The Blacklist

McHENRY: Trip, please tell me this is the last time

we're gonna hear from that pissant.

I can't waste any more time in court

bickering about patent law or intellectual infringement.

Listen, as soon as the star witness

took an unscheduled vacation,

Freeson's case was dead in the water.

Well, that's the best justice money can buy.

You are now in sole control of Genocyte.

It's time for you to celebrate!

Oh.

I'm way ahead of you, esquire.

There's a special place in hell for people like you,

the rich and powerful who play with others' lives

just because you can.

The world thinks that you're in your castle celebrating,

but you're not.

In fact, you're haunted.

Read these.

No.

I understand.

You're used to giving orders, not taking them,

feeling empowered, so I-I give you some power.

You choose to read these, or we kill you.

My name is Adam McHenry.

And this is my confession.

I'm a liar and a thief.

And to my best friend,

Andrew Freeson,

I'm so sorry.

You did well.

Just one more thing.

You have a date with gravity, I'm afraid.

Wait. No. I read what you wanted.

You said that you wouldn't kill me!

Yes. Right. What I meant was

people will not think that I killed you.

They will hear your confession

and think that you killed yourself.

No. Wait! Please!

Like I said, you're haunted!

No! No!

Please! Wai...

A parking garage?

You woke up in a parking garage?

Near Dupont Circle.

I can't remember how I got there.

You said you were going to a retirement party.

Yeah, for Jim Ritter over at Justice. Right.

I had one drink, maybe two.

Honey, you don't sleep in the car

after one or two drinks.

Maybe it was more. I can't remember.

Harold, you scared the hell out of me.

If it makes you feel any better,

I scared the hell out of myself.

Not hearing from you, not knowing where you were.

I waited by the phone all night.

And then when the phone did ring,

it was from my friend Beth, and the way she sounded...

She asked me if I had heard what had happened,

and I thought she was talking about you.

I'm sorry I scared you.

I'm fine.

I know.

And it means everything.

Honey, there's something else.

Yeah. Beth said something happened.

Who was she talking about?

Doug Koster.

What are you doing with a key to our neighbor's cabin?

It happened before you got sick.

We were in such a different place.

You were working all the time. I was lonely.

Beth kept in touch with him.

What happened to him?

He was shot and killed last night.

Where in the hell...

How do you like the place?

It's... It's nice.

It's our own little hideaway in the woods,

just like at home.

Like at home. But not home.

No, not even close.

But thank you for finding it for us, Heddie.

Mmm!

This is delicious. What is it?

A mate infusion, from the yerba mate plant.

We grow them in our garden.

Mierce has two green thumbs

and an extraordinary knowledge

of everything that's good for you,

and everything else that isn't,

including people.

Speaking of, tell me about

the operations we still have running

with Oleg Nikovich.

Oh, he's provided us with contacts

to move minerals out of Afghanistan,

for which he's been well paid.

We moved $100 million worth last year,

taking 19% off the top.

So not exactly an arrangement we want to upend.

Not if you like making 19% of $100 million. Why do you ask?

Because Oleg has always been a loyal partner and friend,

and yet, I need to take something off his hands.

That's $19 million annually.

Don't piss him off, Raymond.

I don't intend to, but what I need

is locked away in that monstrosity

of a penthouse he keeps as a tax shelter.

The man's there one week out of the year at most.

He'll never even know it's gone.

Where's the building?

A toothpick of a place on 57th Street in Manhattan.

You should call Rogelio. He'll know the super.

Ah! Dembe.

Not seeing you, I was beginning to wonder.

Thank you for coming, Heddie.

Oh, uh, I'm gonna take this to go.

It's fine. Take the gourd.

Let me know what Rogelio says.

Please, sit.

Would you like anything to drink?

No. Thank you.

Well, this is uncomfortable.

Because I arrested Vesco?

Vesco was a disappointment.

Brasilia was a tragedy.

We should talk about it.

Your burns, are they healing?

They are. I never thanked you

for coming back after I was injured.

I came back for Agnes.

You came back for me.

You stayed for Agnes.

I have a case.

So we're not going to talk about Brasilia.

Two tech partners have a falling-out.

One accuses the other

of stealing his intellectual property.

He sues. He loses.

And what does the winner do?

Mr. McHenry goes home and performs

a reverse pike off of his balcony.

After filming a suicide note admitting his guilt.

Mm. I hear rumors that the suicide note

and Mr. McHenry's untimely demise

were the work of the Avenging Angel.

Michael. From Amsterdam.

Bruges.

Her insistent effort to restore wartime plunder to its rightful owners,

among her other avid pursuits,

is often nasty business.

Which I recall you agreed with.

What the hell happened to us?

Michael? As in the archangel?

The one that God sent to fight the devil?

A job she does with an almost heavenly zeal,

stealing from those who have stolen,

returning what was unjustly taken.

Sounds angelic to me.

According to Raymond, she rights these wrongs

through murder, extortion, random acts of violence.

When a Japanese court acquitted executives

of responsibility for the nuclear meltdown

in Fukushima, she committed a ransomware attack,

extracting millions for displaced victims.

Over the course of a decade,

she committed so many acts of terror

against a small Florida town that local officials

eventually agreed to her demands

and gave back land to the descendants

of Black families who had been

run off their property in the 1920s.

And yesterday, she murders the CEO of Genocyte

and makes it look likes a guilt-ridden suicide.

Complete with a taped confession.

I leave my shares of Genocyte

to the person they rightfully belong to...

Andrew Freeson.

Please forgive me, Andy.

Does Reddington have any idea who her next target is?

He doesn't know her target,

whether she acts alone, or is a hired gun.

If someone did hire her to kill Adam McHenry,

chances are it's the man who thinks

McHenry made a fortune after stealing his I.P.

Andrew Freeson sued for his fair share and lost.

Now McHenry's dead and Freeson owns the company.

I think that merits a sit-down.

Park, Dembe, bring him in.

It's all right. I'll go with her.

Are you coming in today, sir? Should be.

I just have to check on a friend of Charlene's.

Detective Heber, Homicide.

May I ask why you're stopped here?

Just wanted to see what all the commotion was about.

It's a crime scene, sir. Not a roadside attraction.

Right. I'm leaving.