The Amazing Son in Law The Charismatic Charlie Wade

Around noon, Charlie found himself alone in a bustling Sterling restaurant nestled within the heart of Chinatown. He savored each bite of his meal, the flavors of home bringing a semblance of comfort to his day. But as he ate, the tranquility was shattered by the sudden arrival of two Immigration Bureau police cars. Their flashing lights silently screamed trouble.

Charlie kept his head down, seemingly indifferent to the commotion unfolding outside the restaurant’s window.

Several police officers rushed in with haste, snapping photos of the patrons. Abruptly, they approached Charlie, their voices raised in unison, “Are you Charlie, the one who smuggled into the United States from Malaysia?”

Charlie raised his head, feigning innocence as he shook it, “No.”

The officers reviewed the photo again and shared a knowing sneer. One of them turned to his colleagues, whispering, “That’s him, let’s take him in!”

Before Charlie could react, they pounced, twisting his arms behind his back and handcuffing him.

He pretended to resist for a moment, but when the threat of a drawn weapon loomed, he wisely ceased struggling.

The officers bundled him into one of their cars, sirens blaring as they raced toward the immigration office.

At this juncture, the officers were ignorant of Charlie’s background. All they knew was that their superiors had tipped them off about a Malaysian illegal immigrant suspected of multiple thefts lurking in a Chinatown eatery, instructing them to seize the opportunity and apprehend him.

Once at the immigration office, they confiscated Charlie’s Malaysian passport, a decrepit old mobile phone, and a little over two hundred dollars in cash. Verification of his passport’s identity information

confirmed his status as an illegal immigrant from Malaysia.

Charlie was temporarily confined in the immigration office’s detention room, awaiting his uncertain fate.

Upon arrival, Charlie found himself surrounded by at least twenty others who shared the same predicament. These detainees spanned various skin tones, their expressions marked by despair and fear.

Spotting Charlie, an Asian man with a scruffy beard approached him, struggling with his English accent as he asked, “Are you Japanese?”

Charlie shook his head, replying, “I’m Malaysian, but my parents are Chinese.”

Another Asian-faced man with short hair perked up upon hearing this. He exclaimed, “Brother, I’m Chinese too! We share common roots!”

Jagoan nodded and inquired, “How did you end up here?”

The short-haired man chuckled wryly, “Well, there’s no glamorous story. I walked the wire, had no identity, no cash – I was even robbed on my journey here. I arrived with nothing, set up a makeshift tent in the park, only for it to be stolen by an old guy. I thought about pilfering a bicycle for food deliveries, but the police caught me, and here I am.”

New York instead of Los Angeles? It’s

short-haired man slapped his thigh, exclaiming, “You know your stuff, Brother! You didn’t come through the wire,

head, revealing, “I

short-haired man’s enthusiasm dwindled, and he sighed, “You had it easier. A few months on a boat from your hometown – not like us, enduring a grueling journey. I’ve been through hell,

is no picnic. Imagine standing the whole time, sometimes having to swim for kilometers. Over sixty of

a paradise, it’s a purgatory. The swindler agent told me I could make seven to eight grand washing dishes in a month. But when I got here,

to Jagoan, “Brother, you asked why I didn’t go to Los Angeles. Well, initially, I did. After arriving from Mexico, a bunch of us made our way to Los Angeles,

it from the west coast to

“I took a train, of course. It’s a long haul, so we followed a few seasoned hobos, the ones who ride trains

arriving in New York,” he continued, “I thought, ‘This city’s bustling, there must be a place for me here.’ I contemplated finding work in Chinatown, settled on a job delivering food for a Chinese restaurant, but without a vehicle, I resorted to stealing

faint smile, inquiring, “What’s your plan

worth being locked up for what I’ve done. American prisons are overcrowded. Petty crimes by illegal immigrants often result in mere days behind bars. After release, I assumed they’d deport me, but they couldn’t care less. Now, I’ll be back on the streets… If

“If you find a way, maybe

Americans won’t deport me, and retracing my steps is impossible. This trip cost over ten thousand dollars – where would I find that

offering, “Then focus

face contorted with despair. “Brother, I spent ages saving for this journey. Along the way, I indulged in foods I’d never tasted

but chuckle, asking, “What did

bitterly, “Construction, food delivery, odd jobs, even a bit of extra work in films –

Only the jobs that the locals shunned were available to them. Hogan had been a financial luminary back in Hong

“I’m just speaking from the heart. If

of this, several more illegal immigrants were escorted in by the police and placed into a detention room. Among them was a yellow-skinned officer who fixed his gaze on Jagoan and

“Jagoan, come with me.”

man, curious about the exchange, piped up,

with the short-haired man. “He’s taking

man appeared slightly disappointed, querying, “Why’d they whisk you away so

at the short-haired