“Turn right up ahead...”

Recalling the roads here, Henry reminded the driver, “Let me off at the fork ahead.”

That guy’s house had been confiscated, but as a freelance journalist’s studio, it was simply converted from his aunt’s apartment before she left for the UK, and could also serve as a place to live.

The car stopped beside the fork in the road. Henry grabbed his bag and was about to get out, but Ross held him back. He pointed at the guy in the front passenger seat and, in a commanding tone, said, “Take out your phone and wallet.”

The person in the passenger seat hesitated for a moment, but still pulled out a Nokia phone and a black wallet. Ross took them, tossed the phone to Henry, then opened the wallet and flipped through it, handing over all the two hundred-plus dollars inside.

If it had been before, Henry would never have accepted it, but faced with harsh reality, there weren’t many choices. He only hesitated briefly before taking the money and phone, nodded to Ross, and then said to the guy in the passenger seat, “Thanks, man. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”

Henry opened the car door and got out, turning to look at Ross inside. Ross had already moved to the window on this side and shouted, “If your Hollywood dream doesn’t work out, don’t forget you’ve still got me as a friend.”

He lowered his voice a bit, “If we team up, we could totally take over the downtown heroin and underground gun market...”

“Just wait and see!” Henry stood by the roadside, back straight, his brown stubble shining brilliantly in the sunlight, and replied with great confidence, “Ross, you’ll soon see the name Henry Stanton all over America.”

Ross didn’t believe a word of it. “That’ll only happen if you get a nude photo of Sumner Redstone.”

The car slowly drove away from the fork. Henry took his eyes off the receding car and looked around. The buildings here looked old, dilapidated, and crowded—a textbook slum.

This was also the place where he would be living.

Despite his grand ambitions, Henry knew very well that what he had to face now wasn’t the elusive Hollywood, but how to survive.

Chapter 2: A Good Opportunity

The greatest talent of humanity is the right to chase dreams, but before pursuing dreams, you have to fill your stomach first. If you can’t even manage basic survival, everything else is just an illusion.

He’d been in this world for over a year now, spending almost all of it in prison. The hardships had made Henry realize a lot. Before he could achieve his Hollywood dream, he first needed to find a job to support himself.

Although the previous owner of this body was an idiot, he did leave behind some useful things—like this small apartment.

The apartment was in a Latin community, and like most houses in downtown Los Angeles, it was a low, old building. The security here was worrying, with plenty of idle people living nearby, and some guys similar to Ross often hanging around the neighborhood.

Maybe it was just good luck, or maybe the place was too run-down and remote, but this “aunt’s” apartment hadn’t been visited by thieves all year. The furniture and work equipment left by that idiot Henry always despised were still intact, which was a pleasant surprise.

After finding the apartment based on his memories, Henry did a thorough cleaning, then took stock of his current assets.

First was this house he could temporarily call home. The US uses the British measurement system, and by Henry’s old standards, the place wasn’t small—about fifty square meters. Excluding the kitchen and bathroom, the bedroom, living room, and balcony were all in one room, plus a small studio, which was the former freelance journalist’s workspace.

Since his other house had been confiscated as a fine and compensation, Henry knew he’d be living here for a long time.

The furnishings were very simple. Clearly, the Stanton family had just been ordinary slum dwellers. The aunt who’d gone to the UK left behind basic appliances like an old color TV, fridge, and washing machine. The furniture was also basic: two chairs, a chipped dining table, a faded fabric sofa, and a foldable single bed.

In one day, Henry had returned from state prison to downtown Los Angeles, cleaned the apartment, and now his stomach was growling with hunger. He took out all the money he had and counted it carefully—two hundred and forty-three dollars.

He took out a ten-dollar bill, stuffed the rest into his inner pocket, and left the apartment to buy a burger meal at a nearby burger joint for dinner.

Although it was already dark and the security here was bad, Henry didn’t run into any melodramatic robbery. He figured maybe his tough physique helped—after all, after everything he’d been through in prison, he now had a faintly fierce aura.

Dinner only cost five dollars. With no income now, Henry had to plan the use of every cent.