Why did this make me feel like a charity case?

  The document was filled with grandiose statements about how the city was committed to nurturing young talent, how they had painstakingly gathered funds to support the next generation of Hollywood filmmakers. It was all very noble-sounding. But my eyes were drawn to one specific detail—at the bottom of the page, in big, bold numbers: $30,000! And right next to it, the word dollars! (If it had said yen, I would’ve personally thrown Grant out of his own office.)

  "Andre, not just anyone gets this kind of support. In fact, you're the first recipient of this program," Grant declared, wearing the smug expression of a benevolent king bestowing gifts upon his subjects.

  "Of course, of course! None of this would be possible without your leadership, Mr. Mayor. Hollywood owes its success to your tireless efforts!" I laid it on thick. If there was one thing we Chinese excelled at, it was flattery. And looking at this fifty-something-year-old white man, I found myself growing rather fond of him.

  "Ah, young people like you are a rare breed these days—ambitious, respectful to their elders. Meeting you today has truly been a pleasure! Now, just sign here, and the $30,000 is yours." Grant handed me a pen, grinning so wide it gave me goosebumps.

  I hesitated. "Mr. Mayor, this feels almost too good to be true. Do I really get this money with no strings attached?" I wasn't na?ve enough to believe in free lunches.

  Grant paused, clearly expecting the question.

  Knew it! There was always a catch. Good thing I was sharp enough to ask.

  "Andre, it's simple. The grant comes from the Hollywood Film Committee. The only condition is that you must submit a finished film at the end, and we reserve the right to visit your set at any time." He explained it so patiently, like a teacher reassuring a nervous student.

  I nodded. Compared to $30,000, those conditions were laughable. We were going to make the film anyway, so delivering a finished product was no issue. As for set visits—well, if they had nothing better to do, they were welcome to drop by.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Satisfied there were no hidden traps, I eagerly signed my name. Grant then handed me a check for $30,000.

  I stared at the check, my eyes nearly popping out of my skull. D*mn! That was way too easy! If I’d known, I wouldn’t have let my mom pawn her jewelry!

  "Mr. Mayor, I have one more request," I said, deciding to strike while the iron was hot.

  "Go on," Grant said, leaning back in his oversized chair, lighting a cigar.

  "Once our film is completed, could you help us get it into more theaters? Maybe some in Los Angeles?" I asked, watching him closely. He had decades of connections in Hollywood—surely, he had some pull with local theaters.

  "Well…" Grant hesitated, rubbing his chin. "That’s a bit tricky. Even as mayor, I don’t have much sway there. You know how it is—most theaters are controlled by the big studios. Just earlier today, I nearly got into a shouting match with that old b*st*rd Zukor. Those guys don’t take me seriously at all." He shook his head.

  Oh, come on. This was just the classic "I need a little… motivation" routine. Nobody did favors for free, unless they were a saint—or an idiot.

  I leaned in and whispered, "Mr. Mayor, as a token of my gratitude for your support, how about this—ten percent of our Los Angeles box office earnings go toward your cigar fund?"

  Grant choked on his cigar, coughing violently. When he finally caught his breath, he pointed a finger at me. "You little rascal! You sure know how to talk! Fine, fine—I’ll see what I can do. I’ll pull some strings."

  James, Gans, and Berg immediately jumped in, bombarding Grant with praise. They laid it on so thick, the old man was practically glowing by the end of it.

  We chatted for a few more hours, and by the time lunch rolled around, Grant took us to the city hall cafeteria for a casual meal. Over lunch, he asked where our production company was based.

  I admitted we hadn’t secured a location yet.

  Grant’s face darkened. I could tell he felt like he had just been scammed.

  "Andre, this grant came from my office. I need you to work hard and prove I didn’t make a mistake. I don’t want to lose face in front of the committee." He sighed heavily.

  "Mr. Mayor, you have my word—the Corleone family never breaks a promise!" I pounded my chest in a show of sincerity.

  "Alright, alright," Grant muttered, taking a sip of his wine. Then, lowering his voice, he added, "Get yourself a studio space quickly and send me a production plan. That way, I can show the committee something concrete."

  "Got it! Whatever you say!" I grinned.

  By the time we left city hall, it was already 2 PM.

  Bellies full, pockets heavier by $30,000—our spirits were through the roof.

  With this unexpected windfall, our budget had doubled from $40,000 to $80,000. Plus, we had managed to secure free equipment rentals, meaning we could now allocate even more funds to the actual production. More money meant better quality—our film was about to get a serious upgrade.

  "James, Grant was right—we need a proper studio space. We can’t run a film company without one. Do you know of any good locations nearby?" Of all of us, James was the most familiar with the area, so I turned to him first.

  James thought for a moment, then said, "Andre, if we’re talking prime real estate, Hollywood Boulevard is ideal—but it’s expensive, and big studios dominate that area. We’d be out of our league there. Now, Harvey Street? Not the prettiest, but the rent is dirt cheap. More importantly, it has everything we need—actors, equipment, you name it. Oh, and I know a guy selling his small production studio. He registered it back in January, shot one film, went bankrupt, and now he’s looking to offload the place."

  "How much?" I asked cautiously. Money was still tight—I needed every dollar to count.

  James smirked. "He’s a friend. I can probably get it for $10,000."

  Ten grand for studio space? That was a steal. I made up my mind instantly. "Alright, let’s go check it out!"