Over at the FBI Office, i.e. the Fed Shed, Guyliner still thinks Shiv is Bridget, so he fingerprints her and compares the results to Bridget's prints.

Computer: NO MATCH, BEEP BEEP BEEP.

Siobhan: Told ya. I am outta here.

Guyliner: Why would Tool Belt want me to think you're Bridget? Maybe he knows you're a friend of NA Charlie/John. I have a witness that can put you two together in the Hamptons last spring.

Siobhan: That waitress I stiffed. LMAO. It was her birthday, but she was all like, "What the hell kind of a name is Siobhan?" It was totally justified. I hired NA Charlie/John as a Private Investigator, to find out what happened to my sister, from whom I'd been estranged.

Guyliner: Yeah, I've heard that song before. Who is this Cora Farrell person?

Siobhan: Would you believe we're triplets? Probably not. Okay. I don't know. But it would be really cool if I could cook up a triplet, and blame this whole fiasco on her at this point, wouldn't it?

Recapper: If you managed to do that, I would promise to fall back in love with this show. Although, I have to say that on subsequent viewings of this episode, I am growing a little warmer towards it.

Siobhan: You already said that, up top. I only hope something reaches the Nielsen families. Anyhow, Guyliner, Cora's probably just one of Bridget's aliases.

Guyliner: Then why were you getting her passport from Creepy Guy in that creepy alley? Huh? Huh? Riddle me that, Siobhan!

Siobhan: NA Charlie/John got me a phone number during his investigation. I called, hoping it would lead me to Bridget. Creepy Guy asked if I still needed a passport. I met him, hoping it would be a lead, but Creepy Guy was no help. Now may I leave?

Meanwhile, back at the Federal High Security Prison, in Richmond Springs, Colorado, Agent Handsome pays another visit to Officer Jimmy, duh Matador.

Agent Handsome: As if I weren't already appealing, I'll just toss out to the ladies that I was just at my daughter's dance recital, and I'm annoyed that I was called away.

Agent Jimmy: The sisters in this joint are no ladies. Look at my poor face! I'm ready to talk.

Penthouse, night, Bridget and Andrew talk in their room. There's no case against Carpenter. Andrew no longer knows what to think.