Cut full-time to Sloman's, a shady-dealing character approaching Mary from behind (ew, not like that...what do these people look like to you, the lower-middle-class?) and informing her in his best Polito (he still walks among us) growl, "Mr. Sloman is in his office. He'd like a word." Taudrey turns to him and closes her compact mirror, the ludicrous pause of which allows Polito 3.0 (a new version every episode, people) to cajole, "And that will be now." Mary turns to her left, a sign on a nearby door reading "Private" coming into focus. Uh-oh! A "private" sign. This is a man of power and importance who knows how to find his way around a Staples. Beware.
Taudrey is inside a private office, a silver-haired man behind a desk pressing play on a tape recorder that seems to contain excerpts of the Taudrey/Bodnick conversation we've been getting piecemeal over the past few episodes. He fast-forwards and plays. Fast-forwards and plays. Fast-forwards and plays. Lost for a reaction or believable facial expression of any kind, Taudrey ties a cherry stem in her mouth and wraps herself protectively in red velvet curtains. Oh, and on this show, she defends herself with the flat line reading, "It was his idea." Silver-haired man cryptically and darkly and thankfully briefly speeches her on a book he's reading written by social psychologists or some such thing. From that book, he's learned a method of discipline by which he is told to role-play with his "inferiors" and switch places with them. What? Who cares -- it's over really soon and goes nowhere. He stands up and insists that Taudrey take his seat at the desk, as he circles around to where she was standing. She sits. "Now," he continues, "I'm you. You're me. What do I say to you?" Taudrey withers and insists that she'll return the money, and Dr. Drama Exercise seethes, "You're not participating in the exercise!" He leans on the desk and in toward her, the light catching the color of his hair and solidifying my decision to stick with this next in a series of increasingly literally Sesame Street-esque nicknames, as he scarily intones, "My heart is blacker than ash. My soul an insatiable black hole." He tells Polito 3.0 to "close the door, please," sparing us the explanation of how he just read that to trust each other truly, we can't hide behind any kind of door, and watches expectantly as Taudrey just cries and cries. When he stands behind her and insists that she close her eyes and fall back into his arms as a trust-building method, I'm so out of here. Ah, screw it. I'm out of here now.