Trust

It'll ring.

You don't know that.

How could you possibly know that?

You don't know anything.

- Sorry. - Eh...

I've got a son.

You've got a son?

Jesus, Chace.

All this time?

How old is he?

About 12.

You've got a 12-year-old son, and you...

Why didn't you tell me?

This is about your son, not mine.

Bullshit,

Fletcher, that's bullshit.

All this time, you've known the pain in here?

- And you've said nothing? - I was ashamed.

- Of your son? - No.

Of me.

("Oh Nero Nero" by Cosimo Monteleone playing)

: Hey.

Yeah.

NEWSCASTER (over radio): ...President Nixon has ordered

the attorney general, Elliot Richardson,

to fire special Watergate prosecutor Archibald Cox,

after Cox announced that he'll continue his court battle

to hear the presidential tapes in the Watergate case.

- President Nixon's attorney... - (doorbell buzzes)

...arguing that the Constitution...

Chace?

What?

It's not the worst,

but it's not good.

We have no proof this is Paul's ear.

These are Paul's freckles.

Lots of people have freckles.

I washed his hair as a baby,

kissed him when he went to sleep at night,

kissed him in the morning,

tucked his hair behind his ears every... when he went to school.

This is my son's.

Then I suggest you pay the ransom.

Can I keep these?

Yes.

Strange decision,

removing an ear.

It's not definitive.

A finger comes with a print.

Better.

Perhaps they'll send a finger next time.

Maybe it's a metaphor, Paul.

Maybe they're trying to get someone to listen.

- I don't follow. - No.

No, you really don't, do you?

Paul. - Hmm?

Gail's been waiting quite some time now.

All right.

Very impressive picture, Gail.

I'm more of a Renaissance era man, myself.

Well, there were certainly many instances of mutilation

in those pictures, now that I think about it.

Hello, Paul.

Hello, Gail.

Are you sure that the ear belongs to Paul?

I couldn't be more certain.

Whatever the rights and wrongs

of his behavior, sir,

he's your grandson.

They're sending him back in pieces.

I implore you.

Please.

Help him.

I have attempted to resolve this situation

on a number of instances.

I went to Italy, and put myself at considerable risk,

so that I could negotiate a very fair deal

that the boy's father refused to accept.

There's really nothing else that I can do.

The key to resolving this situation

lies with your ex-husband.

And you tell him

that he should come to his senses.

Where's the head gardener?

That's me, mate.

As of today.

The other bloke did a moonlight flit.

Gail's waiting downstairs.

It-it doesn't even look like a human ear.

Gail wouldn't know an ear from a piece of prosciutto.

Honestly, Paul, that's a vile thing to say.

Well, she wouldn't.

Remember when he dressed up as Jesus?

One of the photos they took was a close-up of his face.

We matched the ear to that.

It's not a piece of prosciutto.

Well, I'll leave you to it.

He made a beautiful Jesus, didn't he?

Yeah.

Huh.

You look, uh...

It's, uh, it's good to see you.

It's good to see you, too.

It's been a long time.

Yeah.

Please, accept your father's loan.

See, that's-that's the problem exactly, it's a loan.

Now, he's offering to lend me my money from the trust

at-at four percent above the base. My own money.

He stands to make a profit... the bastard stands to profit

off the kidnapping of our son.

I know.

But how much more of him do you want to see hacked off

and put in the post?

Please.

Put your name on a piece of paper...

No! No, no, no. I can't.

- Sign the damn thing. - No, no, no, no, no, no.

- Please. - I can't.

You don't understand. If I sign, then he has got me.

I mean, don't you remember the phone calls day and night?

The visits, the-the repayment schedule,

the bullying that slowly, slowly sucks the life out of you

until you are in a garage at a party, stabbing yourself

to death in the chest with a barbecue fork.

It killed George. It-It killed him.

And I-I can't do it, it'll kill me.

It's our son who will be killed, Paul.

I can't... I can't do it.

Of course any assistance that I can give,

but I'm sure you've seen the news.

President Nixon has a lot on his plate right now.

I can appreciate that.

Do you have children, Ambassador Annenberg?

A daughter.

Forgive me...

you had a son.

I did. Yes.

He died.

Around the time that I first met your father.

And is that why you came to me?

Because you thought you had an angle.

Yes.

I've run out of options, sir.

You know what it's like to lose a son.

I'm losing mine.

Every day, he's slipping away from me.

I feel it, sir. I feel it in my bones.

All right.

Mr. President, as a mother,

I am begging you to...

I am appealing to you

with all my heart.

My son is in great danger...

You are my last hope.

Please help me.

Please, God, let these be the right words.

Thank you.

NIXON (on TV): Because people have got to know

whether or not their President's a crook.

Well, I'm not a crook.

I've earned everything I've got.

A fax for you, Mr. President.

What are they throwing at me now?

I'm appealing to you as a citizen of the United States.

When do they not?

I have no more options.

As a citizen, one is supposed to be able

to appeal to their president.

As a friend of my father-in-law,

Mr. John Paul Getty,

and as a human being, please help.

I don't know what else to do.

What's wrong with the man?

I don't know. Something's very wrong.

And at what point does one say "That's enough"?

- Patrick, don't. - Just a question.

If an ear turned up in my post, I'd bloody well pay up.

I know you would.

Look, I'm no billionaire.

The only things I own in the world are

a biplane with an oil leak

and a house with dicky plumbing.

I can't even guarantee you a hot bath.

- Patrick, please don't. - But I love you.

Only you. And the dog.

With all my heart, Penelope.

Come and live with me. Please.

Please.

This had better be good.