- Put down the gun now!
Don't do that. Put down the gun.
- Let her go! - Put down the gun now!
Put it down, Mike.
- Okay, okay. MIKE FERRO IS NOT THE BOMBER
- Put it on the ground. - All right.
And don't move. - Please let her go.
You and I can talk about this.
- You know I can't do that.
- Don't hurt her. You're a father.
- I was a father. I was a husband.
- Dad!
- They took my family away, too. I know exactly how you feel.
- Bullshit! No one knows how I feel.
- By the same system that screwed you!
The press, the judges, they almost destroyed us.
- Stop talking!
- Pearl, listen to me.
He's not a bad man. He's upset.
And he's mad, like I was when I went to prison.
Step aside. Go on.
- He'll hurt me.
- Go on. Go on.
He won't hurt you.
- Pearl. I'm okay.
- Are you okay?
- I'm sorry.
- Sweetheart, he's gonna be fine. Go find your daddy.
Get an ambulance for Mr. Spitaro now!
- Stamell, call it in.
- Daddy.
- All right, baby. All right.
Are you all right? You all right?
Oh, my God, honey.
- Ms. Pittell.
You okay?
- Get an RA. Hardy Elementary.
Male... - You scared me so much.
- Sweetheart, are you okay?
- It's okay. Yeah. You're okay.
- Your daddy saved a lot of people today, a lot of people.
- Thank you.
- No, son. Thank you.
THE FUGITIVE
Jesus.
I thought you turkeys already went home.
Hey, grabby.
- You don't need them. You're taking two weeks off.
- Says who? - 14 days. You're out of here.
You'll take long walks.
You can feed your fish, watch your Chris Farley movies.
What you won't do is think of any of this for a while.
- Just take the time, boss. It's a good idea.
- What are you both, my parents now?
- No, sir. We're your kids.
We'll come over and check up on you,
play gin if you want,
eat that crap you call rigatoni.
- I make good rigatoni. Hey, it's good.
- It's awful. - It's pretty bad.
- But so is working every single day since your wife passed.
Clay, you need a breather.
- Okay.
Two weeks it is.
Now if you'll excuse me,
these are for Gail's urn.
First day of spring.
Gail loved daisies in the springtime.
Good work today. Love you guys.
- Love you, too. - Love you, too.
- Copy that, boss.
- Well, we appreciate you meeting us here, Mr. Ferro.
May I call you Mike?
- No.
- Okay. Well, I just wanted to personally,
as well as everyone here at the Daily Score,
we all wanted to apologize to you for recent events.
They were unfortunate,
unprofessional,
and unacceptable.
And...
I can't even imagine what you and your family had to go through.
- I'll tell you what, Ridge.
Is that really your name?
Your parents actually named you that?
- Uh, actually, no, it's not my real name.
- Okay. Well, I won't waste any more of our precious time.
You're clearly terrified of me, so I'll cut to the chase.
I'll be suing you blind,
thanks to the crack reporting of Jimmy fucking Olsen over here--
slander, libel, negligent infliction of emotional distress.
Now, if you want to settle, you have to cut two checks--
a big fat one to the family of Denise Keller,
the woman who died in the car crash,
and another fattie to Ronnie Lawson, my parole officer's wife.
Okay?
Because I don't want your money.
I just want your company to clean up its act
so this doesn't happen again.
- You know, Ridge, or whatever your name is,
you once told me you started this company
not to be right but to make money,
but your company was wrong, and you lost money.
I'd call that a lose-lose, wouldn't you?
- Pritti, clean out your desk.
- What?
But I Tweeted that it wasn't Mike Ferro.
- Well, you know, here's the good news.
I'd say in about 20 years there's a pretty decent chance
that you will realize what a gaping asshole you've been.
And that would be growth.
- How did it go?
- You know, I think I made my point.
- Did you stick it to them? - Yeah, of course.
All right, gang, let's kick it.
We got to hustle, or Dad's gonna be late for work.
- Dad, what time are you getting home?
- Oh, honey, way past your bedtime.
The warehouse goes late on Fridays.
- Can I stay up until you get home?
- You know what? Nothing would make me happier.