She Hate Me

What you want?

The usual?

The usual, Ahmad.

Here you go, sir.

All right.

Hi, Vada.

Vada, I'll take those.

No, Millie. He owes me from last week.

You can settle that some other time.

Thank you.

You look cute.

Coffee's here, Mr. Armstrong.

Millie, how many times do I have to tell you?

Coffee is a drink.

A latte is an experience.

So's a month in Tahiti.

Take that down to Margo for me, please.

There's one left.

Oh, that's for you, sweetie,

to sip as you sail to, uh, Tahiti.

Dr. Schiller?

Dr. Schiller?

Oh, John, sorry.

Are you all right?

Just thinking about Prexelin.

What's this?

Raspberry latte.

That's your favorite, right?

So it is.

Thank you.

To Prexelin.

Tell me, John, are you married?

You know I'm not.

That's right.

You're the one

with the self-imposed bachelor term limits.

I believe 31 was the magic number.

A man should be married by the age of 31,

thus ensuring himself to be young enough

to enjoy playing with his kids,

yet old enough, at the same time,

and, we presume mature enough,

to provide for said family

a modicum of luxuries,

as well as boundless emotional support.

Well said.

Somewhat clinical, but well said, nonetheless.

There's only one problem, though.

What's that?

Well, I'm 30 years old,

the youngest VP at Progeia.

I make great money,

but I'm not sure I'd like to be married.

And I'm not sure

if I'd like to be married with kids.

I worked hard for my career--

Get married, John.

Have kids. Lots of them.

As many as you can afford.

Careers aren't real,

especially ones like ours.

You put your whole life into your work, your company,

then one day...

it's all for naught.

Would you excuse me, please?

I have several things to attend to.

Sure thing.

I apologize, Dr. Schiller.

John...

not to know is bad.

Not to wish to know is worse.

That's a non-sequitur, isn't it?

African proverb, I believe.

I've never heard that one before, sir.

Find a wonderful lady,

wed her, and have lots of kids.

Will do.

Thank you.

Auf Wiedersehen!

Help!

Help!

What the hell's going on?

What is going on?

Oh, shit!

What happened? Where are you going?

[SHOUTING CONTINUES INDISTINCTLY]

What's going on? What's going on?

Oh, my God!

What the hell happened?

Call an ambulance!

Go call an ambulance!

[PHONES RINGING, INDISTINCT CHATTER]

Margo, what the hell is going on?

Dr. Schiller just flew out of his office window.

Maybe he's the smart one. They fucked us, Jack.

Who are they? They hung us out to dry,

and they fucked us where it hurts.

Margo, please, listen. Look, Dr. Schiller is dead.

I don't know what happened. He slipped, jumped, something.

Do you think I give a fuck about that Kraut?

I'm talking about Prexelin! Now, we just got word.

The FDA is rejecting it.

The RTF letter is in the mail.

RTF?

Refuse To File. Now, I'm so sorry

your little Nazi friend is dead,

but we've all got way bigger problems.

And I said "we."

Margo Chadwick?

Yeah.

Yeah. Go back to work.

Everybody, just stay calm, please.

May we?

Sure. Thank you.

You're welcome.

Jack?

Fucking detective

said his death will probably be ruled a suicide.

I mean, the fucking Kraut jumped out the fucking window.

Does he think I asked his secretary to push him?

You've been drinking, Margo?

Oh, yes, I have, and I'm not done yet.

Knocked a few back myself.

Yeah, well, we'd both better be sober in the morning.

Fucking Powell is flying in from Europe.

This shit is already getting worldwide press.

Go home, Jack.

Get some sleep.

Let me give you a head's up, you start selling.

Hey, Jimmy, what the hell is going on here?

And who the hell are they? Mr. Armstrong.

I'm afraid I'm gonna have to ask you to leave.

Why are you shredding papers? None of your business.

You answer to me! But not today.

You remember that!

Now, you tell me what the hell is going on!

What the hell is--? Jim--

You-- What the hell is wrong with you?

Open this door!

Jimmy, you'd better-- Jimmy!

All right.

All right.

All right. Okay.

You want to play like that, fine.

Don't let this suit fool you, Jimmy!

You throw me out...

and you'd better know this,

Powell and Chad are gonna hear this!

You rest assured of that, Jimmy!

February 10th.

Leland Powell named new CEO.

Took huge financial write-off...

to restructure company.

Way more than needed.

Trying to make himself look good.

I don't trust him.

April 1st.

Powell lied at board meeting.

Reported $100 million in quarter profits

when the real numbers are significantly less.

First quarter.

Powell borrowed 200 million from company account.

One hundred million went to pay margin calls.

Fifteen million to build private golf course.

Eighty-five million for silent-partner purchase

of Prexelin stock.

May 9th.

FDA is fighting us on the results of testing.

Fear they will reject Prexelin.

With $300 million in profit losses projected,

a downgrade is looming.

June 5th.

Powell tipped silent partner to FDA rejection.

They cash out $350 million in company stock.

Should call the Ethics Commission.

If only I was a whistle blower and weren't a coward.

Thank you, gentlemen...

ladies.

Mr. Powell?

Sorry I'm late, sir.

John, so nice of you to join us.

Unfortunately, the meeting just ended.

I'll bring you up to speed in my office.

John, you see this crease between my eyebrows?

Yes, sir.

That comes from worry.

You're not going to deepen the crease, are you?

No, sir. I'll try not to.

Shit! I'm in Powell's doghouse.

You're in mine too. I heard you saw

the documentation retention party last night.

That's a very nice way of phrasing "destroying evidence."

He's locking down the 401Ks, Jack.

What?

Until further notice,

employees won't be permitted

to sell any personal stock in Progeia.

Leland feels, and the board agrees,

that this will give a public perception

that Progeia remains a rock-solid investment