The Accountant Page #4

to a company that doesn't exist.

And yet, profits go up.

And they continue going up.

Absolutely makes no sense.

- Where's the money coming from?

- Exactly!

Um, it's not inventory?

Inventory turns. No.

- Chargebacks to vendors?

- No. Perfectly in order.

- Internal offsets?

- No. That's a terrible idea.

Um...

Cummings, you're needed in

whatever area I'm paying you

to be needed in.

Sorry.

And?

$61,679,000.

And some change.

Who did it? Best guess.

I don't guess.

You'll have a report for me?

When I'm finished, yes.

- Hey, Ed.

- What the...

We're having lemon merengue pie.

Those two bottles of insulin.

You know, I just thought

that you would appreciate me

treating you like an adult, right?

So, here's what I got.

You administer your own accidental

insulin overdose, and just...

Die.

But do it with dignity.

Your wife, who's sleeping upstairs,

she'll be the beneficiary

of what's gotta be a very generous

insurance policy, am I right?

But the only way she's gonna

collect on that policy, Ed,

is if we have the appearance

of an accident.

If we lay our hands on you,

you're gonna fight, squeal.

She wakes up, my hands are tied.

One accidental death is just that,

but two, no.

I'll have no choice.

I'll have to rock and roll

a home invasion,

violate your wife a dozen different ways,

kill you both,

burn the place to the ground.

I'm sorry for that. Ed, Ed, Ed?

Hey, nobody's gonna

violate your wife, okay?

Aside from what that would say

about me as a human being,

physiologically it's a non-starter.

Sometimes I think I just say sh*t,

sample what comes out of my mouth.

I will, however,

park a .45 in her brainpan.

I honor my commitments.

It's a concept you and your sticky fingers

probably find hard to grasp.

Make a decision, sir.

Where are you going? Sir?

Sir?

Stop that. Why are you doing that?

Stop that.

Sir? Sir? What are you doing? Excuse me?

Mr. Chilton passed away.

I was told to clean up the room.

What's happening?

Can you give us a minute, please?

This is the balance of your contract.

- I understand you're upset...

- Yes, I'm upset.

I haven't finished yet.

Yes, you have.

Ed was a diabetic for 30 years.

You think he didn't know

how to check his blood sugar?

Whatever unresolved issues remain,

my friend was poisoned enough by them

to take his own life.

As far as I'm concerned,

whatever he did is forgiven.

Please. I need to finish, please.

- Sorry, I'll come back.

- No, no, come in, dear.

We're done.

You're very good, Mr. Wolff.

But I hope our paths never cross again.

I'm responsible

for the death of my best friend.

I'd prefer not to be reminded of it.

Do you think that's true?

That Mr. Chilton killed himself...

I mean, do you think we're responsible?

It's very hard for me to interpret

why people do what they do.

I'm not finished.

I'm not finished with this.

I mean, look... Look at this.

See, cost reports. This is out of order.

They completely rearranged this.

I don't...

I'm not finished. I'm not finished...

Bye, Chris.

No! Mom! Mom!

Mom! Mom! Mom!

Why is Mom leaving?

Mom!

Again.

Again.

Enough.

They're not done.

Tomorrow is another day.

They have done their best.

If that were true, you'd be covered

in blood and snot, not them.

Keep going.

Aggression, correctly channeled,

overcomes a lot of flaws.

Tapping into that aggression requires

peeling back several layers of yourself.

It's my job to know my sons' limitations.

Get up.

It's your job to peel.

Do your job. On your feet.

Again!

We could have went to his house,

shot him in his home.

And we'd be on a plane by now.

Or on a security camera,

or some nosy neighbor's iPhone.

Call the bookkeeper in.

He's just too far. He won't hear...

Now.

Let's go. Get up. Come on.

Move!

Come on, come on, come on.

Christian!

Chris!

Again! Louder!

Up! Up!

- No, no! Please!

- What the f***?

Dolores!

She's coming with me.

No, no, stop! Stop! Leave her...

We're all going together.

Pull that truck around back.

Let's go! Let's go!

Let's move!

Come on! Drive! Drive now!

Jesus f***ing Christ!

God damn it!

Son of a b*tch!

What the f***?

When I say the name of your employer,

you say "yes."

Practice.

Yes.

Camorra.

Jurez.

Gambino.

Do you understand the rules?

My left pocket.

They paid to

kill you both.

That's all I know.

- Hello, dreamboat.

- Dana's in danger.

Kill Christian Wolff,

transfer all domestic accounts overseas.

- Current vehicle?

- F-150.

- Virus to triple Z?

- Wipe everything.

Done. In the DOT database now.

Reassigning the license and VIN.

I have George Boole

or Charles Babbage in the queue.

Boole. Obviously.

Silly of me. What else?

She is not your problem.

Straight to the trailer,

hook it up, and disappear.

There's no time.

Only the trailer.

Address and phone number. Get it.

She's not answering.

Could have used the small box.

Well, she looked bigger in the photo.

God!

God damn!

B*tch!

F***.

We should go.

Since when are accountants

difficult to ventilate?

Dead?

Christ! What'd he do, hit him

over the head with an adding machine?

Oh, God.

All right, just put me in touch

with the client.

I'll handle this accountant myself.

Running isn't an option for me.

I can't just walk out on my life!

We have to go to the police.

That's what normal, taxpaying people do!

Police can't protect you from someone

who can afford to return $61 million.

Return?

What are you talking about, "return"?

The money was being put back.

Stay here.

What are you doing in here?

- Who are you?

- You can't...

You should not be here.

Sit down. Sit right there.

What is this place?

PanAmerica, Airstream.

34 feet 7 inches long,

8 feet 5 inches wide.

Dimensions which are perfectly adequate

for one person.

Preferable, even.

This is where you live?

No, I don't live here.

This is a storage unit.

That would be weird.

That's what would be weird?

I'd like to spend more time here.

However, I'm afraid some of my clients

might follow me.

Why would your clients follow you?

You're an accountant!

How do you know what to do here?

Why are you prepared for this?

Plus, this is on wheels,

which means I can hook it up

and be gone in 12 minutes.

Usually.

Sarcasm? Is that sarcasm?

No, that's not sarcasm.

I don't use sarcasm. It's irritation.

Everything in the world that is

important to me is in this trailer.

And right now, changing my routine

for you is jeopardizing that.

Tell me that's not an original Pollock.

We should go.

Now.

- Medina.

- Miss Medina?

This is Gordon Amundson

with the FBI Language Services.

Uh, yeah. Any luck?

It's an unusual audio file.

Solomon Grundy is a nursery rhyme

circa mid-1800s.

Your voice has four of

the six intonation patterns

we use to define American English.

That's difficult to confirm with a rhyme.

Out of curiosity,

was your subject a trauma victim?

Um, why do you ask that?

Well, you indicated on your submission

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