Driving the used Chevrolet back to the apartment, Duke was still thinking about the conversation. As a major player, CAA had unhesitatingly abandoned him, a nobody—so what should he do next?

Should he look for film crews to build up experience and wait for an opportunity, or...?

Back at the apartment, Duke continued packing. Hundreds of well-thumbed books, hundreds of videotapes, dozens of reels of film, a sixteen-millimeter camera, and a small editing machine were all carefully sorted into several boxes, sealed up one by one, just waiting to be shipped out the next day.

These were all his accumulated possessions, the witnesses to his years of study and practice.

Early the next morning, Duke first settled the lease handover with the landlord. When the moving company arrived, he loaded all his belongings onto the truck, then drove his own Chevrolet, following behind the truck as they left Valencia and headed straight for the seaside town of Santa Monica on the west side of Los Angeles.

This small city is both a tourist destination and a favorite place for the wealthy to buy homes. The Rosenberg family villa is in a good location, not far from the Santa Monica yacht marina. Although the area isn’t very large—less than an acre including the front yard and small garden—it carries the unique refinement and elegance of French architecture.

By the time he arrived, it was already close to noon. Duke skillfully parked the Chevrolet in the garage, had the servant direct the movers to temporarily place the luggage in the storage room next to the main house, settled the bill with them, and after the truck drove out the main gate, he looked at the familiar cream-colored building, stepped onto the matching stone steps, and walked inside.

Even though he hadn’t been back for a long time, this was where he grew up—Duke felt no sense of unfamiliarity.

Crossing the smooth marble floor, Duke skillfully turned into the main living room of the house. As expected, his always-busy mother was waiting for him.

She was a middle-aged woman whose hair and eye color were almost identical to Duke’s. She was tall, with distinctly Jewish features. Despite the common Western trait of a larger frame, she was certainly beautiful—especially since she took excellent care of herself, looking no more than her early thirties.

“Mom, I’m back.”

Looking up at Duke, Leah Rosenberg nodded gently. “Mm, let’s eat.”

She put down her fashion magazine, stood up, and walked toward the dining room. Duke hurried to follow, walking at Mrs. Leah’s side.

Duke had long been used to his mother’s attitude. She was shrewd and capable, but not talkative, and especially strict with him. Even if she truly missed him, she rarely showed it in words or expression.

But Duke knew she genuinely loved him. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have set aside her busy work to make lunch and wait for him to come home. He also respected his mother enough—after twenty-one years together, even strangers would develop a deep bond, let alone those related by blood.

After a quick wash in the restroom next to the dining room, Duke entered and habitually sat to his mother’s left. Lunch wasn’t lavish: a simple vegetable salad, barley bread, beef stew with potatoes, and oatmeal porridge. Just a taste told him it was definitely his mother’s cooking.

“You’ve officially graduated.”

There weren’t many dining formalities in their family. After just a few bites, Mrs. Leah asked with concern, “You haven’t changed your mind about the future?”

“No, Mom.” Duke looked at his mother and said very seriously, “I want to be a film director! And a successful one!”

In fact, he knew that in his mother’s view, he should go into business.

“You know how hard this road is, Duke?” Mrs. Leah unusually said a few more words. “Are you mentally prepared?”

“I’ve been ready for a long time, Mom.” Duke’s determination had never wavered. “Only you know how much time and energy I’ve put into this, how hard I’ve worked for it. For the past ten years, I’ve been moving toward this goal.”

“Tell me your plan.” Mrs. Leah knew well that Duke was a man of action, but not impulsive.

“In the next few weeks, I’ll turn what’s in here...”

Pointing to his head, Duke continued, “An idea that’s been there for a long time—into a proper script, and then look for investment and a chance to direct.”

Looking up at his mother, twenty years together was enough for him to read disapproval on that beautiful face. “Mom, I know I’ve only made two experimental films—my experience and age are both issues.”

“But don’t forget, Hollywood isn’t without young directors. Last year, Columbia Pictures bought the script for ‘Boyz n the Hood’ from John Singleton and let him direct it. How old was he? Only twenty-two! And he’s Black!”

“Hollywood has never lacked scripts!”

Because her advertising company had many business dealings with Hollywood, Mrs. Leah knew this well. “John Singleton will only be an exception, not the norm.”