The Blacklist - Tenth Season

Thank you.

How's the evening so far, sir?

Very good. Having a nice meal.

How many clues have you solved?

What's that?

The clues.

To the hidden treasure. How many have you solved?

I think you have the wrong person.

I know exactly who you are, Mr. Browning,

and as you are the executor of Warren Bostwick's estate,

I know what you have access to.

How many clues have you solved?

Excuse me.

How. Many. Clues.

None. I swear.

I-I wasn't allowed in the room when the will was read!

I-I tried to listen, but I didn't hear anything!

Argh!

I believe you.

- Harold. - Excuse me.

Why are you in my home at this hour?

This is not okay.

You're right. It's not. I understand that.

And under any other circumstances,

I wouldn't have imposed.

Did you sleep here?

A very quick catnap.

Just on the bench over there.

Truly, a half-hour at most,

and then the time it took to put together breakfast.

You see, I was at Mount Vernon, playing a very small part

in a Revolutionary War reenactment,

when I got to drinking quite late

with the 1st Delaware Regiment.

One thing led to another.

Those Blue Hen boys really know how to hold their whiskey.

What is going on with you? Do you even have a home anymore?

Please. Sit down, Harold. Have some coffee.

We've got business to discuss.

Like Robert Vesco?

Tell me that wasn't you that broke him out of prison.

I read he escaped from a hospital.

Just as well.

Prison's no place for a man

of Robert Vesco's stature or advanced age.

You realize that we have to track him down now and arrest him.

Well, you could do that, but you'll be leaving

three young women in mortal danger.

The Hyena is on the hunt.

A Blacklister?

Of the lowest order.

Are you familiar with Warren Bostwick?

New York hedge-fund titan. Died a couple years back.

- They say they never recovered his fortune. - Ah.

Last week, Bostwick's attorney

was found dead in the men's room at Benneker's.

What looked like a slip and fall

was really the work of the Hyena.

When professional thieves or white-collar criminals

are imprisoned,

their stolen goods are rarely recovered.

Do you know why?

They're too well-hidden.

Waiting for the felon's jail sentence to end

so they can be reclaimed.

And that's when the Hyena strikes.

A scavenger by nature, he sniffs out the hidden spoils

by shaking down family members and associates,

torturing them, murdering them.

Warren Bostwick may have played it

fast and loose in the market, but he was not a criminal.

No, but old Warren did leave behind a hidden fortune

worth hundreds of millions,

and the Hyena has caught the scent.

His real name is Sean Bane.

He uses extreme violence to hunt down what he's looking for,

and right now he's hunting the lost fortune of this man.

One week before his death,

Warren Bostwick liquidated his portfolio

and transferred his massive wealth into an unknown account.

To date, those funds haven't been recovered.

Bane is deviating from his usual MO

by targeting an innocent man's fortune.

Last week, he killed Bostwick's attorney.

His next logical target

would be Bostwick's three surviving daughters.

- Triplets? - -Yes, and protecting them won't be easy.

Cordelia's in a remote village in Bolivia doing relief work,

Alex went off the grid eight months ago,

and Kendall's the only one we have a location on.

She was CFO of her father's company until his death.

She's now living in his Westchester mansion.

Sorry, but Wujing is amassing Blacklisters as we speak

to take down Reddington. I mean, why would he divert us

to babysit a bunch of rich women?

It doesn't matter. They're in danger.

Ressler, Dembe, meet with Kendall.

Agent Malik, I want you to reach out

to some of your international contacts,

see if you can track down the other two sisters.

Hello, Robert.

Mmm-hmm?

Comfy?

Hmm! I'm limper than a drunk jellyfish.

Ooh.

I haven't had a Turkish massage like that

since that hammam in Antalya.

Well, after a year in lockup, you deserve it.

Lunch from Mama's TOO! Will be here within the hour.

Hmm. Raymond...

I love the hospitality here,

but I feel like I'm being fattened up for a slaughter.

When does the axe fall?

There's no axe.

Hmm.

So, what gives?

First you bust me out of prison.

Now you're treating me like a hairy princess.

I've lost a lot of people, Robert.

If my circle of friends gets any smaller,

it won't be a circle.

I just want to fill my world with people I care about.

What a crock of crap.

You need me for a job or what?

I need you for a job.

Don Browning didn't trip and fall in that bathroom.

Your father's attorney was murdered.

We have strong reason to believe

there's a violent criminal chasing his fortune,

which puts you and your sisters in danger.

Forgive me, gentlemen, but you're beginning

to sound like the conspiracy nuts.

I mean, there are entire subreddits

devoted to the mystery of why Warren Bostwick

liquidated all of his holdings.

And what can you tell us about that?

How about I let my father tell you?

In my dwindling days here on Earth,

I've made a bleak discovery.

I may be a market genius, but I'm a lousy parent.

My three adult daughters

are just waiting for me to die so they can cash out.

I can feel that every time you visit me.

You three are strangers to me,

and barely sisters to each other.

That's why I'm leaving this video,

in hopes that I may do in death what I failed to do in life,

teach you to work hard and to work together.

It's the only way you'll ever see my money.

As part of his effort to make them earn their inheritance,

old Warren consolidated his assets into Bitcoin.

Some financial wizard.

He took a bath there, huh?

On the contrary.

Even after the market crash,

Warren's fortune has doubled since his death.

But more importantly,

all his crypto funds are stored in one location.

An anonymous digital wallet.

I've created a passcode for that wallet,

which I've split into three pieces.

At the end of this message,

I'm going to read you a poem I wrote.

The poem is a treasure map,

its lines filled with hidden clues

drawn from his personal life.

Solve the clues to reveal the passcodes

and access ungodly riches.

Have the three of you been able to solve any of the clues together?

Together was never an option.

No, I mean, I love my sisters, but they're free spirits.

They don't know how to hold onto money.

But when I find the funds, I'll provide for them.

As the eldest sister, it's my job.

Wait. The eldest? You're triplets.

And I'm the eldest by 12 minutes.

Who knows about the existence

of the clues and the hidden passcodes?

As far as I know, now that Don Browning is dead,

just myself and my sisters.

Can we get a copy of the poem?

Why? So you can become weekend treasure hunters?

I'm sorry, but I need to get back to work, agents.

Thank you for warning me of the danger.

Sorry, but we've been authorized to provide you

with a full-time FBI detail.

And I appreciate that offer, I do,

but I'm sure my security team

can handle any threats that find their way here.

Thank you.

For two years, Warren's own daughters

haven't figured it out.

What makes you think we can?

Well, we're men of a certain age who tippled with Warren

on many a balmy night in Mustique.

Robert, I'd venture to say

that you and I know far more details

of Warren's personal life than even his own daughters.

Well, what the hell? The girls had their chance.

Shall I read the first stanza of the poem?