Original subtitles

In Toronto's war on crime,

the worst offenders are pursued by the detectives

of the specialized criminal investigations unit.

These are their stories.

I don't want it! I'm not taking it!

Don't make me beg, it's unseemly.

You're unseemly. Casey, why are you doing this?

We've been together 20 years, you know why.

Can you at least tell me where you're going?

Jill, I'll be fine, I promise.

You're insane. You know that, right?

Love you too.

Young girl like you shouldn't need an e-bike.

You should stretch those pretty legs.

Faster I go, the more money you make.

Hm. Suit yourself.

Your boyfriend's been taking less shifts lately. Why?

Ex-boyfriend. So, no clue.

You got trust issues. Maybe that's why he dumped you.

You're 50 short.

And I dumped him.

What is this thing tonight again?

A fundraiser for the Ontario Youth Development.

- You're speaking at 8:45. - What time does it start?

Six. But you can skip the cocktails.

We need to talk.

Lucia, you want to give us a minute?

Okay.

Let's talk.

_

Go back to your country!

First victim, Casey Lewis, 41.

Founder of Wealth Craft, helping kids save enough money

to buy avocado toast.

Casey was the prince of Toronto's tech sector.

Pretty beat up car for a prince.

What about the second victim?

Wrong place, wrong time delivery driver.

Still working on the ID.

Who found the bodies?

The bodies were found this morning,

by a dad teaching his kid how to drive.

Well, big empty parking lot. I don't see any cameras.

Lots of room for mistakes.

Graff, maybe he could give you a lesson.

I hear Bateman does all the driving.

Well, imagine that. My female partner.

- Better driver than me. - Ah, careful, Manek.

Before you know it, I'm gonna want to try to vote.

You know I liked you both more before you were partners?

Perfect shot straight through the back windshield.

Well, the shooter's either...

really lucky, or really good.

Professional. No casings.

Just saying.

But I'm sure you have another theory.

No theories, just facts.

Is there a phone? Wallet?

Shooter must have taken them. We've confirmed his name

with vehicle registration.

But the shooter didn't take the computer.

Or the snacks.

This looks like one of my daughter's sleepovers.

So the victim was lying in the back here,

and judging by the chip dust on the chair,

he pulled himself up.

He didn't hear anything.

I know these headphones, they're great.

They're noise cancelling.

Maybe headlights? Flashlight, which,

no pro would use.

As for the absence of casings,

if the killer used a revolver,

they don't eject them.

Just facts.

Okay, so, what was our prince doing in a parking lot?

Let me see my husband!

Casey called it a code-a-thon.

Find a random spot. Park.

Code for 24 hours straight, completely off the grid.

But he was on the grid. He had his computer.

His dumb computer.

It means it's never been connected to the internet.

What about his phone?

He gave it to me yesterday morning.

Phone, wallet.

He didn't want any distractions.

Why?

We met at McGill.

One night in first year, he left residence

and he just started driving.

Found a parking lot, pulled an all-nighter.

By six AM, he'd come up with Wealth Craft.

So every year, he did it again.

Said it was better to set out without a destination.

No fixed ideas.

Sounds like the sentimental type.

Has he kept this car since college?

Yeah. He barely drove it.

Ms. Lewis, did Casey tell anyone where he was going?

He didn't even know where he was going.

Thank you. We'll be in touch.

No cell phone. No Wi-Fi.

He had a car that he never used.

No, no one knew where Casey Lewis was going,

and the only way to find out would be to follow him

from his house.

But he'd already been sitting here for 16 hours, parked.

So why wait to kill him until a potential witness is driving by?

'Cause maybe our witness isn't just a witness.

No ID.

We tried to pull something off the phone,

but it looks like the SIM card's fried.

Look at this.

So...

a delivery driver is shot

and slumps down on his left handlebar,

causing the bike to turn.

He was coming from the other direction.

He was moving when he was shot.

It wasn't the first bullet.

That's a lot of misses for someone

who hit that kill shot on Casey.

There's another one here.

Okay, so...

Delivery driver pulls over to check his phone,

and our shooter, he takes aim at the delivery driver here,

not there, here.

He misses, and our delivery driver takes off.

Casey didn't hear the first shot,

but the headlights caused him to sit up in the back seat.

The shooter didn't even know he was there.

Perfect shot to kill Casey was a stray bullet.

He was the one in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Delivery driver was the target.

We thought, a delivery driver

was in the wrong place at the wrong time,

why not a famous CEO?

It's not the labels that I'm hung up on.

Casey, he disrupted an entire industry.

- He had enemies. - He also had no GPS in his car,

no phone, and Mark checked his laptop.

- His wife was telling the truth. - How do we know

the two victims weren't meeting each other?

Well, if I were trying to kill two people

who were meeting, I'd wait for the meeting.

No, it's our thinking that the delivery driver

pulled over into the parking lot to check his phone,

maybe take an order. And our killer,

following in a car behind, saw an opportunity, took it.

Yeah. We called the delivery company.

They've got 30,000 drivers in the GTA.

So without a name they can't help us,

and so far, all we've got is a broken phone,

an empty bag, no wallet, no keys, no ID.

I don't like dead John Does,

they give me a crick in my neck. Just find me a name!

Our mystery man remains a mystery.

No surgical pins with serial numbers

and nothing I can pull from his dental records.

A couple of untreated cavities,

but no normal person likes going to the dentist.

Well, I do.

He has two broken ribs

from approximately three days ago,

and, this.

M-M-G-A-S.

Maybe it's a password?

On his arm? Mmgas...

Or an acronym... ?

Mm, gas.

License plate?

Never seen the kid.

No? Sure he didn't maybe

hit your truck while it was parked, speed off?

Would've noticed. She's my pride and joy.

Hm. Not your child?

You know, I used to think

these stickers were a bit ridiculous,

until my partner explained them to me.

- What was it again? - It's not so that people

don't hit you, it's so that you've got an excuse

when you hit them. What's your kid's name?

Arthur.

Oh, that's a good strong name.

Must be a strong kid, too, not to need a car seat.

How old's little Arthur?

Uh, four. I mean, five.

'Cause this sticker looks brand new,

almost like it was just put on.

Front bumper, that's unusual.

You don't think he's hiding something under there, do you?

Like maybe a scratch from hitting a bicycle?

Oh, I sure hope not, 'cause that would be obstruction

of justice, and that's a pretty serious charge.

The-the kid swerved in front of me on his stupid bike,

all right? But I didn't kill him.

These cyclists think they own the damn road.

So, this was from three days ago.

Oof, Leo lied about how the accident happened,

but he was telling the truth about his alibi.

CCTV places him inside the Wheatsheaf Tavern

- at the time of the murder. - Well, at least we solved

- the mystery of the broken ribs. - Can you, uh, zoom in?

Hawaiian pizza. Critically underrated.

I'm more interested in the box.

Badiali. That's right around the corner from the accident.

They'd have a record of the delivery.

And the driver's name.

It's going to be hard to find, we had at least

- 30 orders during that window. - What about for Hawaiian pizza?

That narrows it. Not too many people get Hawaiian.

Hm. Critically underrated.

The driver's name was Mike Schaub.

Um, I think you've got the wrong delivery,

our driver's Asian, early 20s.

Well, this is the only order for Hawaiian

within a three-hour window.

This is your order, guaranteed.

The guy must've stolen my login info.

And I guess he's dead, and I have an alibi,

so that's that.

Is it, though?

Because we got in touch with the delivery company,

and they gave us access to your profile,

and it says here that you deliver food 20 hours a day,

- seven days a week. - I'm a hard worker.

You're a very hard worker.

In fact, it says you're on a delivery right now?

- Thai food. - Hard to trust the alibi

of a man who can be in two places at once.

Yeah, you know what confuses me?

Is he using a food delivery app to deliver drugs?

Or maybe he's canvassing the houses.

Drops off the sushi, and checks on the alarm system.

You know what's good about having a suspect with priors?

It's easy to get a warrant.

Maybe we should just go down to Mr. Schaub's

- and check it out... - His name is Brian Chen.

- Okay. - And what I'm doing isn't illegal!

I mean, it's illegal, but...

it's not bad.

You're gonna have to clarify.

I let international students

use my account to deliver food.

Immigrants. Their student visas

only let them work 24 hours a week.

But you live here. You know how expensive it is.

So they get my legal ID,

and I get a 20 percent cut.

Oh, 20 percent. Now that's a lot.

Was Brian upset? Is that why you killed him?

I didn't kill him! I liked Brian.

It's very inconvenient for me that he's dead.

There's four other riders that share my account.

All right? They're all poor as dirt.

Hey, some of these shifts are more lucrative than others.

So there've been threats. Fist fights.

Someone cut the brakes on one of the girls' bikes.

And what are the names of these other riders?

- I don't know. - Oh, come on, Santa.

Who are your helpers?

I mean, I know their first names.

Tariq, Mei, um,

Ravi, and uh... William.

Brian hired them, and he scheduled them.

He kept track of it all in a green notebook.

Four riders, all with motive, all with access to the same app

which would tell them exactly where Brian was

on the night he was murdered.

Well, Schaub was good on the name.

We found our victim.

Now, let's find our killer.

Brian Chen is a ghost.

Can't find anything about him online,

and his address listed on his immigration file

- is now a shoe store. - I just delivered the news

to Brian's older brother in Beijing.

Well, the translator did.

And the brother thought that I was

one of Brian's teachers calling to give him an update

on how he was doing in school.

Anyway, all of this to say that he doesn't have

Brian's address either.

Brian was here on a student visa.

So, we may not have his address,

but we do have his school.

"Thinkbridge, bridging knowledge across the world".

They'd have his most recent address.

Schaub said that Brian kept information on the other

four delivery drivers in a green notebook?

We find that address, we find the notebook.

Well, this is nicer than where I went to school.

Really? Where'd you go?

- Oh. - Oh, excuse me, sir.

Ope. You, you dropped this.

Oh, Hindi? Are you from India?

Yes. India.

Such a beautiful language, I hope to learn it one day.

Did you take the photograph?

Sorry, I don't understand.

The photograph.

Card.

From family.

Detectives?

- Ms. Mistri. - Yes.

I didn't know Brian Chen personally,

but he was one of my students.

So you never met Brian I person?

I'm afraid not. I try to meet most of the kids,

but running four schools, I do miss out

on the personal connection.

Well, at least you get the house.

Looks like Brian hadn't been to class in a year.

Is that, is that unusual?

Unfortunately, it's not uncommon.

Coming to the city can be a culture shock.

These are kids from small towns and villages

from all over the world.

Sometimes they get swept up

into things they shouldn't.

We do everything we can, but...

some of them don't make it through.

All over the world, indeed.

Looks like the Tower of Babel.

Ms. Mistri, do you happen to still have Brian's

mailing address on file?

Mmm... not that I can see.

After Brian stopped attending classes,

we expelled him, erased all his information

from our system. Standard procedure.

- When was Brian expelled? - About eight months ago.

Great, considering it was in this fiscal year,

his address will be on your tax records.

We can pull it from there.

Good idea. I'll have my assistant

- pull it up right now. - Uh, you mind if I, I keep this?

Left my glasses in the car.

Only if you spread the word!

- May I help you? Sir? - Huh?

Ah.

I'd like to buy some flowers for my employer.

Asha Mistri. At Thinkbridge.

- Ah, purple dahlias? - Yes.

Of course, I know Asha. But we just sent her

a beautiful bouquet this morning?

I know, I know, I knocked the vase over.

I just wanted to replace it before I get fired.

Then you're in luck.

These will get you a raise.

Actually, the thing is,

she's working from home tomorrow.

You wouldn't happen to have the address on file, would you?

Ah, I'm sorry. We can't disclose our client's information.

- But I'd be happy to have them delivered. - I'd prefer

to deliver it myself. Please.

I've been to the house, the one with the stone arch,

the beautiful one, ah? Above the wooden door.

It's just that I forgot the address.

All right. But if you do get a raise,

I want a cut.

Messy bed. Clean desk. Can't make up his mind.

Brian's brother also said he had a laptop, but...

Schaub said the notebook was green.

Maybe someone's been here.

Yeah, maybe they missed something.

Did you know the Statue of Liberty was originally brown?

Mm. Tell me more.

Over time due to oxidization,

it turned green.

And leather reacts the same way,

it develops a patina

when exposed to heat or certain metals.

Huh. Bring me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses,

yearning to breathe free.

Four riders, all colour coded to show

their deliveries throughout the city.

We can see who was the fastest,

which ones used bike lanes, even who would stop

delivering in the rain.

Which we don't care about.

Three of our four riders pinged in across the city

at the time of Brian's murder,

nowhere near the crime scene.

Well, their phones did. I mean, not necessarily their bodies.

Oh, bodies too. I was able to find CCTV footage to confirm.

Except for one.

Blue's phone was in a private residence all night.

One with no cameras.

Easy to sneak away without anyone noticing.

Blue was also in Brian's apartment several times

in the weeks leading up to his death.

So, what do we know about blue? We got an address?

Better. I can give you her exact location.

I had no idea.

I, I saw in the news about that CEO,

but I didn't know about Brian.

- And you two were close? - We dated for almost a year.

Off and on. We broke up for good a few weeks ago.

How come?

He was cheating on me. I was at his place,

went through his phone. Saw a bunch of missed calls

from a random number.

Wrote it down, called soon as I left.

This girl named Jennifer picked up.

Brian gave me some stupid story, so I, I ended things.

I haven't seen him since.

Could you tell us a little bit about him?

When I first met Brian,

he'd just got here from Beijing.

He was sweet, you know. Idealistic. Had dreams.

Wanted to be an engineer.

But he changed.

He got tough and hard, and sad.

He was never around, always busy, busy.

So we grew apart.

I almost didn't blame him for cheating.

And last night?

I was at my apartment with my roommates.

We were online, trying to sell a bunch of clothes we thrifted.

This number from that woman, Jennifer.

- Do you happen to still have it? - Yeah.

I'm glad you called.

I hadn't even heard about Brian, and I work at a newspaper.

He was a primary source for a story I was working on.

- About the delivery ring? - No. This.

Thinkbridge? Bridging knowledge across the world.

We were just at their head office.

- It's immaculate. - That's the facade.

Where Asha Mistri keeps her army.

This is the actual school.

Well, it's nothing like the brochure.

Thinkbridge targets kids from across the globe

and sells them a dream. Stellar education,

high-paying job after they graduate,

and most importantly, a Canadian visa.

Families sell their farms, they mortgage their entire lives

just to get their kids here.

But when they arrive, there's no campus, no classrooms.

A class online for 15 minutes a day, if they're lucky,

and a worthless piece of paper after they graduate.

- A diploma mill. - Calling Thinkbridge a diploma mill is a compliment.

This is fraud on a massive scale,

how do they keep it quiet?

These kids spend everything they have just to get here.

They can't afford lawyers. And if any of them threaten to speak up,

Thinkbridge expels them.

They lose their student visa,

and are shipped back home with nothing.

How did you meet Brian Chen?

Brian tracked me down about eight months ago.

He wanted to tell me his story.

He didn't care about the repercussions,

he just wanted to take Thinkbridge down.

Then why hasn't this been in the paper yet?

I tried, but my editor said I needed a bigger hook.

- Multiple sources. - And no other students

were willing to go on the record.

No. So, the story got shelved.

But then two weeks ago,

yet another Thinkbridge student killed himself.

I guess that was a big enough hook.

My editor finally gave me the green light.

Front page of the Saturday Star.

But when I called Brian to tell him the news,

he said everything he told me before was a lie.

He hung up, blocked my number.

That was the last time I talked to him.

You think someone silenced him.

I don't know. But I'm pretty damn sure

Asha Mistri wouldn't have wanted him to talk to the press.

Well, we spoke to Asha, she said she's never met Brian Chen.

Brian said he complained to her in person many times.

I'm convinced his testimony could've sent

that smiling scam artist to jail.

You think somebody killed Brian Chen to keep him quiet?

Well, Brian had a lot to say. He moved to Canada

just over a year ago after his parents died.

He took his inheritance and spent the whole thing

on tuition at Thinkbridge.

A fresh start that cost him 22,000 dollars a year.

What? My kid goes to U of T,

tuition is a fraction of that.

Yeah, well, international students

pay four times what domestic students do.

But Thinkbridge has a referral program.

You bridge a student, and you get a 500-dollar reward.

Oh my God, it's like a virus.

And a profitable one, with four so-called campuses,

3,000 students each, at 22,000 dollars per student,

Thinkbridge is grossing 264,000,000 dollars a year.

Thinkbridge is run by Asha Mistri.

She was born in a small village in India, grew up poor.

Moved to Canada when she was 16.

And now she makes a fortune exploiting other vulnerable

people trying to get to this country.

And she just bought a mansion on the Bridle Path.

Easy to do when you're pulling in that kind of coin.

- Why isn't this a bigger story? - Everyone knows about

Robin Hood because he stole from the rich.

Nobody cares about a story where somebody steals from the poor.

Especially when the poor are immigrants

that people blame for stealing our jobs

- or causing a housing shortage. - And Brian was about

to expose it all, a cover story

in the Toronto Star would not have been good for business.

Okay, yes, but the reporter said that Brian took it all back

before he died. I have no doubt

that Asha pressured Brian into being quiet,

but if it worked, then why would she kill him?

Human nature.

See, I have a half-brother. We haven't spoken in four years.

And every morning, I wake up, promise myself

today's the day I'm gonna reach out,

and make things right.

People don't always keep their word.

Okay. Let's keep ours.

Hm.

Three months ago, one of your students

wrote a blog post about her experience at Thinkbridge.

One week later, she was expelled for plagiarism.

Now, it's hard to imagine plagiarizing

when there are no tests, no essays,

but nonetheless, her student visa was revoked

and she was promptly sent back to Vietnam.

And if you did that over a blog,

well, I can only imagine how far you'd go

to stop a front page article

from appearing in the Saturday Star.

And don't insult our intelligence

by claiming that you don't know Brian Chen.

We know he complained to you in person multiple times.

And we also have footage of Brian entering your building

on the morning he was murdered.

On the night Brian Chen was murdered,

I was at a charity fundraiser.

I made a speech. 300 people clapped.

Feel free to confirm with any one of them.

Your company makes a quarter of a billion dollars every year.

I have no doubt you could afford to hire the grim reaper

to assassinate him if you wanted to.

But I didn't. Not that I would,

but, why would I need to?

The reason Brian Chen was here the other day

was because he worked for me.

He was here because he wanted a raise,

and I gave it to him. He deserved it.

- Oh, please. - About eight months ago,

Brian Chen walked into my office

and he told me that he was the source for a news article

that was going to take me down.

He could barely look at me in the eye

as he told me. He was upset.

Shaking. He was desperate.

But I know first-hand that desperation

can sometimes breed success. And so, I gave Brian a choice.

I could either sue him and that journalist

for a false and libellous article

that no one would care about the next day.

Or he could come and work for me.

We've been through your employment records,

Brian was not on file.

She was paying him under the table.

You slowed down a murder investigation

to avoid a fraud charge.

You'd need a good lawyer to prove it.

Well, we have one. And he's excited to meet you.

The fact remains,

I didn't kill Brian Chen.

Why would I?

He was my best recruiter.

Brian joined the machine he wanted to take down?

Well, it's as she said, desperation breeds success.

90 percent of our graduates go on to get high-paying jobs,

which, of course, leads to permanent residency.

See, it might be that we're being distracted

by the big fish in this case.

What if Brian was killed by somebody he recruited,

someone whose life he ruined?

We'd need a warrant to get the list of all the students

that Brian recruited. And if Asha's telling the truth,

he ruined a lot of lives. That's going to be a long list.

Well, maybe we can speed things up.

Let's hope that the assistant falls far from the tree.

I see that your background is in healthcare.

But we... Hello?

I know you're cops.

Asha had me flag your meeting in bold.

It's okay, Lucia, we're not here to accuse you of anything.

Maybe you should. Brian died,

and nobody in the office seems to care.

Can you think of anyone who was threatening Brian?

Was there any, an email or a text?

Anything that he mentioned to you?

People here get threats all the time.

I mean, it's not out of the ordinary.

Any incident that stands out?

There was this one guy a couple of weeks ago.

A young student came into the office yelling, in tears.

He blamed Brian for ruining his life.

He tried to attack Brian,

but security grabbed him before he could do anything.

Brian laughed it off, but, I don't know.

There was something about this kid.

He seemed desperate.

Do you remember his name?

No, I'm sorry.

You said security escorted him out.

They'd have to file a report, they'd need a name.

Any chance you'd have access to that?

I don't, but Asha does, and I know her password.

Hi, can I help you?

Yes, I'm Detective Bateman, this is Detective Graff.

- Do you live here? - Yes, yeah.

Well, this place isn't selling for one, let alone...

- five. - Uh, six.

- Comfy. - We're looking for

Sanjay Gupta. Does he live here?

He does. Uh, well, he did.

- Do you know where he moved to? - Um...

Sanjay killed himself two weeks ago.

Walked up six flights to the roof of our building

and jumped off. I, uh, saw the whole thing.

What are you doing here?

_

_

_

Like I said to you yesterday,

I have no plans on shutting down any of our schools.

I have nothing more to say to you.

_

_

_

_

_

Mommy? I'm hungry.

- Can I have a snack? - Of course.

Sure, baby.

- How long did Sanjay live here? - I don't know.

I didn't know him too well.

People here kind of come and go.

And did he leave anything else here,

a passport, a wallet, um, was there a suicide note?

I think his dad took it all.

- His dad? - Yeah. He came from India

a few days ago. He wanted to bring Sanjay's ashes home,

so I gave him everything.

Including, well, at first, I thought it was just

a photograph of a bridge with some writing on the back.

I think it was Hindi. He left it on his pillow,

and when his dad read it, he cried.

So, I guess it was a suicide note?

I asked him about it, what the picture was,

and he said it was the last place his son was happy.

This photo, was it a photo of the bridge

over the Humber River?

Yeah. How did you know that?

The man you bumped into at Thinkbridge.

Sanjay's father.

He killed Brian to avenge his son's death.

Dinesh Gupta travelled from India

after the death of his son, Sanjay.

We have his flight records and an agreement

- for a rental car. - It's the same vehicle

that was parked outside Thinkbridge HQ

the morning of the murder. We think Dinesh followed Brian

- home from work. - We also have this

curtesy of Asha's assistant.

Apparently, they keep the best recruitment videos

for training purposes.

You're gonna love it here.

In Canada, the streets are made of gold.

I'm inside, so you can't see,

but out there? It's perfect.

- That's Dinesh. - He's going to be

the smartest kid in class.

He's going to be a big success.

He's gonna leave his father in his dust.

Dinesh knew exactly who recruited his son.

We have dozens of emails from Brian to Sanjay

convincing him to enroll at Thinkbridge.

And if it wasn't for Brian, Sanjay never would have

come to Canada, and he'd still be alive.

Well, you've got motive, but...

hundreds of kids whose lives were ruined by Brian

had motive. You don't have a murder weapon

and you don't have Dinesh at the crime scene.

We have him stalking the victim

the morning of the murder, Theo.

No, you have his car parked outside of a building.

Not enough to send a potentially innocent man to jail,

especially an Indian citizen with a shaky extradition treaty.

Yeah, and why kill Brian but not Asha?

I mean, I get that Brian is more direct,

but Asha is the ring leader.

Yeah, well we think Asha might be Dinesh's next target.

We saw Dinesh leaving Asha's office

carrying Sanjay's suicide note.

Likely, he confronted her, and Asha being Asha,

didn't listen.

Well, we need to get a car to Asha's house.

We've already sent two, and one to her office.

Wait. The first unit just got to Asha's house.

Dinesh's car is parked out front.

He showed up at my office yesterday.

Said I had to shut down Thinkbridge or else.

He's from the same village as my parents.

Said I was a disgrace.

And then he came to your house?

Yeah. Said pretty much the same thing.

I said I was calling the cops, and he left.

Without his car?

- Can I see your guns? - Oh!

How about you see my badge?

Boring.

Was your daughter at home when Dinesh was here?

Yes, she ran to the door. He left right after.

Come on, sweetheart, let's go see Tita.

He came here to kill her and would have,

if the daughter'd not been at home.

A killer with a conscience.

Ms. Mistri,

is there anything else Dinesh said to you?

He said I had a nice house. That's about it.

Asha please, anything at all.

He said it was my fault that his son

would never return home.

Dinesh left his car here because he knew

after this, we'd be able to track him.

He could be anywhere by now.

Dinesh told Asha that it was her fault

that his son would never return home.

- What if he meant that literally? - What do you mean?

Well, Sanjay's roommate said that Dinesh came here to pick up

his son's ashes. I went to Varanasi once.

It's a beautiful city full of pilgrims

and cremation ceremonies on the Ganges.

The Hindu people believe that having their ashes

rest in the Ganges will cleanse the soul

of the deceased and protect them as they entered the afterlife.

But it doesn't have to be the Ganges, does it?

I mean, I thought that the ashes could be scattered

- on any body of water? - Exactly.

Dinesh only had a one-way ticket.

Thinkbridge drained him of every dollar he had.

He can't get his son home. I think I know where he is.

Be careful. That's a man with a gun who just

scattered his son's ashes.

Good point.

All right.

Guys, clear the bridge.

Fast as you can, please.

- Fast as you can. - Let's go. Guys, go.

- Ma'am. Ma'am. - Carry on.

Let's speed up, please.

Beautiful spot.

What's the significance?

I'm a detective, you see, so these kind of mysteries,

they bother me.

You know, I think that this was the first place

that your son visited after he arrived in Canada.

He looked out over the water and saw opportunity.

A future full of promise.

He was so excited that later, he took a photo of it.

Mark the occasion.

But I also think it was the last time

that Sanjay was truly happy.

Don't you say his name.

Hold your positions.

I don't have kids.

I've got a half-brother, but we don't talk.

And my dad, he's, uh, he's complicated.

But I'm guessing that you weren't like

- that with Sanjay, were you? - Don't say his name!

I can see you're hurting, I get it.

I mean, grief is the most unwelcome guest,

it shows up on your doorstep unannounced

and turns your life upside down.

It affects people in all sorts of different ways.

It's also the price we pay for love, Dinesh.

You see, my mother, when she died,

it pulled our family apart. But when your wife died,

the tragedy brought you and your son

closer together.

Sanjay was all you had left.

We talked to Asha today.

She told us that her parents lived

in the same village as you.

But the schools there, they don't teach English.

So I'm guessing that you taught him, didn't you?

'Cause you knew he was smart, just like you, Dinesh.

And that's why you sacrificed everything to give him

the opportunities that you never had.

Yeah, he was a bright kid.

Would've been top of his class, no doubt.

So when you got an email from Thinkbridge

saying that your son was eligible to attend

a top Canadian school, well,

you had every right to be excited.

Sanjay was gonna make something of himself.

But you were scammed, along with thousands

of other vulnerable families, and their kids.

Including Brian Chen.

And what you don't know is that before

Brian was a recruiter,

he was a student at Thinkbridge.

- I don't know who that is. - Aw, sure you do.

I saw all the videos. You remember how excited

you were when Brian sold you and your son

on a dream that didn't exist.

He's going to be the smartest

kid in class. He's going to be a big success.

He's gonna leave his father in his dust.

Now I know that you think Brian deserved to die,

but what about Casey Lewis?

This had nothing to do with him,

he was just a decent guy who's leaving behind a widow.

Did you know that you killed him that night,

- or did you read it in the news? - Stop it!

Because the man who couldn't kill Asha Mistri

because her daughter was home can't feel good

- about killing an innocent man. - Enough.

Hey, hey, let's just talk this out.

- I said enough! - No, no!

- Don't move! - Let's just talk this through.

Slowly, slowly put your gun on the ground.

No more innocent people have to die, Dinesh.

This isn't for anybody innocent.

On the ground!

They took him.

They took him from me!

I told him to do it.

I told him, I told him to come here!

I told him to do it!

Ah! I have nothing left!

Yes, you do! Listen to me! Listen to me.

When we arrived at the crime scene,

we went right past Brian's dead body,

straight to Casey. And I'm ashamed to say it,

but at first we believed that Brian

was just collateral damage, just a kid

caught in somebody else's war at the wrong time

and at the wrong place.

But if you pull that trigger,

that's the story the press is gonna run with.

That you're the suicidal killer of Tech CEO Casey Lewis.

And they won't even mention your son's name.

'Cause nobody cares about Sanjay.

Dinesh.

Dinesh?

If you confess, the news will have to run a different story.

A story that will force people to pay attention

to what's actually happening.

A story that will bring about change.

You can make sure that no parent

goes through what you're feeling right now,

that no child goes through what Sanjay did.

You can testify against Asha Mistri

and Thinkbridge, and you can take them down.

We will help you, you have our word.

You can still make this right, Dinesh.

Please put the gun down.

Just put it down.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.

We'll follow behind you in your car and we'll take

your statement at headquarters.

We'll have some time before he's processed.

Enough time you could call your brother.

Yeah.

Maybe tomorrow.