Today, the weather is Toronto is quite lovely. We're all just waiting for snow. It's been a teasing kind of season. It's quite warm, warmer than usual, and no one really knows what to make of the weather. Oh, yeah, the credits are going on, but I'd honestly rather talk about something as boring as the weather instead of the crappy, boring, redundant credits.

Ah, welcome back, Judge Beautiful; even your chambers are classy. Eugene stands in front of Kittleson, who says, surprisingly, "What do you mean you want out?" Eugene: "Just what I said, Your Honour." She pauses for effect: "The trial is supposed to start in thirty minutes!" Eugene starts to explain how he and his client have insurmountable differences. Kittleson cuts him off; she wants particulars. Well, that's privileged. It's Kittleson's turn for a nasty under-the-eye look. Eugene wants her to leave it at differences between strategy and ethics. Blah every lawyer has insurmountable differences, blah court appointed blah. Eugene insists that his reasons for wanting off the case are real. She's not letting him out for a strategy difference -- not now, not ever. Eugene: "Your Honour, I'm asking for a favour." Oh, she's not buying it, Eugene; in fact, she says, "I can't let you out. Not now." It looks like Eugene is stuck with this one, for better or for worse. And from the look on his face, it's going to be worse.

The Firm. Rebecca leads a well-dressed woman into the conference room. Oh. Good. Grief. They've decorated the office. It's festive. It's got lights and other holiday decorations. It's tacky, and exactly what you'd expect from the set dressers. I'm half-expecting a department store Santa to jump out and holler, "Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night." Any. Way. Rebecca asks, "When did they take him in?" The client responds, "Three weeks ago." As she closes the door, Rebecca continues, "And they wouldn't tell you anything?" The client: "Only that the FBI has him and won't tell me where." Both lawyer and client sit at the table. Apparently, this woman "hates" going to a patient, which means that this is Rebecca's doctor seeking legal advice. Apparently, she'd already gone to one lawyer who didn't get anywhere. Rebecca says, "No problem. Your husband's name?" The client answers, "Bill." Rebecca starts to say, "Bill Ford," as she writes on her legal pad, only Dr. Ford interrupts; her husband's last name isn't the same as hers -- it's Habib. Rebecca looks at her client and tries to hide what she's thinking, but she doesn't do a very good job.