A More Perfect Union

You are being watched.

The government has a secret system--

secret system--

A system you asked for

to keep you safe.

A machine that spies on you

every hour of every day.

You granted it the power to see everything.

To index, order, and control

the lives of ordinary people.

The government considers

these people irrelevant.

We don't.

But to it, you are all irrelevant.

Victim or perpetrator,

if you stand in its way...

We'll find you.

Well?

Mission failure again, sir.

Aren't you tired, my dear Sameen?

Why would I be?

That's what, 7,053 times

you've tried to get me to murder my friends?

I meant tired of turning the gun on yourself.

I've done worse.

You're a smart girl.

The simulation is not convincing you.

Perhaps a little field trip will be just the ticket.

To what?

To showing you

the people you refuse to betray

are not the heroes.

They're the villains.

Finch, I'm at the hotel.

Want to tell me what I'm doing here?

We've received a new number.

Although the Machine retains

its whimsical sense of humor.

This number belongs to a marriage license.

So I'm afraid we must assume

that the threat will surface at the wedding itself.

So who's the happy couple?

Phoebe Turner,

a Harvard graduate,

and daughter of Kent Turner.

She's an heiress to her father's

billion-dollar horse racing empire.

And the groom?

Will O'Brien.

A Boston College grad.

Will's a public defender.

So I suppose it's reasonable to speculate

that some members of the family

may not want this wedding to happen.

Until we can determine who is victim or perpetrator,

we need to keep an eye on both.

Phoebe is in Room 541.

So what is she doing here?

Her sister called the police.

Good, you're here.

You got my back?

Don't worry. We got this one.

Good thing you're in character.

Could get rough in there.

Especially for a silver fox like you.

You gonna be okay to run interference

if things get out of hand?

I'll go first.

Someone called the police?

It's about time you showed up.

Whoo!

How much would it be to get you

into something more comfortable?

I'm only here for security.

Do me a favor, step back, ma'am.

Thank you.

I love a man in charge.

Whoo!

Sorry, Mr. Reese,

but I had no choice.

I need you at that wedding.

Detective Fusco,

I was hoping to enlist your help

for the weekend.

Rumor has it that there will be a caviar bar.

No can do. I got a life.

Not to mention, a day job.

All these missing persons.

Where'd you go?

How's our little petri dish doing?

Is the Machine's replica holding up against Samaritan?

Yes. Very well.

Thank you.

Who would've thought my latest cover

didn't like paying rent?

- Artist? - Meth head.

I need a place to crash for a few nights.

I'll make lasagna.

You're welcome to stay here.

You can feed Bear while I attend a wedding.

Since when did you start dressing like

a middle school science teacher?

I don't.

But Uncle Ralph does.

Are you crashing a wedding?

Of course not.

I have an invitation.

How did you manage that?

I wired 500 euros

to the groom's estranged uncle in Ireland.

The real Uncle Ralph

wasn't gonna be sober enough

to make the ceremony anyway.

Sounds like a big job.

It is.

But surely you would not enjoy a wedding.

Even I appreciate a fairy tale ending, Harry.

Family politics, over-cooked meat,

monogamy. What's not to love?

Hmm.

Bear takes one scoop of kibble twice a day.

Oh, and if you could answer the pay phone,

should it ring.

Mr. Reese,

have you managed to secure

an invitation to the wedding?

I did.

Phoebe's sister, Janna, invited me.

Turns out

I'm her type.

Who knew.

Have you identified any potential threats

to Phoebe? - Didn't have to.

Janna did it all for me.

Tequila makes her talk.

Seems Janna and Will's uncle, Ralph,

have a great deal in common.

Did you know

the groom's ex-girlfriend, Becca, is a bridesmaid?

That sounds like a recipe for disaster.

Janna also told me Kent Turner plays favorites.

Turner was gonna hand over his racing dynasty to Phoebe.

Wow, that's--what happened?

Phoebe met Will.

Her father decided he'd give

her eldest sister, Karen,

the reigns to the business instead.

Let me fix your tiara, Phoebe.

But even without the business,

Phoebe stands to inherit a cool 300 million.

Perhaps Mr. Turner is willing to kill the groom

to make sure he doesn't get his hands on the family fortune.

I think our best chance to stop the threat

is to ensure that the wedding happens.

You should pack for two days.

I'm sorry, Finch.

I can't spend two days with billionaires.

Well, then I hope you like horses better,

because the ceremony takes place

at the Turner family farm upstate.

Pack your riding boots, Mr. Reese.

We're about to crash a wedding.

I want to take that guy.

Enjoying your field trip, Sameen?

Yes, they work for us.

At least wait until we've had our lunch

before you attempt to escape.

Beatrice Lillie

from Parks Deli in Chinatown.

Extra mustard, pepperoncinis,

no trace of mayonnaise.

What?

Lost your appetite?

Why did you bring me here?

These two gentlemen.

Of course.

To show me two rich,

balding white men.

They're high-frequency traders.

In the last month alone, their actions

have put several companies out of business.

One of those companies maintained air conditioners

at low prices.

Another provided affordable vaccines

to third world countries.

So just have your Machine

put them in white-collar prison where they can meet

more of their kind and rob more innocent people.

They didn't just rob innocent people, Sameen.

Because these men committed fraud,