All language subtitles for The.Residence.S01E08.1080p.HEVC.x265-MeGusta[EZTVx.to].mkv

How are you feeling?

Like I'm gonna win.

You never win.

But I'm feeling like I'm gonna win.

Ha! How'd you get so bad at this?

Practice. You won't believe
this but when I was a kid,

I had a magnetic backgammon
set I used to play in the car.

I would lose to my father
while he was driving.

He couldn't even see the
board and I would still lose.

I definitely believe that.
Why wouldn't I believe that?

His birthday today.

Your dad?

Yeah, just realizing that.

Well, happy birthday, papa wynter.

Run it back?

He'd be... 157?

Thanks.

- I'm just doing the math.
- Great.

How long ago did you lose him?

54 years. This march.

Shit.

I'm sorry, a.B.

How old were you?

Eleven.

He and my mom died in
a car crash when I was 11.

It wasn't the backgammon. Don't worry.

They were good parents.

You're always giving me shit.
"Why don't you have a family?"

That's why.

I had

a family.

Why were you always letting
me run my mouth like that, a.B.?

- So you'd feel terrible.
- Well, I do. I do.

I should probably hold
on this one, actually.

Got to go make this night happen.
Try not to kill someone. Or get killed.

Hey.

You do have a family.
You know that, right?

All of this here.

All of this here.

Mr. Wynter.

George. George.

George.

- No allergies?
- She said no allergies.

Excellent.

Who are you?

I want a.B. Wynter up here now!

Because my fuckin' toilet's clogged!

You are old man robot
from planet Usher, so

I'm sending up an engineer.

- To fix the toilet.
- Thank you.

And I'm gonna talk to
your brother in the morning.

I am trying to do something great,
but you have never understood that.

And if you get in my way
again, I am going to kill you!

Helen, no, do not fuck with me.

I have half of fucking
Australia coming to this party.

I need Harry styles here tonight.

We're screwed! Nobody
wants to play in this shitty house.

- Yes?
- We have a problem on the floor.

Valentina motta. Lorenzo,
please let me handle this.

- Just let them go.
- It is against white house protocol.

- Who fucking cares?
- I care.

Did I just hear we don't
have a musical guest?

Please pardon my interruption.
We have a cancellation.

- Yes, okay.
- I'll arrange it. The Lincoln bedroom.

Bullshit!

I follow every single protocol.

I asked you about no allergies.
Get these flowers out of here.

- Why do I have to clean up Tripp's mess?
- Would you give us a moment?

Why am I... Eddie could have... I
was pulled out of my son's birthday

this is what I talk about when

fucking job...

Rollie, switch. Actually,
rollie, switch these two.

Excuse me. Thank you.

A.b., there's a crash
outside the south gate.

Right over there. We have
agents on it now checking it out.

- Sheila's sitting...
- What is she doing?

- You're off the floor.
- You know what? Fuck you, a.B.!

There's a problem with the kangaroos.

You are not going to
take away my kangaroos!

- I haven't taken anything away from you.
- Not you.

Him!

Not going to talk to me like
that! No! I'm going to expose you!

I am going to tell them everything!

Everything!

The man I wanted to see. I spoke
to marvella about the desserts

I'm not leaving. I can't
leave the house like this.

Not after tonight.

Elsyie, a.B. Needs you to prep the
Lincoln bedroom for Kylie Minogue.

- Okay.
- Thank you.

Mr. Foreign minister, everything okay?

Hello? Give me five minutes.

I am going to be dead
by the end of the night.

You need to get off the floor now.

Don't worry about it.
Get it later. Let's go.

- Hello?
- Meet me in the yellow oval room.

You are old man robot

- I am going to kill you!
- Nobody wants to play...

- This is what I talk about...
- Not you. Him!

Fuck you, a.B.!

You think it happened here in this room?

I am now convinced of it.

Detective cupp? Are you ready?

I have to catch a flight.

Yes, I understand. We're
ready if you're ready.

It's a giant antpitta.

What's a giant antpitta?

- The bird I'm going to see. My flight.
- Okay. Great.

That sounds like, such
a very large antpitta.

Huge compared to the other
tracheophone suboscine birds.

It... it's big.

I appreciate you appearing before
this committee today, detective cupp.

As you know,

we've been looking into the death of
white house chief Usher a.B. Wynter.

I've heard.

When we began these hearings,
the investigation was closed,

and officially,

Mr. Wynter's death was ruled a suicide.

In fact, we learned over the
course of some difficult hearings...

Senators!

For which I accept full responsibility,

that the story of Mr. Wynter's
death was much more

complicated.

Unfortunately, we also learned that
a little late as you had already left.

To find a giant antpitta.

The largest of the
tracheophone suboscine birds,

as I understand it.

- Yes.
- But now you're back.

And you agreed to come here
today on your way to the airport,

to report that a suspect has
been detained in your investigation.

- That's correct, senator.
- And the name of this suspect?

We are in a closed
session here, detective cupp.

Given the sensitivity of the proceedings.

Yes. Okay.

But... don't you wanna
hear how I figured it all out?

Something's missing
from the yellow oval room.

- Yes.
- A vase. One of a set.

French porcelain. From 1823.

You haven't seen it since October 11th.
The night Mr. Wynter was found dead.

That's right.

And you won't. It's broken. I'm sorry.

Detective cupp, that's not the
only thing missing from the room.

I know.

I'm looking for a clock.

Okay. Sure.

How about this one?

No. A specific clock.

I see.

Every room has as a clock on the
mantel. But not in the yellow oval room.

That clock? The Franklin clock?

- No. It's gone.
- Do you know where it is?

- No. We looked everywhere.
- Do you have a picture?

- That's a big clock.
- Yes.

- Can I take this?
- No.

- The yellow roses?
- In a large vase by the door.

Yes, I remember those. Of course.

They were... distressed.

- I wouldn't say distressed.
- What would you say?

- I would say burned.
- Burned?

Those were beautiful fresh flowers

and they were fully
desiccated two days later.

- Burned.
- What would do that?

Something violent.

Contact herbicide.

- Paraquat, maybe.
- Paraquat?

- That'd be my guess.
- Is that something you keep here?

Do I keep industrial weed
killer in my small flower shop

where I make pretty
bouquets? Is that the question?

Unfortunately, yes.

No. I do not.

But I do know where you can find it.

Paraquat? No, not something
we're allowed to use here anymore.

Basically, any chemicals.

We were told a year ago we had to
completely detoxify all of our gardening.

- We're just "conscious landscaping" now.
- What does that mean?

I have no idea.

All I know is we had to get rid of
all of our pesticides like paraquat.

But now that I'm saying that,

I don't think anybody ever
came by to collect any of that stuff.

If I had any of it left, it
would be over here.

I guess it is still here.

- You know, that's really weird.
- Yes.

- You know what I'm gonna say?
- I do.

So weird.

The night Mr. Wynter was killed,
when we were all out here together.

I felt like something had been moved
over in this area. You mentioned that.

And there is something off
about that shelf back there.

You don't know what it
is, but it's bothering you.

- There's something different.
- That.

Yes!

Can you come with us?

My god!

- Do you recognize this?
- Yes, it's from my desk. Why

- it's hard to explain.
- I wondered where it went. Can I have it?

- No.
- It's mine.

It has paraquat in it.

My sister made that for me.

Well, now it's kind of a murder weapon.

Okay.

You can keep it.

I'm... I'm gonna leave.

Thank you, Emily.

- Where are we?
- We're in the yellow oval room.

No, I mean, what are we doing?

We're looking for clues.

I guess what I mean is, what is that?

It's a little tumbler.

- You see what I'm getting at?
- No.

- Generally?
- No.

Last night, you had Bruce
and elsyie right there.

You were deciding
between Bruce and elsyie.

Did Bruce kill a.B. Wynter, or did elsyie?

And now we have a little tumbler
and no Bruce and no elsyie.

And I'm wondering...
Are we getting any closer?

To what?

To figuring out who killed a.B. Wynter.

Yes.

Yes!

Someone went out to that
shed the night of the state dinner.

I think looking for poison. I
think they brought a real glass.

I think that glass fell or
broke... I don't know why,

and then they grabbed this.

They found the poison... the
paraquat... and poured it in here.

And then they picked up the phone
and called a.B. Wynter in his office.

And then they came here.

Well, there. And then here.

I saw two glasses that night.

One on the coffee table.
And one on that end table.

I suspect the one on the
end table had the poison

and was poured on the flowers.

Some of that wynter probably ingested.

Someone threw a vase.

I think it hit this wall.

That vase is now gone.

The other is right there. And
there are indentations here.

My guess is that it
was intended for wynter,

and that's why he had
little cuts on his face.

And when that didn't work, that
person picked up something heavy.

Possibly the candlestick, but I
don't think that was heavy enough.

I think that candlestick
fell when Mr. Wynter

stumbled into this table
after drinking the poison.

I think the heavy object was the clock.

There is no clock.

Exactly. And I think this is why.

- You think the clock is the murder weapon?
- Yes.

You said the tumbler
was the murder weapon.

I said it was "kind of" a murder weapon.

- So we need to find the clock.
- We do.

Do you think you know where it is?

No. But I know one place
they definitely didn't look.

A clock?

No, I... I'd say no.

You know? I mean, not
like a traditional "clock clock."

Why are you putting that in
quotes? What is a "clock clock"?

- I don't wanna get in trouble.
- It's okay. We're the police.

All right.

Well, I... I do have a nice piece in here.

More of a sculpture of a
dude with clock-like elements.

Why do you have that?

I took it from the library,
all right, a while back.

And then I heard
Mr. Wynter was looking for it,

and he was already pretty upset
with me about a few things, and...

So when I heard he was
leaving, I thought, I'll wait until then

and then I'll, like, put it back.
And then that didn't happen.

So here we are.

I still can't tell if it's cool or not.

You can't?

- What do you mean, he was leaving?
- What?

You said Mr. Wynter was
leaving and then he didn't.

- Leaving the house.
- Retiring?

- I guess.
- When was that?

I dunno. Sometime since I've been
here. What's that? A couple months?

- You've been here a year.
- Fuck, really?

- Where did you hear that?
- I don't know. Out on the floor?

Out on the floor? Do you have
a floor meeting or something?

I don't know, man. Maybe the old lady?
Or that asshole that works for my brother.

- That could be a lot of people.
- No, I'm talking about the asshole.

The world's biggest asshole.

What? I don't know what
the fuck he's talking about.

That dude is crazy.

You know that, right?

- You never heard a.B. Wynter was leaving?
- No.

But I'm not really dialed
in to residence staffing

because I'm trying to help president
Morgan run the fucking country.

Are you close?

Because you asking me
about wynter's retirement plans

doesn't feel like we're close.

Wait, hold on.

Actually, the night he died,
when she came up here,

and I asked her to shut
everything down, and she said no

- who are you talking about?
- Jasmine. Jasmine haney.

She went on some rant
about working here 11 years...

And yes, I want to be the chief Usher,

and I thought I was
going to be the chief Usher

but it was made very clear to me tonight

that I am not going to be
the chief Usher anytime soon.

Basically told me to go fuck myself
until I showed her wynter was dead.

I don't know if that's
related to him "leaving."

On the night Mr. Wynter died,
he dropped a bomb on Jasmine.

Jasmine haney was going to be the
next chief Usher of the white house.

Everybody knew that. She knew
that. Mr. Wynter told her a year ago.

He was going to retire. She
was going to take his place.

But over the last year,

we all started to... feel it slipping.

He never set an exact date,

but whatever it was seemed
to keep getting pushed back.

First, it was the holidays.

Then the terror attacks on
march 4th. Couldn't leave after that.

Then easter.

- Then the fourth of July.
- Holidays are coming up again.

I could feel Jasmine getting
frustrated. I told her to hang on,

he just needed time to let go,
that it would happen soon enough,

and I believed that. I
think she believed that.

Until that night.

I'm not leaving.

I'm not retiring. For at
least a couple of years.

A bomb.

And she was pissed.

I know. I know...

Years?! I have been waiting
years! I'm not waiting years.

You just need to talk to him.

I am done talking, okay?
Talking hasn't gotten me shit.

Walking around by his side,

yes sir, no sir, let me
take care of that for you, sir.

Cleaning up his fucking messes.

She tried talking to him again,
but it didn't amount to anything.

It wasn't much of a talk.

Then she never got another chance.

- Jasmine haney?
- Yes.

Did that surprise you?

I'm not easily surprised.

But I will admit, it did make
things more... interesting.

I'd previously identified
a number of people

who I believed might have
played a role in Mr. Wynter's death.

And now I had one more.

This is it.

She is it.

She's the one with the cleanest, clearest,
most powerful motive. We just heard it.

And she had the access.
And it makes complete sense.

She's the one who told us everything.
Showed us everything. Shaped everything.

We're talking about all
these other people. But...

Sometimes it's the
thing right in front of you.

It's the thing hiding in plain sight.

The obvious thing.

The thing you're staring
at. You just didn't see it.

Yes, I agree.

But how exactly?

And when? And did she act alone?

Obviously, everything
makes much more sense

if there were other people involved.

I know this is, weird.

But. Did you see "murder
on the orient express"?

- The new one?
- Or the old one.

I haven't seen either one.

- Then why do you care which one?
- I read the book.

Well, I haven't read the
book. That's not the point.

- The point is, what hap...
- the book is good.

Okay, I'm sure it is.
Someday I'll read the book.

Right, okay, that's weird.

Anyway, if you remember,
it turns out they all did it.

All the suspects.

And it makes me wonder...

Wait. You're agreeing with me?

What?

- When I said it was hiding in plain sight.
- Yes.

You've agreed with me before, but I
realized you were making fun of me.

Yes.

Yes. So you were making fun of me before,
but you're not making fun of me this time?

No.

I'm just going to go
back to where I started.

Sometimes it's the
thing right in front of you.

The thing hiding in plain sight.

The obvious thing. The
thing you've been staring at.

You just didn't see it.

Yes.

I agree.

- Is that...?
- Yes.

A.b. Wynter's journal?

Right there on the shelf, in a
room nobody else cared about.

Because where's the one
place nobody ever looks?

I use, one of those cans
that looks like a coke can,

but you can screw off the bottom.

Anyway, that's not what you meant.

The room with the books.

Nobody cares about
the room with the books.

I should have realized
this earlier. It was all there.

His notebooks, his journals,
they were like old-fashioned books.

He wrote everything down in them.

- The library.
- Mr. Wynter's favorite room.

He stopped by first thing every morning.

And it was always the last place
he went before he left for the night.

I just didn't see it, which
is precisely why he did it.

Did you read them?

I tried.

And?

And they were funny,

erudite, self-critical,
unexpectedly generous, poignant.

He was candid with some of his feelings,
many of them positive, some negative.

He had a particular
disdain for Lilly schumacher,

which didn't surprise me at all,

but the intensity of it did.

His relationship with Mr. Gotthard
had clearly soured. He did not like Tripp.

He thought it was a really bad idea to
have marvella around all those knives

and Sheila around all that vodka.

He kept a curious ledger
with acronyms and numbers

that made no sense to me at the time

but which has since
proven highly revealing.

So they were helpful?

Very. And that's even
before I got to the last page.

What was on the last page?

Nothing.

The suicide note.

Yes. But it wasn't a suicide note.
Well, except I didn't know that.

I'm sorry. It... it might've
been a suicide note?

I believed from the beginning that
Mr. Wynter did not die by suicide.

But this note.

It did read like one.

But now, in the context
of the larger page,

it clearly was not one, not originally.

I couldn't explain it. Not yet.

- Did he rip it out himself?
- Or did someone else do it?

- Accidentally?
- Or intentionally?

Did someone know these
books were here the whole time?

- Who?
- Angie.

- Jasmine.
- Why did he have it on him though?

- How did he have it on him?
- What do you mean?

If he was killed in the yellow oval room,

why does he have a suicide
note on him in the game room?

Was it just coincidence?

And what did you decide?

I didn't decide anything,

because that's when all hell broke loose.

Upstairs. Now.

Hey, it's me. I'm just doing my thing.

I'm not happy, detective cupp.

Well, that's not good.

Because you're, like, the most
important person in the world.

Why are you not happy?

What are you doing here?

Who let you back into this house?

Do you want to take that?

Well, okay, yes, before
everybody starts pointing fingers...

- Harry...?
- It's not like one person decided.

It was a decision
among various... parties.

- You called me.
- Harry!

Yes! Yes. Okay. I asked
detective cupp to come back.

Mr. President, I do think it's
important that this gets resolved.

The damage that came out
of those senate hearings...

You didn't even tell me.

You don't live here!

It's the white house. I'm
the president. Did he tell you?

No.

He didn't tell me either.
And we have jurisdiction.

What the fuck?

You don't have jurisdiction.

The fucking campground
attendant is here?

The jurisdiction of
the national park police

is the grand fucking tetons.

It's a common misperception.

The mpd has jurisdiction.
That's why I'm here.

- Do you see the uniform?
- Yeah, we can't miss it, chief.

Always with the fucking
uniform. You sleep in that thing?

Okay, it gets respect, no matter when.

This painting was in the red
room on the night of the murder.

Okay.

And the paintings that were in
here are now in the green room.

The painting that was in the green
room, where one of those paintings now is,

is now in the red room.

So many colors. Is this important?

- Yes.
- Why is this important?

Because now I know precisely
how a.B. Wynter was killed.

- You had solved the case?
- No.

I had solved part of the
case. A very important part.

I knew how it was done,
but I didn't know who did it.

But now I knew how to
figure that part out too.

I told the president I needed two hours.

If he gave me two hours

and could collect the
people on the list I gave him

and meet me with them in the east room,
I would tell him who killed a.B. Wynter.

- And?
- And he agreed.

What did you need the two hours for?

Birding mostly. And to
tie up a few loose ends.

Elsyie chayle. That's correct.

Detective cupp wants to
see you in the foyer, and,

it's probably a shoes-on situation.

Yeah.

Excellent choice.

And I needed to secure from you immunity
for someone to appear at the white house.

In exchange for which
you agreed to come here.

That's correct, senator.

Is she here?

Where is she?

She's on-site.

Come on!

Whoo!

Got the fish crow and the downy
woodpecker and the saw-whet owl.

And I know chief dokes
is excited about that one.

Always good when you get an owl.

Okay. Thank you all for coming.

I appreciate everyone taking time
out of their busy day to join me here.

Particular shout out to the
most powerful man in the world.

Thank you, Mr. President.

You've gotta be fucking kidding me.

G'day, mates.

Mr. Doumbe. Appreciate you
being here. I'm cordelia cupp.

I'll be your host today.

A couple things before we get started.

First, just wanna make
sure everyone's here

for the murder of a.B. Wynter.

If you're here for another
murder, that's, like, a huge problem.

So please do let me know.

Please do not touch any objects
or artwork as they might be valuable

and/or contain the fingerprints of
the murderer standing next to you.

I will be taking questions.

We're gonna start up in the
game room on the third floor

and then work our way down.

I'll explain. So, hopefully,
everyone's wearing comfortable shoes.

Or just any foot-like
covering at all would be great.

Okay.

The last thing, and this is important.

Lots of detectives, even real ones,

do this kind of "summation"
when they already know who did it.

Which I've always
thought was a little weird.

But I'm here to tell you right now,

I do not know who killed a.B. Wynter.

I know he was killed.

I know he was killed
by someone in this room.

I hope the president told you
this when he invited you here.

But I don't know who.

I am positive, though, that by
the time I'm done, I will know.

So. If you killed a.B.,

I'm sorry, you can't leave now. I'll know.

And if you did not kill a.B.,
I'm sorry, you can't leave now.

Because I'll think you did, and probably
have evidence to prove it. Or something.

Because you definitely
did something awful.

So... buckle up.

No exit.

I'll see you in the game room.

- Is that really true?
- What?

- That you didn't know?
- Absolutely true.

And you thought you'd just
figure it out along the way?

I knew I would. There's a bird...

A mockingbird... does this thing.

It knows there's an insect nearby,
but it doesn't know exactly where.

So it suddenly flashes its wings open.

Gets the insect to blink.

Watch for it.

The blink.

Let's back it up. To
the night of the party.

This case began when your
mom next door heard a thump

came over here, found Mr. Wynter dead.

When I arrived on the
scene 30 minutes later,

you all believed he had killed himself.

Especially you.

We believe it's a suicide.

I told you almost immediately
that you were wrong and I was right,

and that has been our
relationship ever since.

This is gonna be a long tour.

You can leave.

Soon after I arrived,

I told you all specifically
why I knew it wasn't a suicide.

There's no knife.

But it wasn't just the knife.

The blood on the shirt that
Mr. Wynter was wearing,

that was not his.

That was Australian foreign
minister rylance's blood and his shirt,

which Mr. Wynter had
graciously exchanged

with Mr. Rylance in his
office an hour before.

The reason for the exchange

while fascinating, is irrelevant.

Can I leave?

Sure.

Other curiosities took longer.

But the first and most relevant
business was the missing knife.

And that led me to discover that
there had, in fact, been a knife here,

a good knife,

and that it belonged to you, Mr. Gotthard.

And that you removed the knife from
this crime scene. And tried to destroy it.

You have admitted this.

After all this is over, I wanna
talk about getting my own office.

A single leaf from the
cedar of Lebanon tree

and a lot of lying finally
led me to Ms. Cannon,

who was in this room around
the time wynter was killed,

drinking vodka that she was
supposed to be delivering to Ms. Cox.

You were bringing mother vodka?

Can I smoke in here?

No.

Was Ms. Cannon involved
in Mr. Wynter's death?

I do not know.

Not yet. But she was here.

Mr. Gotthard and Ms.
Cannon were both in this room.

And then I learned
another important fact,

this time from one of the few
people who did not lie to me that night,

medical examiner Anne dodge.

Ms. Dodge confirmed
what I already suspected:

Mr. Wynter likely died
of blunt force trauma

to the back of the head. And
he did, in fact, ingest poison.

And he was dead before
his wrists were slashed.

Meaning he did not slash his own wrists.

Because he was dead.

Okay, got it.

Thanks.

He is a strange little man.

I had already come to believe that
Mr. Wynter was dragged into this room,

of course, and this report
from Anne dodge sealed it.

Mr. Wynter did not kill
himself in the game room.

He was not killed in the game room.

He was dragged in here.

- From where?
- From here. Room 301.

On the night of the state dinner,
room 301 was undergoing renovation.

A fake renovation ordered
by president Morgan and Elliott

so that Harry hollinger's sister
couldn't stay in the white house.

My first clue that this room
was involved in the night's events

was that the door had been
taped, which struck me as unusual.

Even more unusual was
that there was a smell of paint

because, remember,
this was a fake renovation,

staged only to keep Harry's apparently
unbearable sister out of the house.

Can you stop, please?

She's really a nice person.

Beneath the paint, I
found blood. Fresh blood.

And then, another extraordinary turn:

A precocious young detective

staying across the street
at the hay-Adams hotel

saw a flashing red light in this room,

soon after Mr. Wynter had died.

A light I was able to trace
to the wrist of Tripp Morgan.

This fucking watch. I've been
having so many problems with it lately.

I was convinced of
Mr. Morgan's involvement

but had to wait for him to reveal it to me,

which he has now done with
remarkable detail. So, thank you.

- Thank me for what?
- For explaining what happened.

I never told you anything.

- Did he tell you something?
- Yes.

Shit.

Detective cupp wants to see you.

I knew Tripp was in this room because
of the precocious young detective.

But I didn't know much beyond that,
and I was sure he wouldn't talk to me

any more than he already had.

- By the piano?
- Yeah.

But he is a talker,

and sometimes you just have to
put together the right... combination.

George mccutcheon.
The George mccutcheon.

Nah, I'm just kidding. I
know there's three of you.

What up, George?

Only one Tripp. Thank god for that, right?

Yo, you seen that detective?
Looks like Indiana Jones and shit.

"Best detective in the world."

I dunno. I guess I'm
supposed to meet her here.

She's been badgering me, George.

I'm telling you, I have nothing
to do with this whole thing.

With a.B. Dude. Fucking nothing.

Dude comes to my room
acting all crazy and shit,

but that's fucking it.
You know what I mean?

You're looking at me funny.

Can I tell you something, g? Okay?

That night. That night of
the dinner. I'm like fucked up.

You used to party, right?

Yeah, yeah, yeah. You know.

So I'm having a fucking party, right?

'Cause my absolute shit bird
brother won't let me come to this one

with the Australians who know
how to actually fucking party.

So I go to the room at
the end of the hall, right,

so all these assholes will leave me alone,
and, dude, I fucking crash out, right?

Fucking crash out.

And then I wake up...

We're good, right?

Mccutcheon, this is just, like, fucking
you and me talking. Right, dude?

Okay. So, dude, I fucking wake up,

and a.B. Wynter is on
the ground next to me.

Fucking dead. Dead!

I'm like, "fuck!"

I lose my shit 'cause I'm like, I was just
fighting with this guy in my fucking room,

and there's this fake electrician in
there who knows we've been fighting.

So I go and look down the hall,
and I see that crazy drunk Butler lady.

She's fucked up too, but
I don't think she sees me.

So I go back in, and I get a.B.

Dude. I'm not proud
of this. Right, George?

Not proud. But, like, I
just fucking lift him up

and just start dragging the guy
all the way down the fucking hall.

I don't even know where I'm going.

I take him to the game room, and I'm like,
all right. I just leave him there, right?

And then I run back
down to the other room,

and I see this fucking blood.

So I take some paint.
Yes, dude, seriously.

And I fucking paint this thing over.

Real fucking expert, you know?

You get that adrenaline.
You can just do shit.

Dude, turns out I can fucking paint!

So I'm, like, done now,
okay? This shit is over.

And, dude, I look down on the
ground, and I see this fucking set of keys,

and I'm like, what the fuck, man?

So I go back down the hall,
fucking running fast, right?

But real light-footed, like a panther

'cause I don't wanna wake
up fucking Elliott's mommy.

I take the keys. I put
them back in a.B.'S pocket,

and I feel this piece
of paper in his jacket.

I pull it out. Dude, it's
a fucking suicide note.

A.b. Fucking killed himself.

Fuck!

I'm like, well, I just
fucked that up, right?

Had I left him there,
it would've been fine.

What am I gonna do now?
Drag him fucking back?

What if somebody sees
me? And I'm gassed anyway.

This is where I might've
fucked up a bit, right?

'Cause I'm fucking going crazy. Heart
like a hamster, 500 beats a minute.

So I'm like, all right, this has
to look like a suicide right here.

So I open the door next door. I go
into the German pastry dude's office

'cause I know that creepy
fucker keeps his knives there.

I borrow that guy's knives all the
time. I just take 'em for random shit.

One time, I had to trim the
belt off one of these robes.

I just grabbed his knife and
just fucking sawing away.

So, anyway, I grabbed the
knife, I go back into the room,

and I just fucking did
the fucking dirty deed, g.

Cut the wrists. Dropped the knife.
Put the note back in and took off.

And that's, like, all I did.

Like I said, dude,

I have absolutely nothing
to do with any of this.

I don't think she's gonna show
up. Good talking to you, g. Late.

That's bullshit!

You used my knives?

- My mommy?
- Shitbird?

- I'll show you a crazy drunk Butler.
- Fake electrician?

That is seriously fucked up, Tripp.

Well, maybe you should
have invited me to dinner, bro.

Did Tripp do it?

Did Tripp kill a.B. Wynter? I will
not answer that question. Not yet.

But I will say, Mr. Wynter
was not killed in here.

In fact, he had been
dead for nearly 20 minutes

by the time Tripp
dragged him down the hall.

So once again, we are
faced with the same question

we entered the room with.

From where and by whom?

And this time, it is even more
incredible and unexpected.

From where?

From down there.

On the night of the state dinner,

Kylie Minogue found blood
in the Lincoln bedroom.

I believe Mr. Wynter was brought into
the Lincoln bedroom, but only temporarily.

As a brief resting place

for the person who had dragged
him from the yellow oval room

and who would carry him
up those stairs to room 301.

Now, why do I say he was
dragged from the yellow oval room?

Because that's what you
said you saw. Under oath.

I looked down the hallway,
and I saw him dragging a body

out of the yellow oval room.

So. From there. The yellow oval room.

But by whom?

You saw that too,
didn't you, Mr. Doumbe?

On the advice of counsel, I

you don't have to do that, buddy.

Who did you see dragging
Mr. Wynter out of the yellow oval room?

Him!

Aha!

Bruce geller. The grumpy, but
apparently quite lovable, engineer.

Who had been fighting with
Mr. Wynter and Tripp that night

and who Lilly saw in the yellow
oval room some 30 minutes later.

But when you saw him, Mr. Doumbe,

he was dragging a.B.
Wynter down this hall.

Why?

Well, that's more complicated.

In Bruce's mind, because
he was covering up a crime

he believed had been
committed by the woman he loved.

Elsyie chayle.

Damn.

Bruce and elsyie had
been in a relationship.

And on the night of the state dinner,
Bruce found elsyie right here, distraught

because of a recent fight she'd had
with Mr. Wynter in the yellow oval room.

While Mr. Wynter stayed in that
room, Bruce tried to comfort her,

but she wouldn't have it.

I am going to kill him.

Bruce left elsyie right here...

Walked down the hallway to the elevator,

but then, worried about
her, he turned back around

only to see elsyie now running
out of the yellow oval room.

When he went into the room himself,
moments later, he found Mr. Wynter dead.

And so, as any good man does,

he cleaned it up,

which included moving
Mr. Wynter out of the room.

That's what Mr. Doumbe saw.

Now, it's important to say here that
elsyie has a very different perspective.

She believes that
Bruce killed Mr. Wynter.

She insists that when
she came back in the room,

Mr. Wynter was already dead. And
she didn't see Bruce when she left.

Bruce had his own
issues with Mr. Wynter,

and she knew he was mad at
the way Mr. Wynter had treated her.

Either way, whether you
believe Bruce or elsyie...

- Elsyie.
- Elsyie.

Bruce.

Either way, Bruce moved Mr. Wynter.

Dragged him to the Lincoln bedroom,

left him there while he went upstairs,
and taped the door to room 301

to make it easier to enter when
he came back carrying Mr. Wynter.

And then he carried
him up and left him there.

I know you did because you were
the one dragging him down here.

And you're probably the only person

who could carry
Mr. Wynter up those stairs.

And those were your keys
that Tripp found in that room.

And so,

now we are here

where it all began.

Because I do believe it was in
this room that Mr. Wynter was killed.

Which means we're
down to one question:

Who did it?

Well, it has to be him,
right? Bruce, the engineer.

- I mean, I guess it could be her.
- It's not her.

No, I don't think so either, margery.

I mean, it is one of them
though, right? Bruce or elsyie?

You have made this very dramatic.

Thank you. Yes, that's what I thought.

It must be Bruce or elsyie.
But the minute I thought that,

I allowed myself to consider the
opposite, which one should always do.

What if it's not Bruce or elsyie?

Is it possible that they both
could be telling the truth?

Is it possible that neither
of them killed Mr. Wynter?

That in that time,

elsyie stood by that closet,
and Bruce stood by the elevator,

a third person murdered
Mr. Wynter in the yellow oval room.

Is that possible?

- Yes!
- No!

What do you mean "a third person"?

- Who?
- How would they get in here?

Right through that door.

- Could somebody do that?
- Someone did do that.

Him.

The third man.

He said he was in that room.

I heard him in that room.

And I saw him come out of
that room into the hallway.

I have immunity.

I knew it!

I... I knew it!

That whole, shucks, I'm just a
dumb sales guy who likes Australians,

and I stumbled into the white house.

He's that guy from that movie.

Ed Norton. "Primal fear." So good.

It's an act. He's full of shit.

He's an assassin.

And I work for you.

No, I'm just kidding.

That was good though.

Right, everybody?

Well, he's the next Russell Crowe.

I have considered this
scenario. That it was Mr. Doumbe.

Mr. Doumbe has admitted
to being in that room.

He could've come in
here, killed Mr. Wynter,

and returned to the room
when he then called his mom.

Aunt.

This is possible, and I don't discount it.

But let's assume that
it is not Mr. Doumbe.

Just for a moment.
Could it be anyone else?

Someone who threads
an even finer needle.

A fourth person.

Who comes into that
room before Mr. Doumbe,

slips into this room after elsyie leaves,

and then kills Mr. Wynter
before she returns.

Is that possible?

- Yes!
- No!

No! Impossible, right?

And yet. And yet. Even as I recognize

the seeming impossibility of
this scenario, I cannot let it go.

Because as I spent time
in this room last night,

I discovered things. Curious things.

A large clock missing from the mantel.

A missing vase.

Flowers burned by poison.

Things that cannot be explained
by Bruce or elsyie or Mr. Doumbe.

Things that suggest the
presence of another person.

But you have a person. Right here.

Two people. Three people.

And if you really need
a fourth, throw him in.

Not cool, bro.

Why are you working so hard on
something so... incredibly unlikely?

It is an excellent question, Mr. Hollinger.

- Really?
- Yes.

And that surprises me as
much as it surprises you.

It's the question the birder
asks about everything she sees.

Why?

Why would I even consider this?

Why would I go to the most
outrageous, the most extreme,

the most improbable of all
possible resolutions to this mystery?

And my answer to you is...

The passenger pigeon.

That's your answer?

It is not the answer I expected.

The passenger pigeon was once
the most abundant bird in the world.

In the early 19th century,
there were billions of them.

Billions. And by the late 19th
century, they were virtually extinct.

In fact, they were
thought to be. In the wild.

And then, in 1907,

a small flock was
spotted in rural Virginia.

This was the last known credible
sighting of a passenger pigeon in history.

And do you know who saw those birds?

You.

1907.

Him.

Alexander Hamilton!

Teddy Roosevelt.

President Teddy Roosevelt
was the last person

to see a passenger pigeon in the wild.

And when he did, he couldn't
believe it. It seemed impossible.

It defied logic.

The great birder, and Teddy
Roosevelt was a great birder,

looks for context, understands
relationships, history.

What you are seeing
needs to make sense.

And that flock of wild
pigeons made no sense.

They were extinct.

But. You also have to trust yourself

because you know what you are seeing,

even if everything else
says, no, that's not it.

You know. He knew. I know.

Know what?

Know that the murderer
came through that door

with a glass of poison. Paraquat.

That the murderer tried to
get Mr. Wynter to drink it,

and that Mr. Wynter did drink it,

just a little, and tossed it on the
flowers next to him. Burning them.

That the murderer threw a
vase at Mr. Wynter but missed.

That this vase shattered on this wall,

and that the shards of that vase
hit Mr. Wynter on the forehead.

That the murderer then picked
up a large clock on the mantel,

the biggest, heaviest, most
accessible murder weapon in this room,

and hit Mr. Wynter over
the head with it. Killing him.

I know that.

But that is impossible.

It's incredible. It's not impossible.

It's impossible.

You're saying someone
comes in that room.

- Before Mr. Doumbe.
- Yes.

Then comes in this room
while Mr. Wynter is alone.

- After his fight with elsyie?
- Yes.

- And then kills a.B.?
- Yes.

- Then what? Where do they go?
- Out the door.

What door? There were people
on the other side of these doors.

Mr. Doumbe was right
there. Talking to his mom.

- Not that door.
- Then what door?

- My god.
- Shit.

That door.

Yeah, I still don't see it.

Because it's not there, Mr. Doumbe.

Not anymore.

But on the night of the
murder, there was a door there.

A passageway between the
yellow oval room and the treaty room.

I must've seen it myself, but
it made no impression on me.

Even when I spent time here earlier
today and discovered other curious things,

I missed it.

It's only when I realized various
paintings had been moved,

and this one brought in here
specifically to cover a now larger space,

I figured out what had happened.

That the door had been sealed,
hidden, replaced by this wall.

A door that makes
the impossible possible.

And makes every single
one of you a suspect.

- No!
- No!

- Absolutely not. Not me.
- That's right.

Yes. You.

All of you.

The possibility that someone
could slip in here, kill Mr. Wynter,

and then slip out that door means
all of you could have done this.

Even you. And you.

And you.

Because if I'm wrong about this,
then one of you definitely did it.

Nobody here has a solid alibi

for that brief window in which
we know Mr. Wynter was killed.

And the fact that you did other
bizarre and terrible shit later

does not mean you did not do this.

In fact, it increases the
likelihood that you did.

That you did kill him.

You all certainly seemed
like you wanted to kill him.

You all fought with him that night.

- Fuck you, a.B.!
- Feel like you have something against me.

There's broken glass!

I'm not leaving.

This is my dessert. And it is
going to be served my way!

Mr. Wynter, please, I'm begging you.

You screamed at him.

You threatened him.

Keep your fucking mouth shut.

You openly mused about killing him.

He won't fire me if he isn't here anymore.

Some of you even said
you were going to kill him.

I am going... to kill him.

And then one of you did.

So. Tell me:

Who sealed that door?

Jasmine haney ordered
the door to be sealed.

What?

I saw the work being done,
and I thought it was odd,

since the president and Mr. Morgan
aren't living here anymore.

I asked and I was told it was Jasmine.

Were you going to
mention that, Ms. Haney?

No, I wasn't, Ms. Cupp.

Detective.

You really think I had
something to do with this?

You wanted this job more than
anything. You thought he had betrayed you.

You fought with him, so... yes.

Maybe.

Did you seal that door?

Yes, I did.

But it wasn't my idea.

- It was an order.
- Whose order?

He called me and told
me to take care of it.

- Who?
- Him!

What?

That's a lie.

Perry, that's a lie.

Perry?

Yeah. Jasmine?

Detective cupp.

You never called?

- Called Ms. Haney to seal off a door?
- Yes.

No! What are you talking about?

You called me. I talked to you.

This is the second time now

you said you didn't make a call
someone else claimed you made.

I... I know. These things
didn't happen. She's lying.

And agent rausch
was lying when she said

you ordered secret service off
the second floor at the state dinner?

He called at 9:22 P.M. I spoke to him.

Yes, it's insane!

Perry, please.

Yes. Yes.

I agree.

Did you have any issue with a.B.?

What? No! Why are you asking me that?

I mean, not really.

- I didn't do this, Ms. Cupp.
- Detective.

You have to believe me.

I definitely don't have to.

There's a bird on your wallpaper in there.

In your bedroom.

Looks almost like a
Malaysian rail-babbler.

I'm not sure it is, but...
that would be fitting.

The Malaysian rail-babbler
is a wildly elusive bird,

but not in the traditional
way. It's not just hard to spot.

It's hard to identify. Even what it is.

It's called a rail-babbler,
but it's actually not a rail.

It's not a babbler.

It has a song that's almost ventriloquial.

Like it's coming from somewhere else.

Maybe

it wasn't you.

Maybe... it was an order.

Maybe someone did call.

And maybe it wasn't you.

Maybe it was only someone
pretending to be you.

Using your voice.

Disguising theirs. Hiding.

That's possible.

This...

Is...

Tricky.

It was me.

I did it.

I ordered the door sealed.
I faked Elliott's voice.

I'm good at it. You know that.

Elliott is indecisive.

"well, that's... that's tricky."

I can do it. I did it.

- What?
- Why?

Mr. Wynter and I had gotten in a
fight earlier that night, about the night.

He had said some
terrible things about me,

and in the heat of it,
I grabbed his journal.

I tore a page out. I felt bad about it.

I went looking for him later,

and that's when I heard the fight
between him and elsyie in here.

I left, but I came back immediately
because it was so violent.

And that's when I saw him.

Right there.

Dead.

They had killed him.

Who?

Them.

- No!
- No!

They were both here in the room.

And it was exactly like
you said, detective cupp.

She and wynter were fighting.
She threw a vase at him.

It missed. It cut his face.

Bruce came in after that
and hit him with the clock.

This is what they told me.

What about the poison?

That was for her husband.
He was ruining her life.

He wanted me to lose my
job, wanted to destroy my life.

And she did plan to kill him.

I did want to kill him!

That's what she said.

She had gone to the shed that night
when she assumed no one would be around,

and she found the poison.

She called Mr. Wynter from the
shed because she had to tell him

she was going to be late
cleaning the Lincoln bedroom.

And when she got up
here a few minutes later,

and Mr. Wynter confronted her,

and she realized she was going
to lose her job, she lost her shit.

That's when she threw the
vase. The poison came after.

Because there wasn't much blood,

they decided that they could
make it look like a suicide.

That was his idea.

They staged it. Again,
exactly like you said.

Or close.

They got a glass from next door.

Poured some poison down his throat.

Then tossed the rest in the flowers.

That's fucked up.

But I saw two glasses.

The other one was
mine. I needed a drink.

Because of the note.

Because of the note.

I didn't know what to do.

I felt terrible for them.

I know this sounds
crazy, but she looked so

terrified.

She has a daughter.

He was just trying to protect her.

The page I accidentally ripped
out of Mr. Wynter's journal?

It read like a suicide note.

I'm sure that's not what it was,
but that's what it sounded like.

And I realized what it could
do. For them. To sell the story.

I gave them the note.

He... tucked it into
Mr. Wynter's suit jacket

and carried wynter away.

He came back down.
Cleaned it all up. I helped him.

Picked up pieces of the vase, vacuumed.

He forgot the glasses.

- Mistakes were made.
- And the clock?

He took it away. Said he
knew how to get rid of it.

Then they came up with their
stories. Perfectly inconsistent.

And the door?

Why did you seal the door?

Panic.

When you were on the third
floor that night, investigating,

I wasn't concerned.

I thought this would all go away.

But when you came down
here, before you left, I got worried.

Even after you left, I was
scared you'd come back.

Or somebody would.

I just wanted the room to look different.

To feel different. Somehow.

I was trying to protect them.

I feel terrible for Mr. Wynter.

And I honestly feel terrible for them.

Still.

I'm sorry.

- Blink.
- Yes.

Watch for it. The blink.

What?

You were so close.

So close.

I am so unexpectedly
impressed by you, Lilly.

So smart. So quick-thinking.

Such an incredible performer.

Today. On that night.

So much more diabolical
than I even imagined.

What is going on?

You could've done it. I would've
found you some way. I'm sure of it.

But you were close.

Undone by that single question
the birder asks relentlessly.

Why? Why did you seal
that passageway up, Lilly?

- Just to make it all feel better? No.
- I...

You needed something better than that.

Because there was another reason.
Because you were hiding something.

Something with your
fingerprints all over it.

Something that proves
you killed a.B. Wynter.

Detective cupp!

I'm really sorry about this, Mr. President.

Fuck yeah!

I need to call my dad.

Why?

Because of the clock.

Why did you do this, Lilly?

I can take that, unless...?

Or why don't I start, and
then you can jump in?

She did it because she hates you.
And by you, I do mean you, Mr. President.

But I really mean all of you.

The house. Like, the actual house.

Like, the physical space. Have you
seen what she's done to the blue room?

You don't do these things
unless you really hate this place.

But also, like, the house as an idea.

As an institution. She hates it.

The history. The traditions. The staff.

What it represents

america, I guess? She hates it.
And she hated Mr. Wynter most of all.

Because he represented
what it represents,

and he was in her way, and
he had been for a long time.

He sabotaged wellness Christmas.

She wanted to "reinvent the white house"

and to her that meant
tear it down. Maybe literally.

And he loved the house
and cared about the house,

about the people and the plumbing
and the artwork and the budgets.

And he cared about you,
Mr. President, and you, Mr. Morgan,

and the ordinary Americans

who came from all over
the country to visit here,

and that was all just really stupid to her.

Am I doing okay?

She killed Mr. Wynter
because she hated him,

but also because she feared him.

You want to know why? This is why.

Because she found out on
the night of the state dinner

he was going to expose her.

That was the fight that Mr. Gomez
heard in Mr. Wynter's office.

It wasn't Harry hollinger in that
room. It was Lilly schumacher.

And she just told you
that it was. She admitted it.

That's the crazy genius
of this wild attempt

to frame Bruce and elsyie just now.

So much of what she said was true.

She and wynter got in a fight,

he said some terrible things about
her, she ripped a page from his journal.

That all happened.

What do you mean "expose her"?

I mean, tell you and Mr. Morgan every
last selfish and absurd and abusive thing

she had done since she got here,
none of which you probably knew about,

all of which he had meticulously
documented in his journal.

All the lies and
misrepresentations and indulgences

and general shitty behavior was all here.

And that scared her.

Excuse me.

I'm sorry. Really?

That's it? That's all you got?

Yes, we fought.

I admit it. We did fight.

Everybody fought with a.B.

And yes, he was
worked up, and so was I.

You think I'm going to kill him

because he was going to
expose my "shitty behavior"?

Seriously?

What do I care if he says
crazy shit to Perry and Elliott?

They're never gonna believe him over
me. That's not the way the world works.

And second, I don't care.

I'm rich.

Here's a secret, everybody:
Rich people don't give a shit!

I'm not gonna miss my $114,000
"salary" or whatever the fuck it is,

which I give to charity by the way.

I'm doing this as a public service, okay?

Okay, guys?

So fire me.

Yes, Lilly, I think that's going to happen.

So. Thank you.

And you do make some
excellent points, you really do.

The thing is, though, it
wasn't just your shitty behavior.

Mr. Wynter was smart enough to
know he needed more than that.

And it wasn't hard to find.

There are a couple of
pages here in his journal

that I didn't know
what to make of at first.

It's a blizzard of numbers and
letters. Almost like a puzzle.

Probably deliberately so.
To kind of hide his work.

But I figured out what it was

because I'm, like, really good at puzzles.

It was all the money
you misappropriated.

Stole.

Where's the money gonna come
from? You don't have the budget for this.

Where does the money ever come from,
a.B.? It comes from another pile of money.

That's how money works.

You're rich, but here's another
thing about the way the world works.

Rich people steal money. All the time.

In some cases it's even why they're rich.

My guess is your theft
had more to do with

laziness, arrogance, and contempt
for the system, but who knows?

And it wasn't just money.

These numbers?

It was all the various criminal
statutes and ethical codes

Mr. Wynter knew you had violated.
In the way you had secured contracts.

In the favors that you
traded with different vendors.

In the people you had
invited into the white house

and who advised you on moving
American government officials

around at a state dinner.

I think Mr. Wynter told
you all this in his office.

I am going to tell them everything!

And I think you really, really,
really, really, really gave a shit.

And I think that's why
you tried to grab his journal.

And I think that's why when you
walked out of his office that night,

and stood in the hallway,

and read that page that
you accidentally ripped out,

you decided to kill him.

To stage his suicide.

Would you have killed him
if you didn't rip that page out

and realize what you could do with it?

Maybe. It's impossible to say.

And irrelevant.

All criminal activity is
motive plus opportunity.

And you saw an opportunity.

All of your problems would go away
'cause Mr. Wynter would go away,

and then you could redo all the rooms

and fire all the staff,
and it would be great,

and you wouldn't have to sit in
some shitty fluorescent-lit courtroom

for the next two years

while your really good lawyer made
some of it go away a different way.

This was easier. And more fun.

And clever.

And that was it. The die was cast.

Everything else we know.

You were the one leading the non-toxic,

chemical-free, "conscious
landscaping" initiative,

whatever the hell that is,

so you went to the shed
with your glass that broke,

picked up Emily's sister's little tumbler,
filled it with paraquat, fine choice,

and you called Mr. Wynter and
said, let's meet in the yellow oval room.

Let's see if we can talk. I apologize.
Whatever you needed to say.

- And he agreed.
- Give me five minutes.

Even though I have a strong sense
he knew something bad might happen,

just like birds have this
thing where they can sense

a change in barometric
pressure when a storm is coming.

I am going to be dead
by the end of the night.

- You called the secret service as Elliott.
- He called at 9:22 P.M.

- Had them clear the 2nd floor.
- We were told to stay off the floor.

Then you carried the poison
into the family living room,

waited for elsyie to leave,

and then you came in
here with your drinks.

Scotch for you.

Paraquat and scotch for a.B.

And then you gave him the
page from his journal back

the suicide note,

and watched him put it into his pocket.

And then you went to work.

Tried to charm him.

I doubt he was charmed.

But Mr. Wynter also
wasn't a cynical person.

I don't think he believed
someone could be so malevolent.

But he'd seen a lot. Knew a lot
of pettiness, cruelty, arrogance.

Probably more than any
of us could ever imagine.

But even after everything,

he was still willing to give
you the benefit of the doubt.

It cost him his life.

Wynter drank the poison,
realized immediately what it was,

and tossed the rest onto the roses.

But paraquat works fast
and is devastatingly painful,

and he was rocked.

I'm sure you don't know
that much about poison, Lilly,

but you probably knew enough
to know that what he drank

wasn't going to kill him.
So you threw the vase

that missed, but
startled him even further,

so you went for the
clock. And that was it.

A.b. Was dead. But now
you had to move quickly.

So you grabbed the clock and
escaped into the passageway.

But this damn clock, right? What to do?

It's huge and weird
and bloody and cracked

and you couldn't walk around
with it or put it down anywhere.

Now elsyie and then Bruce
were in this room finding the body,

and you had no reason to
believe that they would so tragically

misinterpret the actions of the other.

For all you knew, secret service was gonna
come in 30 seconds, and you'd be caught.

So you stuffed the clock
in this storage drawer

in front of you in the passageway,

waited for them to clear
the hall, and then sped out

through the treaty room
and down the grand staircase.

And you were free.

You rejoined the party.

But that clock was eating away at you.

What if they're up
there? What if they find it?

And then, as time went by,

and you realized nobody was
saying anything about a dead body,

and trust me, there would be a big to-do
about a dead body in the white house,

especially on the night of a state dinner,

you decided to go back up
and see what was going on.

Move the clock if you could.

But you get up here, and there's nothing.

No wynter. No broken vase. Nothing.

Only engineer Bruce geller,

looking for a leak from
Tripp Morgan's room.

What the hell was going on?

Was wynter alive? What happened?

You were genuinely confused. Worried.

And that's what everyone
saw from that point forward.

I was looking for him
everywhere, in every room.

- She seemed worried.
- Concerned.

Not panicky, just genuinely worried.

What I saw.

I still haven't found a.B.

Yes, turns out you are a great actress,

but that's not what it was.

You were panicked.

When I arrived, and all of the details
of what had happened to Mr. Wynter

started to come out,

that he apparently killed
himself in the game room,

yes, it was absolutely staggering to
you, mind-blowing, but it was great.

You were off the hook.

And then, when I started
to bring the investigation

down to the second floor,

well, like you said, you
started to get a little worried.

But I was gone soon enough,

and the minute I was, you took
the final step to Bury the evidence.

Seal it in. Hopefully forever.

It was a brilliant plan, and
you deserve a lot of credit,

but you really only
made it as long as you did

because of the bizarre
miscommunications and regrettable behavior

from so many other people in the house.

So... team effort here.

You really owe them a lot.

Even though you hate them.

This is the man who died.

Right here. In this room.

I heard a lot about him from you.

You can learn a lot about someone
from what he writes and reads.

He was a complicated person:

Flawed and difficult, fiercely loyal,

smart and thoughtful, an
enormous pain in the ass,

and endlessly generous in his thoughts.

He had suffered in his
life, and he had persevered,

and I am sorry I never
got the chance to meet him.

He loved this house.

I didn't know him, but I know that.

Loved the people who work here.
Respected them. Understood them.

Appreciated them. Saw them. Saw
who they were, where they came from,

what they had given up to
be here, why they were here.

And there's that question again. Why?

Why are they here? Why was he here?

For you, Mr. President.

And for you, Mr. Morgan.

For everyone here.

For all of us.

It wasn't "us versus them" for
wynter. It really wasn't. It was just us.

One house. One family.

One imperfect union. Trying
to make it work. Enduring.

He believed in that, in this.

And look, I'm just the detective,

but I think this is
really worth believing in.

And she does not believe in this,

and that is why she really, really sucks.

Also, she's a murderer.

I'm still a little unclear on
who has jurisdiction here,

so whoever it is, take her away.

- That would be me.
- Yeah. Relax, gentlemen.

- It's a bureau thing. I got it.
- No, no.

Lilly schumacher.

She wasn't even in my top three.

I had the Swiss guy, the
salt guy, and the water guy.

And you?

Let me guess.

- Yep.
- Ride or die.

What about Harry?

What about him?

Did he play any role in this?

No. I mean, Tripp Morgan was right.

- He is an asshole.
- Okay, so.

He was incredibly rude to Mr. Wynter,

he did try to kick me off the case,

he did inappropriately
search Mr. Wynter's office.

I think that was more in the spirit
of being an anxious political animal

as much as anything.

But the conspiracy stuff, that
was all bullshit. Sorry, senator.

Nah, don't worry. We're
in a closed session.

To his credit, he did bring
me back and let me solve this.

People are complicated.

Why did Lilly try to
frame Bruce and elsyie?

It was a hail Mary.

She knew I was onto
her in the end. She knew.

When did you know?

I knew when I knew. I
don't mean that as a riddle.

At some point, you go from not
knowing something to knowing it.

To seeing it.

When is that exactly? I don't know.

I had my suspicions about Lilly

when she first told me she
saw elsyie and wynter fighting

in the yellow oval room.

I was in the hall, and I saw him arguing
with someone in the yellow oval room.

Elsyie told me they
fought behind closed doors.

He told me to close the door.

She had no reason to make that up

and it was consistent with what
everyone had told me about wynter.

That he always tried to have his
disagreements behind closed doors.

He definitely didn't
like to fight in public.

He'd always try to avoid that.

He'd bring you in, close the door.

How could Lilly see them from
the hall if the door was closed?

It was suspicious.

She did see it, because she was
watching from the family living room

where she was mixing her poison.

And when Jasmine said
the call to seal the door

came down from Elliott, I had
a strong sense that it was Lilly.

I had heard her impersonation.
And I never suspected Elliott.

And then she blinked.

Not because of the clock,
though that was the clincher,

but when she said she saw
Bruce put the note in wynter's jacket.

Lilly wasn't in the game room
when I removed the note that night.

She couldn't have known where it was

unless she saw wynter
put it there himself.

Which she did.

Well, time to departure?

Wheels up in... three hours.

Reagan or Dulles?

Dulles.

Well, you better get going, then.

Thank you, detective cupp. I've
been doing this a very long time.

I've never seen anyone like you.

I got you something.

For the trip. Do not open in here.

I feel really bad for the person
sitting next to you on that flight.

Thank you.

For everything.

I need to make a quick stop.

You sure? Do we have time?

We have time.

Five minutes.

I solved the murder.

- The one next door?
- Yes.

Great. I thought you might
have been coming about clive.

No.

Does that mean my son's
husband will be moving back in?

- The president of the United States?
- Yes.

He is.

It was so nice around here.

I'm sorry.

Who did it?

Wait. Don't tell me.

That snotty girl with the attitude?

Yes.

You could've just asked me.

Detective cupp?

I'll have them send up vodka, Ms. Cox.

You are good.

Yes. I am.

The best.