Episode: S05 E08, “Tell Me”
Premiere date: 16 March 2026
Written by: Scott Andrews
LIBERTY CITY COURTHOUSE
LIBERTY CITY, NEW YORK, 01948
The Liberty City Courthouse bustled with employees and residents awaiting their day in court for varied reasons, ranging from parking tickets to serious charges. Making his way through the lobby, Nicholas Robinson approaches the main floor elevator, pushing the up button. Exiting the elevator, he makes his way towards his office while looking over the paperwork in his hands and taking a careful sip of his coffee from the Buzz Café.
As he opens his office door, he is startled to see Mayor Hillary Davis sitting in his desk chair. “What the Hell are you doing here?” He questions her.
Letting out a sarcastic chuckle, Hillary responds, “Talk to your boss like that?” Staring her down, Nicholas retorts, “I don’t know. When I have a boss to answer to, I’ll let you know.” “Did you forget who you are? Or who I am?”
“No, I didn’t. But, I am sure you will take pleasure in reminding me, endlessly.”
Hillary pursed her lips, immediately standing from Nicholas’ chair and walking her way around his desk. As she tidied her blazer and whisked her hair from her face, she approached Nicholas and reminded him, “You forget that you’re here because of me. That makes me your boss. So watch the tone you take with me.”
“On that high horse you’re riding – you’ve really come to believe you’ve earned it, haven’t you? It’s certainly more than I can say for you; the people of this city voted me in. You were chosen in a desperate move to ensure the D.A.’s office didn’t fall apart.”
Relenting to Hillary’s remarks, he gathers himself before asking, “What do I owe this visit?” “I want an update on Theo Johnson’s case. You’ve been awfully quiet and it concerns me.” “We’ve hit a snag.” “A snag? What kind of a snag?”
“A snag? What do you mean, a snag? I don’t do snags, Robinson,” Hillary snaps. The tension in her neck heightened as she struggled to maintain her composure. The term ‘snag’ was not what she had anticipated hearing from Nicholas. It introduced an unexpected complication in her already tight schedule.
“The trail ran cold,” Nicholas opened, breaking the tense air. “Everything connects to almost something, but it never clicked to a definitive answer, almost purposefully.”
“Purposefully?” Hillary questions. “What do you mean purposefully? Like someone kept avoiding connecting the final dots?”
“Exactly. That’s it.”
“Well, that leaves only one answer, then.” Looking perplexed, Nicholas questions, “And what would that answer be?”
Smiling a sly smile, Hillary confidently responds, “The person who you replaced and handled this investigation previously: Lisa Daley.”
CARRACO
ALGONQUIN, LIBERTY CITY, NEW YORK, 01948
The lobby lights come on in steps, like a concept coming together. By the morning light, the offices of Carraco decided to exist.
Jodi Bradshaw enters through the front doors with the confident stride of an individual who knows they are about to accomplish their day. She maintains her focus on moving directly towards the front desk of the entryway’s reception area. Confidently, her hair is neatly parted to the left, gently grazing her skin, and she is clad in a black power dress, suitable for a day of business.
Inside, the elevator bank is already half-populated. A man in running shoes scrolls through emails with the intensity of someone defusing a bomb. Two interns whisper to each other, their voices pitched low, as if the building itself might overhear and take notes. In the mirrored walls, everyone stands at slightly different angles, performing small adjustments: straightening a collar, rolling shoulders back, composing a face suitable for open-plan survival.
The elevator arrives with a polite chime.
Inside, the air is cool and faintly metallic. The buttons glow like a simplified constellation. Someone presses 12. Someone else presses 31. Jodi presses 23 and watches her finger hesitate, just long enough to suggest doubt, before the light turns on.
On the twenty-third floor, the lights are already on. The floor remains still as if isolated from the rest of the building. Soft rumbles exist only for those intently listening. Everything feels brand-new and has never been used, and it shines so clearly one could see themselves reflected back.
As she approaches the main office, the secretary seated at the desk just outside the wooden double doors stops her. “May I help you?” The secretary asks of Jodi. “Yes,” she affirms. “I am here to see William Carraway. My name is Jodi Bradshaw; he should be expecting me.” “Yes, Ms. Bradshaw, follow me.”
Knocking on the door, the secretary announces herself, along with Jodi. Sitting at this desk, William Carraway acknowledges the secretary, before dismissing her from his office, and gesturing for Jodi to sit down.
“So,” William begins, “You are our new head of marketing. I noticed your CV, and you’ve got quite the storied history with your family’s company.”
Keeping quiet for a brief moment, Jodi confidently affirms Williams’ comments, “Yes. I have had what you did call a ‘storied history’ with the Bradshaw Corporation, but those days have long gone. Nearly ten years now. I’ve been focused on my writing and helping several companies over the past few years with their marketing and promoting their companies.”
Nodding his head in agreement, William questions, “So, what is it you have in mind for the company, Ms Bradshaw?” Unshaken by the question, Jodi confidently responds, “Well, I’ve gone over the last ten years of marketing strategies your former marketing hands have handled, and while they are most admirable, there were plenty of errors that could have been avoided. And, furthermore, with this move to Liberty City, there is much to be done to assure shareholders, investors, and other properties involved with the company that this move is for the longterm investment of Carraco.”
Impressed with Jodi’s brazen assessment and commentary, William smiles in an approving way. “That’s quite perceptive and assumptive of you, Ms. Bradshaw.” “And yet, I wasn’t wrong, was I?” Jodi questioned back, playing right into his hands.
In that moment, Amelie Ashford enters into William’s office, Taken aback by a blonde female in her husband’s office and noticing his demeanor, she questions, “What’s going on in here?”
Slightly jumped, both William and Jodi turn their attentions to Amelie. William lifts himself from his chair and greets his wife, “Good morning, darling. This is Ms Jodi Bradshaw, Carraco’s newest head of marketing. And she was just telling me her plans for the company moving forward.” “Oh,” Amelie entertains of her husband, “And what plans are those?”
Sensing the tension between Amelie and William, Jodi smartly responds, “To simply let our shareholders, our investors, and our property holders know that this relocation to Liberty City is one of great promise for the future of both the city and for Carraco. It’s a win-win for all involved.”
“I’m sure,” Amelie sarcastically responds to Jodi before turning her attentions to William, “Darling, did you forget about our marketing meeting in two minutes?”
“Oh yes, I did. Ms Bradshaw, I am so sorry to have to cut this short, but.” “Oh, don’t you worry. I have a long day ahead of me, but I look forward to the greatness to come from this partnership. Pleasure to meet you, and you as well, Mrs. Carraway.”
As Jodi confidently exits the office, William let’s out, “She’s going to do great things for this company.”
“So long as you don’t forget the long term plan,” Amelie firmly reminds him. “Do not fall for her, William. I won’t allow it. I am your wife and the future of Carraco is ours, and Ms Bradshaw won’t get in our way. Remember that.”
DANIEL SMITHSON’S HOME
LIBERTY CITY, NEW YORK, 01948
Sitting at his kitchen dining table, Daniel Smithson gazes upon his laptop, with an opened email sent several days prior, entitled, Position Status — Response Requested. Re-reading the message from Beth Reynolds, it notes that Daniel’s position with the Liberty City Police Department remained open, should he chose to return to the force. Feeling an immediate overflow of tension and conflict, Daniel half-closes his laptop in the hopes of alleviating the feelings he’s been having.
Then, a knock is heard coming from his front door. Shaken out of his state, he exits his kitchen, and makes his way towards the front door. Opening it, he is greeted by his sister, Natalie Smithson, holding coffees and breakfast from Eric’s Diner. “Good morning, surprise,” Natalie exclaims in positivity towards her brother. “I brought breakfast.”
“Come on in,” Daniel responds, with a sense of hesitation.
As Natalie makes her way into the home, she hesitates, sensing Daniel’s mood and remarks, “You look like someone just handed you a decision you didn’t want to make. What’s going on?”
For a moment, Daniel hesitates, before responding, “They want to know if I’m coming back.”
Natalie pauses, knowing exactly what Daniel means by that statement.
As the siblings settle on the couch, with breakfast and coffees distributed, Natalie questions, “What’s going on? Why does an email that was sent a while ago causing so much internal conflict?”
Taking a sip from his coffee, Daniel responds, “Part of me misses it. The work… the purpose.” “But?” “But, the other part of me remembers why I stepped away from that work.”
Listening to her brother, Natalie offers insight, “Of course you remember, and you miss it, but it’s not like you took leave from the force for superfluous reasons. You were going through your divorce from Leah and dealing with that custody battle; you were becoming a single father of two, and you needed the time to adjust to that lifestyle.”
Fighting back emotions, Daniel finally confesses, “I fear if I go back I’ll fall right back into it, and it’ll take time away from Claire and Robert, and that isn’t fair to them. They’ve gotten so used to me being around…” “But..? I sense a hesitation there.” “But, I’m not even sure who I am without the police force. I’ve always been a cop my entire adult life. I wouldn’t even know where I would be without it.”
“Have you spoken to anyone else about this?” Natalie questions of her brother in a wondering tone. “Mom? Dustin? Hell, even dad? Leah even?”
“No,” Daniel sharply responds. “I spoke briefly with Dustin, but you know how he is: he’s always been a worker, so I avoided giving him the chance to respond. I already knew what he was going to say.”
“Smart idea,” Natalie jokingly responds, in an attempt to lighten the mood a bit. “But seriously, Danny, if you go back, it has to be because you want to be there. And, if you do go back, remember why you took your leave in the first place.” Daniel takes a deep breath in, listening to his sister’s wise words.
As the siblings exchange their farewells, Natalie turns to Daniel, reminding him: “Remember, Danny, I am always here if you need me. I am just a phone call away.” “I know,” he assures her. “Now tell my niece and nephew I love them and that their cousin would love a playdate sometime soon.”
As Daniel cleans up his living room, he returns to the kitchen, taking a brief moment before looking back as his half-closed laptop. Reopening it, he re-reads the email, taking everything written but with Natalie’s words at the forefront of his mind.
Daniel begins to respond to the email, the clicking of the laptop keys filling the empty noise of his home. The look upon his face shows hesitation… then immediate resolve.
The email responds reads as follows:
I, Derek Smithson, declare I shall return to work at the Liberty City Police Department immediately upon acceptance from the department itself.
Staring at the message for a long moment of time, Daniel braces himself and hits send. He closes the laptop, and slips back into his chair. Knowing what he’s done with resolve, he begins to feel the slightest hint of uncertainty about what he’s walking back into.
LIBERTY CITY MEMORIAL HOSPITAL
LIBERTY CITY, NEW YORK, 01948
The hallway of the ICU remains still and silent. Standing outside of Thomas Lane’s hospital room, Sarah Lane looks in on her husband, hooked up on his life support machines; the steady rhythm of the ventilator fills the silence of the floor. As she lightly presses her fingers against the window, footsteps approach from behind her. As she turns around, she see’s Shirley Lane, who appears composed, yet clearly exhausted. The tole of her son’s ongoing medical problems has shown itself in her approach. The tension between the two is tense.
As the both enter into the dimly lit waiting room, they both sit in direct opposition of each other. The tension continuing to be tense — not of hostility, but of unresolved grief and fear.
Breaking the silence, Shirley gently asks, “Have you spoken with the doctors?”
Sarah nods in acknowledgment, relaying that the prognosis has not changed — there is no meaningful brain activity and no realistic chance of recovery.
Feeling uncomfortable, yet brave enough to express herself with her mother-in-law, Sarah stands to walk away and avoid being seen, and remarks: “I know you love him. I know you want what’s best for him… but sometimes it feels like you’re trying to take over everything.”
Sarah’s words hurt Shirley, but she continues to listen with an openness, knowing the difficulty Sarah has been facing for some time.
“I’m scared that if I hesitate, even for a second, I’ll wake up and find out someone else is making those decisions for him,” Sarah makes known, in reference to Shirley’s intend on seeking Thomas’ medical proxy.
Feeling it her time, Shirley quietly responds, “Sarah, it was never my intention to overstep over your authority as Thomas’ wife, nor did I want to replace you in the position that you’re in. We share the same fear: losing Thomas.”
Pausing for a brief moment to compose herself, Shirley continues, “When you’re a mother, you spend your whole life protecting them… even when they’re grown. No one prepares you for your child going off, getting married, having families and making their own decisions. And the idea of letting go of him has been unbearable. It’s something I don’t want to face, and I know you don’t, either.”
Still facing with her back towards Shirley, Sarah confesses, “I’ve been asking with his doctors, and they’ve made it clear: he’s only alive because of the machines helping him breathe and keep his brain activity going. There will be no recovery. There will be so awakening. He won’t be coming back to us.”
“This isn’t living. It’s waiting,” Sarah’s voice breaks as she turns to face Shirley, allowing her emotions to be seen. Letting those words hang in the air, Sarah takes a breath, before continuing her thought process: “I’ve been thinking about what Thomas would want. Deep down, he wouldn’t want to be kept alive on machines. This isn’t a life at all. It’s Hell. It’s a false sense of hope.”
“We have to let him go.”
Shattered by Sarah’s words, Shirley nods in a compassionate agreement. She reaches for Sarah’s hand, in an attempt to break the tension, and unite them in a moment of solitude, love, and grief. They’re no longer fighting for control — they’re simply two women that love the same man.
“Then we should start preparing everyone,” Shirley laments. Sarah agrees through the tears falling from her eyes.
As Sarah and Shirley enter into Thomas’ room, they stand together, finally united in a way they have yet to be for some time now.
“I just don’t want him to be alone,” Sarah whispers softly. Placing her arm around her daughter-in-law, Shirley quietly assures her, “He won’t be.”
As they stand in comfort of each other, the machines continue their steady rhythm. The decision has been made. The countdown towards Thomas’ final moments has begun.
LIBERTY CITY COUNTRY CLUB
LIBERTY CITY, NEW YORK, 01948
The light of the late morning sun beams brightly over the expansively impressive Liberty City Country Club. As the day continues to unfold, several cars pull up to the front entrance of the country club, with members, male and female alike, being greeted by valet services and other club employees.
Then, a sleek, black town car pulls up directly in front of the entrance to the country club. However, unlike the other arrivals, valet does not immediately greet the passenger. Opening her own door, Penelope Carraway exits the town car, perfectly dressed and composed, carrying herself as if she already belongs at the club. As she makes her way around the car to enter into the country club, a valet member asks if she was a guest. Unfazed by the question, Penelope smiles and proceeds inside the country club.
Inside the lobby, Penelope takes in the sight of club members greeting each other warmly. She further takes in her environment — the polished wood, the portraits of founding families, and clusters of people engaged in quiet power networking. Taking a breath in, and adjusting her blazer, she approaches the reception desk.
As the hostess politely, yet without recognition asks if she is a member, Penelope calmly responds, “No, not yet. I was hoping to procure a membership to this country club.” Nodding in confirmation, the hostess’ attention is immediately shifted from Penelope to a well-known member approaching from behind, effectively dismissing Penelope.
Not taking kindly to being dismissed, Penelope takes it upon herself to move towards the terrace where several prominent members are gathered. Among them are some of Liberty City’s most well-connected and elite socialites discussing a charity gala. As she attempts to insert herself into the conversation, the group responds with polite but shallow smiles. One woman provides her a tight-lipped nod before returning to the in-progress conversation, as if Penelope was not presently standing there.
One man vaguely asks of her, “Who did you say invited you?” The implication is clear to Penelope: her presence has not been earned. Taking a moment to look upon the group, who have already judged her, before shifting her expression into one that is calm, confident, and slightly assumed.
In another attempt, she speaks in a more deliberate tone, “I didn’t say who invited me.” Taken aback by her bold directly, the group immediately quiets. Feeling the attention, she firmly, continues, “Penelope Carraway.”
Almost immediately, the name ‘Carraway’ lands with the club’s members, with several showing surprise. One of the members faintly speaks up, “Carraway… as in Carraco?”
“The same,” Penelope responds, smiling lightly. With this, the entire atmosphere shifts — from dismissed disapproval to one of welcoming. Almost immediately, one of the socialites offers a seat to Penelope. As she takes the seat, another begins to explain some of the upcoming events happening at the club, as well as mentioning several charitable committees. Appeasing them, Penelope keeps quiet and allows them to shower her with what they think she wants to hear from them.
In a moment’s notice, Penelope explains to them her intent of hosting an upcoming fundraising event through Carraco, which immediately perks up the attention of those who once dismissed her, now seeking her involvement.
Penelope immediately stands to exit the table, but not before delivering a calm, yet pointed remark.
“It’s always interesting to see how quickly people decide who belongs in a room.”
The group shifts awkwardly, fully understanding the intent behind Penelope’s words. With her back to the group, Penelope smiles once again, this time with steel beneath it.
She steps onto the terrace, which overlooks the golf course. The city skyline is visible in the distance. Behind her, the same members who ignored her earlier are now whispering about her arrival. Penelope takes in the scene with quiet satisfaction. She didn’t just enter Liberty City’s high society. She announced herself. And everyone noticed.