ƒnƒCƒ‰ƒCƒg‚Í"He doesn't get to come back here and make up for lost time."

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White Color(ƒzƒƒCƒgƒJƒ‰[) ƒV[ƒYƒ“4yŒ´‘čzFamily Business

Why didn't you tell me? Why did you lie to me?

I had a feeling that after everything you'd heard about me, I'd be the last person you'd want to see walking through your door.

Well, that's a big assumption to make. Did you kill a cop?

I'm a lot of things, Neal, but, uh...

not that.

No. Not that.

All right. You tell me what did happen.

That was your third birthday. You remember?

No, I don't.

It was the hottest March in years. Ellen and I had just gotten off duty.

Dad!

Neal! You didn't think I was gonna miss the cake, did you?

I had made detective three months earlier.

Next thing you know, the two of you will be on patrol together.

I didn't wear the hat anymore, but you always loved it. Things were good then.

What changed?

I was young, driven, confident I could take on anybody.

driven “Ë‚Ť“Ž‚Š‚ł‚ę‚é

All right, police! Hands in the air!

She said hands in the air!

Drop it!

Ellen would have said I was arrogant. She probably would have been right.

Well, that's great, but I want to know what happened to our family.

I'm telling you. I was a good cop.

Son of a bitch!

Ellen and I were on a tear. All the bad guys were afraid of us. You have to understand something, Neal. I loved you and your mother very much, but we weren't rich. It's not easy raising a family on a cop's salary. We hit these gun runners, taking down their major suppliers.

on a tear ƒoƒJ‘›‚Ź‚ľ‚Ä

Let's go.

One operation, I find myself alone, staring at a crate full of cash. One bundle was three months' salary.

What did you do?

I've thought a lot about that moment. I could have gone either way. Flip a coin. Heads, I take it. Tails, I don't.

And you took it.

Yeah. I took it.

Hey, Bennett. Oh.

That's when everything changed.

We got to talk.

Your supervising officer sees you taking money from a crime scene, that should be the last thing you ever do as a cop. But he said he'd look the other way if I did a couple favors for him.

And if not, you went to jail.

That's how I ended up working for the Flynns.

Let's go, guys! Let's go! It's a raid!

raid ‹­§‘{¸

They started me off small. Making sure their guys got out the door before a bust, that sort of thing.

bust ‘ß•ß

Police! Hands in the air!

Ellen had no idea.

Police!

I was her partner, her best friend.

Where the hell is everybody?

I was in her blind spot. Pretty soon, opening doors for the Irish mob wasn't enough. I was also taking down a lot of the Flynns' competition. That's when things got bad.

Neal, are you okay?

Yeah, I'm fine.

You're James Bennett.

I understand you have every reason not to trust me right now, Burke.

You told us you were Sam Phelps.

No, you assumed I was Sam Phelps. I didn't correct you.

Did Ellen know that she was in contact with you and not Sam?

No.

So you lied to Ellen, too?

When I went into WITSEC, they sent me to Montana -- alone. After about 10 years, I was going nuts. I-I couldn't take it anymore. They wouldn't tell me where you were, so I went back to D.C. The only one who would talk to me was Sam. He told me how he and Ellen had gotten very close to making a case against the people who framed me, but the only connection he had left with Ellen was a P.O. Box -- a way of getting in touch in case of an emergency.

And Sam gave you the P.O. Box.

He was about to retire. If Ellen reached out, he wanted somebody to be able to help her. Then one day... ...this showed up.

That's Ellen's e-mail.

I was gonna tell her the truth when I got to New York, but I didn't get the chance. Listen, I've been here over a month, and I got nothing. I don't even know who attacked me.

Dennis Flynn.

That's impossible. He died in prison.

This is Flynn Jr., the son who's trying to revive the family business.

We think he killed Ellen.

We plan to bring them down -- for good this time.

Let me help you.

How bad are you injured?

Ah, it's just a bruised rib. It's nothing I haven't slept off before. I'll be in touch.

bruised ‚‚˘‚˝ sleep off –°‚Á‚Ä’ź‚ˇ

Have fun in school.

Okay.

Bye-bye.

You okay?

No. I'm not.

Do you believe him?

Right now, I want to focus on taking Flynn down.

This is Dennis Flynn Jr. Years ago, the Flynn crime family was dismantled. He's spent the last 10 years trying to rebuild it.

dismantle •Ş‰đ‚ˇ‚é

According to organized crime, Flynn did so by moving into the white-collar world.

His latest venture is personal.

The Flynns started making money by bootlegging whiskey. After prohibition ended, they moved into counterfeiting and used the Conroy family for distribution until they had a falling out. I have Google, too.

bootlegging –§‘˘ have a falling out ’‡ˆá‚˘‚ˇ‚é

Flynn doesn't normally get his hands dirty. But because of the family history, he's handling this himself.

It's a decent fake. The relief on the lettering is a little shallow, but if you've never held a bottle before, you wouldn't know that. True test, however, is in the palate.

shallow ó‚˘ palate –ĄŠo

If you're pouring, I'll take a dram.

For Flynn, this venture symbolizes everything that once was great about the family. It's not about profit. It's about pride.

Even so, there's always money in good fake booze.

Which this is not. It's bottom shelf mixed with caramel coloring.

Counterfeiting is all about creating the closest simulation to the real thing at a fraction of the cost.

at a fraction of ‚킸‚Š‚Č

Flynn needs better taste for a low price.

I can make a better product for him, gain his trust.

Of course your resume includes whiskey counterfeiting.

Well, basic alcohol counterfeiting. Once you know the fundamentals, you can --

Good, we can get him on distribution of counterfeit items.

What are you talking about?

Thanks, guys.

We arrest Flynn for distribution? That's it?

We don't have enough evidence for murder...yet. But if we can prove distribution, he'll be locked up, and we'll be able to collect evidence.

You're the boss.

I want you to teach Jones everything you know about whiskey counterfeiting.

You can't bench me on this.

Yeah. I can.

It would take me a month to teach Jones everything I know, and you need me to make a good counterfeit.

Are you ransoming your skills?

Look, if it were easy to do, Flynn wouldn't have such a hard time finding a good one.

You're too close to this. You really think you can keep a smile on your face when you're standing in front of that guy after what he's done?

Yeah, I do... Because I have to.

What are your thoughts on approaching him?

I must have lost my mind. I went to New Jersey of my own free will.

If you want to get flavor extracts or find a discount tanning salon, there's no better place.

extracts ƒGƒLƒX

Six different factories conveniently lined up for clandestine tasting. Just this one vial could make the entire Hudson River taste like...oh, bacon.

clandestine “ŕ–§‚Ě

Add that to your to-do list.

So, have you decided what brand we're gonna forge?

Shackleton whiskey.

Ah, the Shackleton -- dug out of the Antarctic ice after Ernest Shackleton's ill-fated journey came to an abrupt end.

Probably because he brought more whiskey than supplies.

They say you can taste the frozen tundra in every bottle.

What do you think that tastes like, Moz?

Penguin feathers. I have no idea. My only bottle of Shackleton...

was lost in a bet to me.

Yeah, only because you cheated. Illegal usage of gum drop lane.

You lost a $200,000 bottle of whiskey playing "Candy Land"?

High-stakes Candy Land. Darling, the next time, would you please read the rules more carefully? Thank you. We have a deal?

Oh, we'll make you a couple bottles, I promise.

Thank you so much.

Hey, are you going into the counterfeit-booze business?

No, no. I'm getting a head start here on my Christmas shopping.

Oh.

Remind me to check the bottle of Barolo she got me last year.

Yeah.

Look at that.

Mmm, quite the bouquet of fruit. Hmm, I taste, uh, apples and peaches.

Plus toffee and caramel, with a hint of cinnamon.

No penguin feathers.

It's a complex mix. This isn't gonna be easy. All right, I finished charring the oak.

char Ĺ‚Ş‚ˇ

Okay, that should add some body to this cheap whiskey.

Ooh, we got a lot of work to do.

We have a lot of work to drink. If we're gonna match that flavor, we're gonna have to taste the wares -- repeatedly.

In light of recent events, that will not be a problem.

You know, whiskey comes from a Gaelic word mean-- What?

You said "Gaelic."

A Gaelic word meaning "water of life."

Oh.

Now I understand that.

Yeah, and tomorrow morning, we are gonna find that name painfully ironic.

Mmm, a touch more Ceylon cinnamon.

Oh, come on. It's perfect. I think. You just want me to keep drinking so that I'll talk about my father.

I admit nothing... unless it's working.

I don't know whether to be mad or impressed that my own dad conned me.

Well, at least you learned where you inherited that particular skill from.

I keep thinking I should have known it was him. That even after all these years, a man should know his own father when he's right in front of him.

And here he is, yet you seem hesitant to seize that opportunity.

To do what, Moz? Go out in the backyard and throw a baseball? He doesn't get to come back here and make up for lost time. This is ready.

Okay. So, we just add the coloring to our faux Shackleton, and --

faux ‹U‘˘‚Ě

We're not gonna add the coloring.

Then it will obviously be a fake. Which is part of your plan. Did you tell me that already?

On the seventh tasting. Look, Flynn is looking for a counterfeiter, right? So we have to prove to him that we can make something that's close to the real thing.

Without making it appear that you just used the real thing.

Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding.

Ah, so, once you convince him of your skill, then what's the plan?

Peter wants to take Flynn down for counterfeiting. For counterfeiting, Moz. Ellen deserves more than her killer getting a slap on the wrist. So one way or another... I'm gonna make sure he goes down for murder.

slap on the wrist Œy‚˘ß one way or another ‚Č‚ń‚Ć‚Š‚ľ‚Ä

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