"MICHAEL CLAYTON" (2007)

Michael Clayton

by

Tony Gilroy

Final Shooting Script 2/11/06

It’s 2:00 a.m. in a major New York law firm.Ten floors of office space in the heart of the Sixth Avenue Canyon. Seven hours from now this place will be vibrating with the beehive energy of six hundred attorneys and their attendant staff, but for the moment it is a vast, empty, half-lit shell.A SERIES OF SHOTS emphasizing the size and power of this organization; shots that build quietly to the idea that somewhere here -- somewhere in this building -- there’s something very important going on.MUSIC and CREDITS already mixing with the crazed, manic, express train chatter of --

A XEROX MACHINE -- cranking out high-speed copies -- ten pages a second flashing before our eyes -- all information a blur except for the letterhead which is constant:

KENNER, BACH & LEDEEN LLP ATTORNEYS AT LAW

As...

A HUGE EMPTY OFFICE BULLPEN.CUBICLES AND WORKSTATIONS.

A LONG, DARK CORRIDOR.A CLEANING CREW IN THE DISTANCE.

DOCUMENT AREA.ODD THIS LATE.THREE ASSOCIATES STACKING PAPERWORK ONTO A TROLLEY --

A SENIOR PARTNER’S OFFICE.A SECURITY GUARD SNEAKING A SMOKE IN THE DARK BY AN OPEN WINDOW.

AN OFFICE PHONE.TWELVE LINES BLINKING IN THE DARK.

ASSOCIATE #1 WHEELING THAT DOCUMENT TROLLEY PAST AN EMPTY BACK OFFICE KITCHEN.

A MAINTENANCE WORKER VACUUMING A LARGE RECEPTION STAIRCASE.

THE WORD PROCESSING DEPARTMENT.TWENTY PEOPLE -- ACTORS, DANCERS, ARTISTS, INSOMNIACS -- THE GRAVEYARD SHIFT HAMMERING OUT OVERNIGHT LEGAL PAPERWORK.

RECEPTION LOBBY.ASSOCIATE #1 WHEELING THE TROLLEY OFF THE ELEVATOR.

ANOTHER EMPTY HALLWAY.A BANQUET TABLE LITTERED WITH THE PICKED-OVER REMNANTS OF AN ALL-NIGHT CATERED FEED.

AND NOW -- WIDER TO FIND -- ASSOCIATE #1 WHEELING THE TROLLEY TOWARD BIG DOORS AT THE END OF THE HALL --

ARTHUR EDEN’S (V.O.) -- and do you know what I did next? I took a deep, cleansing breath. I set that notion aside.I tabled it. I said to myself, “As clear as this may be -- as potent as this may feel -- as true a thing as I believe I have witnessed here -- I must wait.It must stand the test of time.”

AN ATTORNEY HUDDLED OVER HIS MOBILE PHONE, SEEING THE KID COMING, HELPING HIM BY OPENING THE DOORS, as --

The big room.Bright.Teeming.FORTY PEOPLE jamming an all-night deadline:ATTORNEYS -- PARTNERS AND ASSOCIATES -- PARALEGALS -- ASSISTANTS -- ACCOUNTANTS -- working groups bunkered around a huge table covered with paperwork and laptops and coffee mugs.Several document “villages” piled around the room.The credits have wrapped.Arthur Edens has stopped talking.And if there’s music, that’s stopped too. We’re live.

BARRY GRISSOM coming around the table.He’s maybe fifty. A killer New York lawyer in his prime.Litigator.Senior partner.Always wrapped a little tight and this moment is no exception -- slowing now and...

MARTY BACH looks up from his papers.He’s seventy.It’s his name on the door.Big power.Sweet eyes.A thousand neckties.A velvet switchblade.

BARRY kneeling there, hanging on every word --

A CORPORATE LOGO -- embossed on a high-quality, Kevlar, travel tote:

u/north “we grow your world together”

THE U/NORTH BAG on a shelf above a row of sinks.Water running.But no one there.Stalls in the mirror and --

KAREN CROWDER sitting fully dressed on the john.She is Senior In-House Counsel for the largest agricultural/chemical supply manufacturer on the planet.She is hiding here.She is trying to fight off a panic attack using a breathing exercise she read about in an airline magazine.As we hear:

MICHAEL CLAYTON’S FACE -- A PHOTOGRAPH laminated onto a Kenner, Bach & Ledeen ID card -- FILLS OUR FRAME.It’s a man’s face.Son of a second-generation cop’s face.Father of a ten-year-old boy’s face.A face women like more than they know why.The good soldier’s face.THE ID CARD just one of several objects sitting at the bottom of a shitty plastic basket.Also here: one roll of breath mints, two mobile phones, business cards, too many keys on a Mercedes security pendant keychain, and one heavy-duty steel Rolex.

PULL BACK TO REVEAL

THREE OTHER BASKETS ON THE TABLE.Three other sets of personal objects.A SMALL HOLSTERED GUN in one of the collections.A stack of empty baskets to the side.

WE’RE IN

A CHINATOWN CASINO.Abasement hideaway on a dead night. TWO BORED CHINESE BOUNCERS sitting with the plastic baskets beside a walk-through metal detector.Only one of the room’s ten tables is lit tonight.In the background, a Cantonese Announcer calling the first race at Happy Valley and --

MICHAEL CLAYTON glancing at his four hole cards.Four up cards in the middle of the table.The game is Pot Limit Omaha and the eyes are weary tonight.

THE DEALER is Chinese and all business -- looking to --

PLAYER #2 (Dominican dude) I go like that.Check.

PLAYER #3 has a bad toupee and a plumber’s flashroll --

PLAYER #3/PLUMBER (peeling off twenties) Half the pot.Two hundred.

PLAYER #4, a Chinese landlord -- already pushing his cards away -- he’s folding --

MICHAEL shakes his head.He’s out.PLAYER #2 right behind him. THE DEALER starts gathering cards for the next hand.

MICHAEL just posts his blind.Tune him out.

PLAYER #2 Shit, man... (getting cranky) I want to listen to Larry King, I’ll go home and put the fucking TV on.

Cards coming out as we --

ANGLE ON

THE BASKET WITH MICHAEL’S STUFF.THE PAGER starts vibrating. A moment later, THE CELL PHONE starts ringing and --

Ascending.MICHAEL leaving in a hurry.Strapping on his Rolex, trying to read the pager and --

Late. Cold.Quiet. MICHAEL coming up the street, juggling a remote security pendant and A CELL PHONE --

A BLACK MERCEDES comes alive -- lights flaring as the alarm disables and --

THE MERCEDES speeding North.

MICHAEL trying to drive and mess with the GPS UNIT on his dashboard.Something’s wrong with it.He’s tapping on it and THE SCREEN is flickering on and off -- finally, fuck it -- he slaps the GPS away -- steps on the gas and --

THE MERCEDES racing toward the George Washington bridge.

THE MERCEDES pulling up the long dark driveway.

THE DAMAGED FRONT BODY PANEL OF A MERCEDES.Dented in. MICHAEL’S HAND -- his pen -- examining the freshly-chipped paint, until --

MICHAEL stands.We see him now.The Mercedes just one of half-a-dozen luxury vehicles lined up here in this bright oversized garage.

Mega kitchen.The scale and taste of real wealth.

MICHAEL on a stool at the island.MRS. GREER standing by herself.Nightgown pulled tight.Her second tumbler of Scotch.

MRS. GREER silent.Numb.

MR. GREER’s anxiety sharpening.Arrogance under siege.

There it is.And MR. GREER doesn’t like it one bit.

GLASS SHATTERS! -- MRS. GREER just hurled her highball into the sink.Staring at her husband.Silence, until --

This awful pause.MICHAEL wielding the silence like a club.

Like that -- THE PHONE RINGS -- harsh -- sudden --

THE PHONE STILL RINGING and --

MICHAEL on hold.Silence now.MR. AND MRS. GREER parked like glaciers.Broken glass in the sink.

One hour later.MICHAEL leaning on the MERCEDES, munching on a loaf of stale French bread.Looking over, as JERRY DANTE, local criminal attorney, comes out of the house --

JERRY nods.Okay.But lingering a moment, because --

MICHAEL nods.Heading for the car and --

THE MERCEDES speeding away from the house --

MICHAEL driving.Escaping.Running from more than Mr. Greer and Jerry Dante.More than just a bad night boiling behind his eyes.Driving hard and wild.Turning suddenly and --

THE MERCEDES racing along.

MICHAEL -- turning again -- aimless -- windows open -- cold air whipping through -- braking suddenly -- impulsive -- turning -- suddenly -- faster now and --

First light.A smaller road.THE MERCEDES speeding past large estates tucked back in the fog and deep woods.

A HUGE OPEN PASTURE.Surrounded by forest.The sun just starting to rise.Cold mist hanging over the whole valley. Nothing but gray and green.Stark.Perfect.

THE MERCEDES speeding toward us -- climbing around the turn -- eating up the valley road that runs along the pasture -- but suddenly the car is slowing -- braking hard and --

MICHAEL pulling to a stop.Staring out the window.

MICHAEL getting out of the car.Standing there.

THREE HORSES poised at the crest of the pasture.Hanging there in the fog like ghosts.

MICHAEL jumping the fence.Walking slowly into the field. Behind him, the MERCEDES with the engine running.

THE HORSES aware of him now.Watching him come.

MICHAEL’S FACE as he walks.And later on we’ll understand all the forces roiling inside him, but for the moment, the simplest thing to say is that this is a man who needs more

than anything to see one pure, natural thing, and by some miracle has found his way to this place.The wet grass and cold air and no coat -- none of it makes any difference to him right now -- he’s a pilgrim stumbling into the cathedral.

And he stops.Just standing there.Empty.Open.Lost.

Nothing but the field and the fog and the woods beyond.

THE HORSES staring at him.

MICHAEL staring back.And just like that...

THE MERCEDES EXPLODES!

THE HORSES already running before MICHAEL can turn back -- pieces of the car that have been blown into the sky still raining down before he’s fully grasped what’s happening --

MICHAEL simply shocked.Senseless.Standing there frozen. Stunned.What just happened?The car -- his car -- is gone -- just like that.MICHAEL looks around.Looks back. He should be dead.He is not.

When THE GAS TANK EXPLODES!

And suddenly it’s clear.All that staggered chaos in Michael’s eyes suddenly replaced with steel.He should be dead. He is not.

And now he’s walking.Toward the car.

Walking faster.Determined.And suddenly he’s running -- runningtoward the fire.Faster and faster, as we...

DISSOLVE TO

A COMPUTER MONITOR.A screen saver.Dragon-Slaying Wizards, Orcs, Nordic Elves, Samurai Gnomes -- all spinning across the monitor in perpetual slow motion.And every few seconds these words appear:

REALM & CONQUEST

WIDER TO REVEAL

The small room of a typical pre-war West End apartment. Loft bed.Parquet floor.Paint-chipped radiator.All of this subsidiary, however to the room’s overwhelming

decorative theme:Fantasy.Books, games, posters, models -- hundreds of mythical lands, creatures, weapons and journeys are stacked, pinned, piled and catalogued everywhere.

FOUR DAYS EARLIER

HENRY CLAYTON is ten -- small for ten -- all bones and intelligence.He’s hustling around, stuffing things into his already bulging backpack -- rushing off, taking us with him into --

HENRY scrambling through a hallway clogged with books and bookshelves -- a clutter of intellectual/domestic funk -- bringing us quickly to the kitchen and IVY, Michael’s ex- wife. She is 38.Her youthful beauty perhaps a bit too delicate for life’s perpetual harassments.GERALD was Ivy’s doctoral history professor, now he’s her second husband. He’s feeding SOPHIA, their eighteen-month old daughter.

IVY about to fire back.GERALD waving her off.Let it go. Feed the baby.Save your strength.

MICHAEL in the Mercedes stopped at the corner.The good suit and tie.

THE MERCEDES driving through morning traffic, as we hear --

MICHAEL driving.HENRY shotgun.

MICHAEL fighting distraction.HENRY so eager and serious.

MICHAEL glances over.The boy just aching with sweetness.

But they’re here.MICHAEL to the curb behind school vans.

HENRY getting out of the car.MICHAEL watching his son lug his backpack down the sidewalk and into the school.MICHAEL holding a smile, ready with a final wave goodbye.And then the boy is gone and the mask comes down.Checking his watch -- he’s late and tense and dropping the car into gear, as --

A restaurant/bar near Foley Square.TIM’S was a sweet- looking, pubbish tavern that’s gone out of business. Several vans double-parked outside as we hear --

FIFTEEN BUYERS bunched like starlings around the AUCTIONEER. Men with clipboards.Equipment all tagged and stacked and ready to roll.

Dark. Stripped down.Stools, blenders, cash registers -- everything stacked and tagged.MICHAEL alone at a table. Sounds of the carcass being picked over in the BG.GABE ZABEL, loanshark, enters from the kitchen.

A body blow.MICHAEL trying to hide the impact.

MICHAEL nods.Suck it up.Be a man.

ZABEL nods.His version of sympathy.

Enough with this.They both have places to be.

MICHAEL nods.THE AUCTIONEER still at it, as --

MICHAEL’S ID CARD swiping the scanner.KENNER, BACH & LEDEEN LOGO by the elevator bank and --

MICHAEL making it as the doors close.Three lawyers in here. Dominant power is JEFF GAFFNEY.Big blowhard partner.

Both men instantly into a superficial, glad-hand familiarity.

BRINI GLASS nods hello.She’s a young polished, go-getter. The guy standing beside her a chilly, forty year-old Brit --

PAUL JULIAN with a quick hello.Handshake.The usual crap.

ELEVATOR DOORS CLOSE.MICHAEL, alone, drops the punchline smile.Heading toward his office as we begin to hear --

A large corner twenty stories high.Midtown looming through windows.Probably the best office on this floor.But it’s not a partner’s floor.More comfortable than flashy.More clubhouse than a place to bring clients.WALLS COVERED WITH PHOTOGRAPHSAND MEMORABILIA.A cluttered mix of banquet handshake pics and framed family snapshots.Two decades of testimonial horseshit and tribal gatherings.MICHAEL pacing and THE CAMERA WANDERING as --

MICHAEL/PHONE Any chance she knows that?

DEL/PHONE It was in the paper.Who knows? Maybe she got someone to read it to her. (incredulous) She called his wife.She’s calling his house.It’s a nightmare.

MICHAEL/PHONE My guess is that she’s gonna want to hang onto this condo.

DEL/PHONE That’s insane.

MICHAEL/PHONE What can I tell you?Don’t piss off a motivated stripper. (wrap it up) Look, find out his pain threshold and get back to me.I’ll take it from there. Or have him call me...

DEL/PHONE I hear you.Lemme get into it. (click, and--)

TIME CUT

Later.New call. MICHAEL pacing.Speakerphone now.

MICHAEL/PHONE How old’s the kid?

WENDY/PHONE He’s not a kid.He’s twenty-two.

MICHAEL/PHONE This is Miami?

WENDY/PHONE Key Biscayne.

MICHAEL/PHONE They charged him?

WENDY/PHONE Reckless Endangerment.My client, I think really what they want, they want a reality check on the attorney down there.Wayne said you had some connections in the area...

MICHAEL/PHONE Yup. Lemme just grab a pen...

TIME CUT

Later.New call. MICHAEL still on speakerphone.

RANDALL/PHONE What’re you trying to do, Michael? Get me to kill the story?

MICHAEL/PHONE Randy, please...I’m saying let somebody else write it.

RANDALL/PHONE Why would I do that?

MICHAEL/PHONE Love? Decency? Fear?Want me to keep going?

RANDALL/PHONE C’mon, man...

MICHAEL/PHONE (pulling it off speaker) You know what story I keep waiting to read? The one about the business reporter who’s sick of watching everyone else get rich.

Silence.Tone shift.MICHAEL waiting.

RANDALL/PHONE This is breaking news, or something you’re just spitballing?

TIME CUT

Later.New call. MICHAEL by the window --

MICHAEL/PHONE -- if she calls INS directly she’s gonna get nowhere --

EVAN/PHONE -- even with the appointment? --

MICHAEL/PHONE -- it’s retail, Evan, it’s like DMV over there, unless they get a call from a District Supervisor nobody moves --

EVAN/PHONE -- but your guy can do that? --

MICHAEL/PHONE -- he’s a former Commissioner --

EVAN/PHONE -- and none of this comes back to me, right?Cause that doesn’t do anybody any good.

MICHAEL/PHONE No, I’d be the one doing the asking.

EVAN/PHONE Can you hang on a minute?

PAM, his assistant, is in the doorway.

A PHONE starts ringing now from behind her --

She steps out to answer.MICHAEL alone again. Still standing there.Still absorbing this morning’s shrapnel, as --

Cold morning.Stark windblown flatness.A highway on-ramp in the foreground tells us where we are.

Modern, tidy, downtown Omaha living.As we hear:

KAREN CROWDER alone at the mirror.Fresh from the shower --

Later that morning.KAREN and her boss, DON JEFFRIES, a 60- year-old Corporate titan, on one side of the table.Facing them, A SMALL VIDEO CREW: CAMERAMAN, SOUND, and INTERVIEWER. The filming part of some in-house promotional puffery --

Twelve minutes later.Make-up at the mirror --

Video camera rolling and --

KAREN glancing at a list of questions --

KAREN pulling on her stockings and --

DON JEFFRIES, THE INTERVIEWER, everyone smiling at this --

A SECRETARY has nervously entered the room --

New York power office.BARRY GRISSOM -- the senior partner we met in the opening scene -- he’s on the phone, listening to some very shitty news.THREE OTHER ATTORNEYS perched phones around the room.Some major crisis --

MICHAEL in the doorway.All eyes rushing to him --

Fifty one minutes later.MICHAEL crossing the tarmac toward a private jet, as we begin to hear the familiar express train chatter of --

The big one out near the airport.And it’s SNOWING.Hard. Starting to really come down --

A LUXURY VAN whipping up to the entrance.KAREN and her two assistants, MAUDE and TODD, exiting the vehicle.This a well-practiced, military drill: MAUDE rushing for an assault on the front desk.TODD flanking with the luggage and gear.

KAREN wasting not a moment, working a cell phone and a call sheet -- a tightened jaw her only surrender to the urgency and crisis of the moment --

A shabby, ugly pisshole.Two chairs.No air.ARTHUR EDENS in the flesh.Late fifties.Brilliance and grace amidst the manic shambles.

MICHAEL grabs him -- hard -- pulling him close --

ARTHUR staring back.Eyes wild.Euphoric.

CRACK! -- MICHAEL startled -- behind him -- A MILWAUKEE JAIL GUARD rapping on the bars --

THE JAIL GUARD hesitates.Moves on.

MICHAEL pulls a prescription bottle from his pocket --

VIDEO FOOTAGE.Deposition in progress.Drab room.Drab vibe. HALF-A-DOZEN ATTORNEYS on either side of a table. Perhaps we glimpse a face or two, but the camera’s angle is set to feature the witness -- ANNA KYSURSEN is twenty-three years old.Big. And blonde.Cream skinned.Ripe.Open. Plain.Arthur’s dairy madonna.

LAWYER’S VOICE The cows won’t wait will they?

LAWYER’S VOICE And when you went to the barn...

LAWYER’S VOICE From your mother.

LAWYER’S VOICE Could you read it for us?

ANNA fighting back an onslaught of emotion, finds a piece of paper there in front of her.

LAWYER’S VOICE Anna? (Anna looks up, hands shaking--) Why don’t you just read us the third paragraph -- just the highlighted section there.

ANNA nods.Bearing down.But it’s tough...

LAWYER’S VOICE Anna?

Suddenly, another voice explodes through the room --

For a moment there’s this weird paralyzed silence -- everyone too stunned to react -- everyone except for ARTHUR -- he’s standing and we’re sort of seeing him from the back -- seeing him rip his shirt away from his body and --

ANOTHER LAWYER’S VOICE -- what the hell is he? -- what’re you doing? --

Instant chaos -- motion -- VOICES YELLING -- THE CAMERA JOSTLED -- someone’s throwing a punch -- ARTHUR still stripping and struggling and begging for forgiveness, and then, suddenly, it all goes black as we REVERSE TO --

KAREN staring at a blank VIDEO MONITOR.

KAREN stands.Ashen.Silent. Outside, through the window we can see the snow pouring down --

MAUDE across the room.Sitting at a quickly assembled communications desk.Laptops, printers, wireless antennae --

Active.MILWAUKEE COPS coming and going.Snow on boots. Snow out the window.MICHAEL in his wheelhouse, chatting up a DESK SERGEANT AND LIEUTENANT as --

TWO GUARDS processing ARTHUR out of his cell.

MICHAEL with a cellphone.Someone important on the line. Handing the phone over to A POLICE CAPTAIN as --

ARTHUR smiling -- beaming -- as THE GUARDS process him out.

MICHAEL all smiles as A YOUNG PROSECUTOR arrives.She’s got Arthur’s paperwork, MICHAEL turning on the charm, getting her to smile as --

MAUDE at her screens.KAREN over her shoulder --

MICHAEL, TWO MILWAUKEE POLICEMEN and ELSTON leading a smiling ARTHUR out of the building -- toward/into the snow and a waiting MILWAUKEE POLICE CRUISER.

Temporary Milwaukee home of Kenner Bach & Ledeen.More dorm room than office.Pizza boxes.Masses of paper.Boomboxes and laptops.Gym clothes and garment bags and --

FOUR YOUNG LAWYERS.Two first year associates.One third year. One fifth.Familiar faces from the deposition video.

MICHAEL letting that sink in a moment.Now the hammer.

The search through the clutter has begun and --

THE CAMERA moving over a collage of fantasy images:Posters, postcards; magazine pages and book covers; fantasy landscapes and fantasy castles, fantasy characters, journeys and battles, as we hear...

HENRY IN HIS LOFT BED.On the phone.Past his bedtime.

ARTHUR EDENS alone in a dark hotel room bed.Doped up.

GERALD (stepfather) standing at the bedroom doorway.

MICHAEL enters.It’s late.He’s late.BARTENDER starting to cash out.MICHAEL sees KAREN working across the room.

KARTEN looks up as MICHAEL arrives.He’s got two drinks.

But she’s not listening.She’s flipping through a notepad --

KAREN folds the notebook.Steely silence.

MICHAEL nods.Understood.

MICHAEL taking off his jacket.Pulling a nice, thick envelope from the pocket.Time to pay the babysitter --

A minute later.MICHAEL enters.It’s quiet.Dark.Dim light from the bathroom.MICHAEL pulls off his tie.What a fucking day.Taking off his watch, when --

ARTHUR bleary and soporific.Beached there.

MICHAEL nods.Barely listening.Kicking off his shoes.

Silence now.MICHAEL moves to the window.Standing there. Pulling the curtain.Loosening his collar.Watching snow fall across the parking lot.When, suddenly --

ARTHUR there in the half-light.Sitting up.Defying the medication.Sheer will.

MICHAEL caught off-guard.Not prepared for clarity.

MICHAEL not sure what to say, or if there’s even anybody listening, because ARTHUR is already sloping back into the pillows; already drifting back under the medication’s gravitational pull and...

MICHAEL alone now.Standing there at the window.Shaken.

ARTHUR EDEN’S BRIEFCASE.Bathed in the light of a hotel desk lamp.The initials A.D.E. embossed in the worn, old leather.THE CAMERA MOVING across the desk, as we hear the sound of a PHONE RINGING THROUGH THE LINE and --

THE CONTENTS OF THE BRIEFCASE arranged in piles around the desk. A chaotic mix of legal documents, bizarre books, and a few odd, found objects --

THE CAMERA FEATURES -- A TWENTY-PAGE DOCUMENT -- at the center of everything.Space on the desk cleared around it. It’s a photocopy, dated, June, 19, 1991.On the cover...

And there’s no need to get into the text of this memo right now. It is, however, important that we feel theextreme danger and power this document has for KAREN.

KAREN holding the phone with one hand, the other covered with an improvised glove made from a plastic hotel laundry bag --

She’s on hold.The “gloved” hand reaches down for the memo there at the center of it all.Her eyes scan the words, as if maybe his time they’ll be different.They’re not. She catches her reflection now in the mirror over the desk. Frozen like that.Waiting, as --

Morning.The storm is over.MICHAEL has showered.He’s drinking room service coffee, pacing around on a cell phone --

MICHAEL listening and it’s not the answer he was hoping for. And he’s pacing around, taking us toward the bedroom doors. One open, the other one closed.THE SOUND OF THE SHOWER running from the other room --

MICHAEL hangs up.Numb.Trying to shake it off.

No answer.MICHAEL starts to turn away.Then he stops.

Because suddenly, the anger has transformed into fear -- he’s trying the door again -- really trying it --

MICHAEL rearing back -- coming in hard now and --

The body slam was useless, but it’s not an impossible door -- he’s standing back -- clutching his shoulder -- kicking as hard as he can near the knob and --

THE DOOR groans -- gives a little -- MICHAEL kicking again -- now it SPLINTERS -- MICHAEL giving it everything this time and this time THE DOOR shatters off its hinges, still sort of hanging there as MICHAEL pushes and claws it away, rushing now into --

MICHAEL stopping cold.The shower is running and nobody’s in there.Written on the mirror in shaving cream:

MAKE BELIEVE IT’S NOT JUST MADNESS!

MICHAEL backing out -- rushing into --

Window open.Curtain wafting in the wind.ARTHUR is gone.

A CORPORATE LOGO -- embossed on a high-quality, golf bag:

u/north “we grow your world together”

WIDER TO REVEAL

THE PRO-SHOP/BAG DROP of a first-class golf club.It’s a gorgeous, sunny morning.A CADDY reaching in -- shouldering the bag --

MR. VERNE turns.He’s one of those guys who looks like he’s been in his late forties forever.Trim but solid.Tan and clean.Pressed and fresh.Every piece of gear in place.

THE CADDY starts for the car, as MR. IKER comes out of the locker room.IKER is a slightly younger version of Mr. Verne.Country club slacks.Good loafers.Hands and forearms that speak of deeper experience than the back nine.

MARTY BACH at his desk.In his hands, a copy of U/NORTH RESEARCH MEMO #229.ARTHUR’S BRIEFCASE open beside him.

KAREN watching him read.Just the two of them.And the silence is deafening.Finally, he finishes.Like a doctor holding a malignant X-ray...

MARTY hesitates.Okay...

A SILVER FRAMED PHOTOGRAPH.Young Arthur Edens with his wife and baby daughter.Some faded happy moment.This one of several very traditional items, on a very traditional desk. In fact the whole place is almost disturbingly repressed.The only thing out of place are the dozens of document boxes piled at the center of the room.

MARTY and BARRY GRISSOM digging through all of it.Like they’ve been at it a while.

MICHAEL in the doorway.Watching them plunder.Until --

BARRY turns, surprised.MICHAEL steps into the office.

MICHAEL bites his tongue.No love lost with Barry.

Smiling.As we hear --

ARTHUR walking.Bathing in the miracle of it all.His eyes seem locked open, gathering stimuli faster than the speed of light.Every moment -- every beatific instant -- has a purpose.Everything is fuel for the significance turbine spinning inside him.Passing into the night, as --

THE CAMERA FINDS -- VERNE fifty yards behind ARTHUR.Tailing him. Looking like just another nightcrawler doing the cell phone walk-and-talk --

A downtown building.IKER standing at the door toArthur’s loft. Backpack.Tool kit.Same radio/cellphone rig. Gloved hands, already starting to work the lock, as --

Clean, slick bachelor decor.MICHAEL with a towel wrapped at his waist, sits at the edge of the bed, speed dialing a mobile phone.The sheets with an apres-sex chaos about them.

ARTHUR’S VOICE (his answering machine) “You’ve reached Arthur. If you wish to leave a message, please do so after the tone.”

MICHAEL hangs up before the beep.

BRINI GLASS -- the young lawyer we met in the elevator at Kenner, Bach -- is busy reheating a Chinese takeout dinner that was obviously interrupted earlier.She’s wearing nothing but one of Michael’s shirts.

It’s a modern, one-bedroom apartment in a high-rise that towers over Columbus Avenue.The kitchen open to the living room. Windows to Central Park and The Westside twenty stories below.A slick pad.Small but clean, furnished efficiently, and the view is sharp.

BRINI starts the microwave.There’s a roach in an ashtray on the counter.She lights it.Taking a drag, as MICHAEL wanders in from the bedroom.

He waves it off.Coming around behind her.Kissing her neck as he moves to the refrigerator.

There’s an open bottle of white wine.He’s pouring.

He just smiles.She tries the wine.Some subtle tension pulling at her.And the dope didn’t get her where she wanted.

He looks at her.She looks away.

The microwave starts beeping.

MICHAEL looks away.Something catching his eye.

THERE ON THE COUNTER

“REALM AND CONQUEST.”Book One.The red cover.MICHAEL picking it up.A momentary distraction.

She’s waiting for him to answer.He hesitates.Puts the book down.

Was that a gift or a bomb?Neither of them sure.

MICHAEL drains his wine.Pouring another, as --

ARTHUR marching through the night.Same glorious smile. Just another madman loose in Manhattan.

A DIGITAL CAMERA LCD SCREEN.THE IMAGE -- an overhead shot of a coffee table cluttered with magazines, newspapers and junk mail.

THE DIGITAL CAMERA is sitting on THE ACTUAL COFFEE TABLE. IKER, wearing gloves and a hair net, is very precisely and quickly searching through the debris.A consummate professional at work.As he proceeds, he keeps checking the camera image to make sure every object is returned to its original position.

This is raw space.A box.High ceilings.Industrial windows along one wall.Half-assed groupings of furniture define the space:Bed and dresser, desk and computer,

bathroom and closets framed out along the far walls. The decor is odd.Half the stuff is clearly from a previous life; Eastside antiques, proper rugs, generic oil landscapes piled carelessly around.Above all this, the clutter of Arthur’s recent manic acquisitions -- books, papers, found objects, curios -- as if a layer of madness were blanketing the landscape of his old life.

IKER MOVING THROUGH THE LOFT -- eyes scanning -- barely reacting as -- THE PHONE RINGS -- and he begins to hear:

ARTHUR’S VOICE (on the answering machine) “If you wish to leave a message, please do so after the tone.” (beep, and then--)

MICHAEL’S VOICE (through the machine) Arthur, look, I’ve been calling all day, if you’re there, please for crissake just pick up and talk to me... (continuing as--)

BRINI alone in bed.Deep asleep.

MICHAEL in the dark with the phone and a new bottle of wine.

ARTHUR walking.VERNE somewhere back there --

IKER with the medicine cabinet open.There must be forty prescriptions jammed in here and he’s checking every single one, as he listens to --

MICHAEL’S VOICE (on the answering machine) ...You hear me, Arthur?Pick up the goddam phone. (silence) I’m telling you you’re right, okay? About what we are.I’m saying you’re crazy -- the behavior’s completely out of control -- but you’re right.You called it.We’re janitors.Okay? I get it...

MICHAEL left hanging.He puts down the phone.Drains his wine glass.Stands at the window.

ARTHUR walking through the neon canyon.Bathing in the miracle of it all.His eyes seem locked open, gathering stimuli faster than the speed of light.Every moment -- every beatific instant -- has a purpose.Everything is fuel for the significance turbine spinning inside him.He slows his pace, hesitates for a moment and --

DIAMOND VISION BILLBOARD -- a familiar logo --

u/north

we grow your world together

Cold, rural Wisconsin.A tired old room in a tired old house.A WALL PHONE RINGING.BIG SISTER, the Farmer’s Wife, hauling a baby on her hip as she moves to answer it.THE FARMER and YOUNG DAUGHTER sitting over breakfast in the BG.

ARTHUR/PHONE Is Anna there?

Same time.A PANEL TRUCK parked here.It’s a scuffed-up, late model vehicle.Some half-assed electrical supply logo buried beneath the graffiti.About as anonymous as it gets.

Surprise.Welcome to a perfect mobile, urban surveillance HQ. Ugly and state-of-the-art.Purely functional.Nothing Gucci about it.A cot.Tool cases.Cooler.Folding table.

Couple laptops.Space heater.IKER just now clambering in the back door.VERNE wearing headphones, already plugged in, waving for him to hurry up --

VERNE flipping switches, pulling his laptop closer --

ANNA KYSURSEN grabbing the phone as she comes by, pulling the cord as far as she can, making sure BIG SISTER is out of earshot before she answers --

ARTHUR pacing with the phone --

INTERCUTTING NOW -- FARMHOUSE/LOFT

ANNA smiles.No one’s ever spoken to her like this before.

ANNA wheels around.BIG SISTER standing in the pantry door. Sour look in her eye.Squirming kid on her hip.

ANNA pulling the phone wire as far as it goes, disappearing into a back stairwell.Closing the door behind her, as --

Silence.VERNE and IKER listening to the continuing conversation over headphones.AUDIO LIGHTS on the equipment rising and falling as Arthur and Anna keep talking.

ZABEL eating breakfast.MICHAEL with just coffee.

Big news.A nasty pause.ZABEL with the polygraph stare.

ZABEL goes back to his eggs.MICHAEL walks.

CINDY BACH leading MICHAEL in from the foyer.She’s late thirties.Pure trophy.Blonde, horsey, peppy.

TWO SIX-YEAR OLDS running wild in the background --

The grand parlor floor.Everything perfect except for the TWO DOZEN DOCUMENT BOXES piled around the room.On the side of each box, the word EDENS and a number.MARTY poring over paperwork.

MARTY turns back.Focuses.

MICHAEL watching him pull another bunch of files from a box.

MICHAEL nods.Accepting this.Plus there’s another agenda he’d like to get to here.

MARTY hesitates.

MARTY suddenly smiling.Good cheer blossoming.

MICHAEL left hanging, no chance to respond, because here come THE KIDS -- running up the stairs -- SQUEALING AND SCREAMING -- chasing each other into the room and --

MICHAEL standing there rocked, as MARTY starts roaring at the kids and they start squealing even louder and --

THE BUILDING DIRECTORY.Five apartments.One per floor. Five names -- one of them EDENS.Buzzer.Intercom.

MICHAEL pressing the buzzer for the umpteenth time.And again.And nothing.He tries the door.And it’s loose. But then he stops.Stepping back.Fuck it.

Glancing back up to the third floor windows as he crosses the street and --

VERNE alone at the console --

There -- ON ONE OF THE LAPTOPS -- MICHAEL jogging past some low-res surveillance camera as --

A minute later.HENRY reading as MICHAEL gets back in.

Half hour later.THE MERCEDES cruising Tribeca.

Later.THE MERCEDES double parked.MICHAEL walking back to the car.Another dead-end.

MICHAEL driving.Scanning.HENRY’s patience has thinned.

MICHAEL whips the car to the curb --

MICHAEL up the sidewalk to the alley --

ARTHUR walking away.

ARTHUR stops.Turns.Caught. In his arms he’s cradling twenty-five fresh baguettes.

MICHAEL suddenly holding warm French bread.

ARTHUR hesitant.Straining to keep the mania down.

There’s a beat.Their history rushing in around them.

ARTHUR stepping back.Flushed.Paranoia rising.

ARTHUR draws himself up.We saw a glimpse of this in Milwaukee.The teeth.The shark beneath the breadloaves.

ARTHUR muscles up his bread.He’s leaving.

And he’s walking.MICHAEL almost calling after him.Then not. Then nothing.Standing on the sidewalk with a baguette in his hand and a great variety of failures arranging themselves around his heart.

A glass box.Like an aquarium from this distance.It’s empty this late, one lonely runner pounding a treadmill. As MUSIC -- this catchy, electronic pulsing theme -- starts playing, and if it sounds a little like a jingle, that’s okay, because it is --

And then, just as THE MUSIC starts to fade out, it begins again from the top, CONTINUING AGAIN, as we --

It’s KAREN on the treadmill.Running in place.And THE MUSIC, that electronic pulse, RISING and FALLING and --

HENRY teaching MICHAEL how to play Realm and Conquest -- the game version of the story Henry’s been talking about. PLAYING CARDS spread across a glass table.Each card a portrait -- ORCS, MAGES, RIVERWYNDERS, etc. -- complete with descriptions, numbers, code-colors, etc.And THE U/NORTH JINGLE just bubbling along in the BG, as --

VERNE and IKER at the console listening over headphones.

A TELEVISION SCREEN.A U/NORTH COMMERCIAL.One of those huge, ambiguous, corporate feel-good spots.THE MUSIC playing over a series of comforting utopian images --

Except this time it finishes.Image freezing.Silence.

ARTHUR standing in the middle of the room.He’s got two remote controls in his hand.One goes to the VCR where he’s just frozen the U/NORTH COMMERCIAL in it’s final frame, the other controls the cassette deck on the stereo.He’s replaying the video over and over to make an audio loop of

the U/North theme music.ZAP -- he’s rewinding the VCR. ZAP -- he’s pausing the cassette deck.ZAP -- he stopping the VCR.ZAP -- he’s hitting “record” and --

KAREN leaving the gym.Sweaty.Arms loaded with paperwork. Trudging toward the elevators.As THE U/NORTH MUSIC STARTS AGAIN, except now, we also hear:

ARTHUR in mid-broadcast.Talking into the receiver of his phone as if it he were a DJ in the midst of a broadcast.In his hand, U/NORTH MEMO #229.And as the pre-recorded U/NORTH MUSIC blasts from the stereo --

HENRY crashed on the couch.MICHAEL watching his son sleep.

Emergency.Arthur’s reading of the memo has spiked the urgency level in here by a thousand percent.IKER working the console.VERNE speed-dialing a cell phone, as --

THE PHONE RINGING as the door opens.KAREN juggling her paperwork and sweat clothes, rushing to grab it, as we hear --

Empty midnight.KAREN wearing sweat clothes beneath a coat. Clutching a pair of headphones to her ears, listening to --

VERNE standing beside her.It’s his Walkman.He brought the tape. Waiting for her to finish listening.

And it’s done.KAREN takes off the headphones.Hands them back to VERNE.She’s dazed.She looks ill.

An awkward beat.People, cars...life going by.

Heavy pause.Life passing all around them.

VERNE nods.But hanging.Where are they?Still waiting for an answer, as --

Just another half-acre in an ageing 60’s housing development. THE MERCEDES parked in the driveway.

A cop’s house.MICHAEL, HENRY and a dozen members of the Clayton tribe, singing to RAYMOND, 75, the withered, widower, patriarch of this clan.

STEPHANIE, Michael’s older sister carrying the cake.She lives next door with three teenage kids, KAY, MARK and EAMON. Her husband, NORMAN, a simple guy who owns a bakery route.

This gets a laugh.GENE, Michael’s younger brother, is a Major Case Detective in Queens.His wife is MICHELLE.He’s got two sons in tow, GREG, 16; EDDIE, 12.Grumpy jocks.

RAYMOND smiles.Sends an emphysemic puff toward the candle. Doesn’t quite get it.STEPHANIE to the rescue.So the candle’s out.And now it’s pass-the-plates, and who’s having coffee, and how-do-you-like-it?, and Stephanie you’re a saint for baking from scratch...

HENRY handing GENE his cake to go and --

Minute later.Downstairs off the garage.GENE putting on a tie. Badge.Gun. As --

MICHAEL nods.GENE already checking his watch.Brothers. Say no more.The everbroken truce.

ARTHUR heading out -- pulling on his coat -- heading for the door -- checking for keys -- there -- grabbing them off the side table, as he opens the door and --

ZZZIIPPP!!!!!

A TASER -- 25,000 volts -- from nowhere -- ARTHUR’S BODY clenching as it hits and --

WE’RE INTO ONE CONTINUOUS SHOT NOW

VERNE and IKER -- already flooding in -- gloves -- hairnets -- surgical boots -- like machines --

IKER -- the athlete -- perfect -- hands catching ARTHUR’S WRITHING BODY before it hits the floor and --

VERNE --attack -- gloved hand thrusting down and --

ARTHUR’S FACE -- AEROSOL CAN -- VERNE’S HAND -- two quick bursts -- point blank -- words -- throat -- everything choked off -- eyes rolling and --

IKER -- the body drops -- ready for the dead weight and --

VERNE -- kicking shut the door -- back to the body and --

ARTHUR -- like a prop -- limp -- effortless -- IKER and VERNE flying him through the space -- this horrifying freight train pas de trois -- and so far this whole thing as takeneighteen seconds --

Heading like a freight train for --

THE LOFT BATHROOM -- here they come -- IKER walking backward holding ARTHUR’S SHOULDERS -- VERNE guiding him --

IKER shifting -- they’re in --twenty six seconds --

VERNE works off Arthur’s coat -- tossing it --

ARTHUR sprawled across the bathroom floor and --

IKER -- like a shot -- unlacing one of Arthur’s boots and --

VERNE -- backpack off -- digging through it -- coming up with -- A PREPPED SYRINGE and --

IKER -- pulling off Arthur’s sock and --

THE MEDICINE CABINET -- flying open -- VERNE searching -- knowing right where to look -- bingo -- BOTTLE -- BOTTLE -- BOTTLE -- pulling them down and --

IKER -- foot is bare -- reaching up --forty-one seconds --

VERNE -- tossing the backpack -- scanning the pill bottles --

IKER -- coming out of the backpack with a pint of vodka and a sterile handkerchief and --forty-nine seconds --

VERNE -- stripping open the syringe -- kneeling now and --

ARTHUR’S FACE -- gasping back to life -- he’s coming to -- gagging now as IKER wipes the aerosol residue away from his mouth -- eyes twitching, as they start to open and --

ARTHUR’S BARE FOOT -- THE SYRINGE -- up -- in -- between the toes and --

VERNE -- as he plunges it home -- no hate -- no fear -- no pleasure -- nothing --sixty-seven seconds and --

ARTHUR’S FACE -- as the eyes open -- just an instant -- catching the light -- these strange masked faces -- then gone -- just like that -- rolling away -- a little sigh -- a puff of air -- tongue thickening -- and then still and --

And it’s over.Ninety seconds start to finish.

RANCH HOUSE LIVING ROOM.Early evening.Sunday television torpor.RAYMOND asleep in his chair.COUSINS watching a college basketball game.

CAMERA FINDS

MICHAEL and HENRY getting ready to leave.STEPHANIE and MICHELLE hovering --

Two minutes later.MICHAEL and HENRY walking down to the MERCEDES.Coming around the car, when --

MICHAEL turns and --

TIMMY standing there.Michael’s brother.A big guy that’s been hollowed out by too much of everything.His bartender smile, a phony tic he can’t quite control anymore.

HENRY hesitates.Then moving quickly to get into the car.

MICHAEL getting in the car.Brick wall.

The car door slams shut.TIMMY folding.The shitty stoic tears of a wounded drunk.

MICHAEL puts the car in gear.HENRY quiet as they pull away.

They drive in silence down the hill.MICHAEL focused on the road, trying to settle.Then he looks over, just now realizing how upset the boy really is and --

HENRY caught in the focus of his father’s sudden sincerity.

HENRY silent.Trying to get that down.As A CELL PHONE begins ringing.The moment broken as MICHAEL starts digging into his coat pockets and --

And there’s this just godawful pause.MICHAEL listening to some really bad news, as we --

DETECTIVE DALBERTO at his desk.Friendly.Sympathetic. MICHAEL sitting there.Seriously shaken.

MICHAEL nods.Stands.End of story.

BARRY pacing on a cell phone outside.He sees MICHAEL approaching and --

BARRY finds a sad face.Throws out a hand.MICHAEL joins this little dance of grief.

MICHAEL nods.Pulls away and --

Dark. Funky.Somebody’s favorite joint.MARTY BACH and HALF-A-DOZEN OTHER ATTORNEYS clotted at the bar.These guys all partners at the firm.Everyone dressed in their Sunday night come-as-you-are tragedy clothes.

MICHAEL moves down the line.Agrim, quiet gauntlet of mumbled hellos and handshakes.MARTY, truly grief-stricken, half-drunk, shaky as he comes off his stool to gather MICHAEL into his arms.

Finally they separate.Two wounded souls.

BARRY still on his phone call --

Forty-five minutes later.MICHAEL and MARTY alone now.

MARTY looks over.Hesitates.

MICHAEL nods.

They turn.BARRY behind them.

MICHAEL stunned.Silent.

BARRY helping MARTY off the stool.Holding his coat.

MARTY with a misty wave good night.MICHAEL watching BARRY navigate the old man out toward the door, as --

Dark. THE PHONE RINGING.ANNA’S BIG SISTER padding in, turning on a light and --

MICHAEL on the sidewalk --

MICHAEL/PHONE My name is Michael Clayton.I’m an attorney in New York and I--

BIG SISTER/PHONE Well you’ve got some nerve.

MICHAEL/PHONE Excuse me?

BIG SISTER/PHONE You get her all the way to New York and then leave her at the airport? This is not a complicated person! This is a girl who’s never been farther away from home than Milwaukee!

MICHAEL driving, as we hear --

MICHAEL/PHONE V.O. Wait a minute...

BIG SISTER/PHONE V.O. No -- you wait! -- she’s coming home tomorrow! -- and when she does, if you call here again, I’m warning you --

La Guardia in the background.THE MERCEDES pulling in as --

MICHAEL/PHONE V.O. -- hang -- hang on -- wait -- are you saying she’s in New York? -- she’s in New York, right now?

VERNE and IKER watching MICHAEL get out of the Mercedes --

Empty.Quiet. MICHAEL knocking on a door.

AS THE DOOR OPENS just a crack.ANNA standing there. A frightened small town girl in a strange place.

VERNE and IKER as they were.In the dark.Not happy.

ANNA sitting on the bed.Crying.MICHAEL in the room’s only chair.

MICHAEL there for her.Probing very gently here.

MICHAEL without an answer for that.Watching her cry.

Queens.Midnight.Patrol cars parked outside.Couple cops changing shifts.

NYPD ugly.GENE CLAYTON, shirtsleeves and shoulder holster, tearing through A HUGE OLD FILING CABINET.HANDS pulling open the drawers.One after the next.Searching through the clutter of blank forms and department stationery.MICHAEL waiting by the door.

He’s holding a stack of PROTECTIVE CRIME SCENE SEALS.

GENE hesitates.

MICHAEL stands aside.GENE pushes past him and out the door. MICHAEL waiting for him to walk away, as --

Two a.m.Dark and quiet.

MICHAEL with a crowbar.Pushing the door to the limits of the lock.Checking the street.Wedging the crowbar under the lock.Leaning.Now harder.And pushing, and...

SNAP. He’s in.

THE DOOR TO ARTHUR EDEN’S LOFT.It’s a mess.The metal frame is bent and splintered where the cops beat their way in. The original lock has been destroyed and replaced by a short length of chain-link held to a padlock that’s been screwed into the wall.A SEAL -- “Crime Scene Do Not Enter” -- plastered like a big bandaid across the door and frame.

MICHAEL standing there.Listening to the silence.In his hand, the seal he took from Gene.Framing it -- making sure he’ll be able to replace it perfectly.He will.Now he’s pulling the crowbar and --

Dark. And then light, as THE DOOR falls open.MICHAEL at the threshold.Hesitating.Listening.Nervous. And then he steps in.Closing the door behind him, as --

As a light comes on in Arthur’s loft.

VERNE and IKER.It’s their POV.Two grim faces.

VERNE doesn’t answer.Checks his watch.Looks back up to the window.Lots of ugly wheels turning, as --

TIME CUTS -- MICHAEL searching -- moving quietly through the space.He’s not really sure what he’s looking for, so everything’s important.

-- MICHAEL flipping through stacks of newspapers.

-- MICHAEL checking a pile of photography books.

-- MICHAEL at a wall covered with pictures of farms.

-- MICHAEL staring at the baguettes piled on a chair.

FINALLY TO

MICHAEL at the threshold.Knowing this is where it happened. Creeped out.Turning away and --

There on the floor.Arthur’s coat.

MICHAEL kneeling to pick up the coat.Stopping suddenly. Something much more interesting there beside it --

“REALM AND CONQUEST”Book One.The red cover.

MICHAEL just stunned.Stalled.Confused.

CLOSE-UP -- THE BOOK as he begins to flip the pages.And we’ve never seen the text before.There are illustrations at the start of every chapter.Line drawings depicting the dramatic high points of an epic quest.Chapter One: The Avian Warriors.Chapter Two: Exile of The Deserters. Chapter Three: Summons To Conquest.

Arthur has clearly read these first three chapters.Whole passages are underlined.Notes scrawled here and there in the margins.Pages folded back.And then --

A BOOKMARK falls out.Fluttering down to the floor.

MICHAEL reaches down to pick it up.

CLOSE-UP -- THE BOOKMARK.It’s a receipt.

“COPY MASTERS -- YOUR ONE STOP FOR COPIES”

MICHAEL staring at the receipt.Then the book.Then the receipt.Then --

VOICE (OS) Freeze! --

MICHAEL -- totally -- completely startled --

VOICE (OS) (it’s behind him) -- right there asshole! -- get your hands up! -- now! -- NOW! --

MICHAEL -- okay -- don’t shoot -- raise hands --

VOICE (coming closer) -- what’s in your hand? -- drop it! --

VOICE -- drop it! -- turn around slowly! -- who else is here? --

MICHAEL drops the book.Turning around slowly as the SOUND OF A POLICE RADIO begins to rattle and --

TWO YOUNG NERVOUS POLICE OFFICERS -- guns drawn -- coming from the open door --

COP/VOICE -- I said, who else is here? --

MICHAEL frozen like that and the TWO NERVOUS COPS circling around him and POLICE RADIO CHATTER rising and the big stink of a terrible mistake wafting through the air, as --

MICHAEL alone with a cold cup of coffee.Staring at himself in the one-way mirror.Waiting.Finally, THE DOOR opens --

DALBERTO walking off.MICHAEL emerges from the questioning room. GENE waiting for him.Absolutely furious.He wants to scream but can’t.Waiting for DALBERTO to disappear --

GENE grabbing him -- jerking him close --

MICHAEL hesitates.Nods.Impatient -- he pushes back -- hard -- breaks Gene’s grip.Brothers.Toe-to-toe.

MICHAEL just taking it.GENE backing away.Turning, and now he’s walking...Gone.

Morning.NYU Students swarming the sidewalks.

“COPY MASTERS -- YOUR ONE STOP FOR COPIES!”

Big college operation.MICHAEL at the counter watching A COPY KID coming from the back with a heavy cardboard box. Straining it to the counter.

MICHAEL doesn’t answer because --

IN HIS HAND

A BOOKLET.A bright red plastic cover.The title:

SUMMONS TO CONQUEST

And when he flips it open.There it is, the by-now-familiar UNITED-NORTHFIELD MEMO #229 in all it’s ugly splendor.

MICHAEL reading the memo.Lost in it.As we watch the realization take shape -- how dangerous...how sensitive... how threatening these few sheets of paper must be.

MICHAEL looks up.Dazed.

COPY KID smiles.Sure.MICHAEL grabbing that one box on the counter.Turning away to exit and --

IKER standing there.Next in line.Watching him go --

DON JEFFRIES walking with Karen’s two assistants, MAUDE and TODD and several U/NORTH EXECUTIVES toward the Kenner, Bach & Ledeen offices.KAREN on a phone call, falling behind --

And they do.And KAREN stops there.Turns --

VERNE waiting.Watching her come.Not a happy reunion.

He hands her A RED COVERED BOOKLET.Calmly checking the perimeter as she opens it and --

ANOTHER RED BOOKLET.This one in MICHAEL’S HAND.This one in motion because he’s walking and --

WE’RE TRACKING WITH HIM

Power central.Normally it’s quiet and subdued up here, but the combination of Arthur’s death the night before and the sudden paroxysm of activity on the U/North settlement seems to have drawn a crowd.MICHAEL heading briskly for the central reception atrium, passing ATTORNEYS and SUPPORT STAFF clustered along the way.There’s A WEEPY GROUP bunched near Arthur’s office and --

ATTORNEY #1 (as Michael goes by) Did they find you?

ATTORNEY #1 Marty. (pointing around the corner and--) I don’t think they went down yet...

MICHAEL moving around the corner and into --

THIRTY PEOPLE -- ASSOCIATES, SUPPORT PEOPLE, ATTORNEYS -- scrambling over STACKS OF PRESENTATION DOCUMENTS -- this stuff was supposed to be ready for the U/North meeting and there’s been some sort of clerical fuck up.So now there’s twenty-five opinions on how to fix it and fifteen conversations going and nine cell phones ringing and six people on their knees going through the pages and --

MICHAEL crosses the chaos to the elevator bank and --

MICHAEL hesitating because here’s JEAN, tapping her watch for MARTY to hurry up as she hands him A SMALL GRAY ENVELOPE --

And now, before MICHAEL can get his footing, here comes --

A nasty beat.MICHAEL stung.Roiling.

Nobody’s happy.And here’s JEAN with a nudge --

MICHAEL standing there, with THE ENVELOPE in one hand and THE RED BOOKLET in the other.Standing there watching MARTY and BARRY hustle away.All the power, all the oxygen, leaving with them.The moment passing, as --

Minutes later.Crowded.MICHAEL, looking shaky, fleeing the office.And the door opens and --

MICHAEL stepping off the elevator.KAREN only a few feet away. She’s waiting to step onto another elevator car that’s also arrived.They pass within a yards of each other.Both of them wrapped so tight just now they never even know it.

Dark and forlorn.As we hear --

Parked down the block.IKER on the driver’s side.VERNE beside him, holding a schematic drawing.Several bags and boxes in the back and --

IKER nods.VERNE carefully taking the box back.

MICHAEL sitting on the bar watching ZABEL open a bank envelope.Just the two of them.

ZABEL walks.MICHAEL alone in the dark, dead bar.

A basement hideaway on a slow night.We’re back where we started.MICHAEL at the table with THE PLUMBER, THE DEALER and THE TWO OTHER PLAYERS.

PLAYER #2 I go like that.Check.

THE PLUMBER starting to peel bills off his flashroll, as --

Chinatown late.Cold.Quiet. IKER walking up to THE MERCEDES.He’s holding a remote unit.Pressing it once. Nothing.Again. Nothing.Third time’s the charm.Lights flashingas the alarm disables and --

KAREN CROWDER -- exactly where we first met her -- sitting fully dressed on the john.Hiding here.Trying to fight off a panic attack using a breathing exercise she read about in an airline magazine.Losing the battle, as --

MICHAEL posts his blind --

Parked just down the block from the card room.VERNE att he wheel.Eyes scanning.Operational energy.

IKER hard at it -- something not fitting under the dashboard -- he’s struggling -- sweating -- bingo -- he’s got it --

MICHAEL away from the table now, over by the metal detector. He’s just pulled his pager out of the shitty plastic basket, trying to read the message and --

MICHAEL starts putting stuff into his pockets and --

IKER into the backseat now -- cutting open the armrest --

Ascending.MICHAEL leaving in a hurry.Strapping on his Rolex, trying to read the pager and --

IKER -- he’s a machine -- pulling the bomb from a bag -- one hand wedging open the hole he’s cut in the armrest -- trying to get the thing in there and --

A DOORMAN waiting as MICHAEL steps off the elevator and --

VERNE -- seeing MICHAEL -- grabbing the radio --

IKER -- not quite done -- fuck -- slapping the armrest back into place and --

MICHAEL on the street -- on the phone -- heading up the block toward Doyers Street and the Mercedes --

IKER -- closing up shop -- grabbing his supplies -- fast --

MICHAEL still on the phone -- on the way --

IKER out of THE MERCEDES -- closing the door -- hitting his remote unit -- lights flashing as the alarm goes on and --

MICHAEL just turning onto Doyers Street -- pulling his remote security pendant and --

UP THE STREET -- THE MERCEDES -- lights flashing as the alarm disables and --

VERNE firing up the engine and --

IKER walking away toward Canal Street and --

MICHAEL jamming the car into gear -- peeling out into the street and --

IKER turning as THE MERCEDES goes flying past -- just making the light -- squirting out onto Canal Street and --

VERNE skidding THE TAURUS to a stop -- door flying open -- IKER jumping in beside him -- and they’re off again --

THE MERCEDES speeding North --

MICHAEL trying to drive and mess with the GPS UNIT on his dashboard.Something’s wrong with it.He’s tapping on it and THE SCREEN is flickering on and off...Fuck it.He slaps the GPS away -- steps on the gas and --

THE TAURUS in pursuit --

VERNE driving.IKER working A LAPTOP COMPUTER --

THE MERCEDES racing North toward the bridge, as we --

DISSOLVE TO

THE WESTCHESTER MANSION DRIVEWAY.Four hours later.Just before dawn.MICHAEL leaning against the MERCEDES, munching on the stale baguette that’s been in his car since Saturday. Looking over as --

JERRY DANTE comes walking out of the house.

THE TAURUS parked on the shoulder of that quiet two-lane outside the mansion gates.The hood is up.VERNE standing there pretending that something’s wrong with the motor and --

IKER staring at his laptop, when suddenly --

VERNE slamming the hood shut -- rushing around --

THE MERCEDES speeding away from the house --

VERNE and IKER not ready -- THE MERCEDES tearing ass out into the road -- speeding off in theother direction and --

THE MERCEDES racing along.

MICHAEL escaping.Driving wild.And this time around we know what’s inhis head.Definitely running from more than Mr. Greer and Jerry Dante.

VERNE driving hard.IKER directing off the laptop screen --

MICHAEL -- turning again -- aimless -- windows open -- cold air whipping through -- braking suddenly -- impulsive -- turning -- suddenly -- faster now and --

Mounting panic.Military style.

VERNE slamming on the brakes and --

THE MERCEDES skidding to a stop.

PULL BACK TO REVEAL

THE HUGE OPEN PASTURE.Surrounded by forest.The sun just starting to rise.Cold mist hanging over the whole valley. Nothing but gray and green.Stark.Perfect.

VERNE and IKER are lost.All systems failing.

MICHAEL out of the car.Jumping the fence.Walking into the field.Behind him, the Mercedes with the engine running.

THE THREE HORSES poised at the crest of the pasture.Hanging in the fog like ghosts.Watching MICHAEL come toward them.

MICHAEL’S FACE as he walks.Everything that’s happened writ large in these eyes.Everything he’s done wrong.All the things he hasn’t done.Wounded and weary and humbled by the abundance of his inadequacies.It is to weep...

And finally he stops.Just standing there.

Still stopped there where we left them.VERNE now with the laptop -- IKER scanning out the window --

MICHAEL standing there.The horses.The fog.The woods.

THE MERCEDES EXPLODES!

THE HORSES already running before MICHAEL can turn back -- pieces of the car that have been blown into the sky still raining down before he’s fully grasped what’s happening --

MICHAEL simply shocked.Senseless.Standing there frozen. Stunned.The car -- his car -- is gone -- replaced by a skeletal shell of fire -- smoke pluming -- little follow-up explosions popping every couple seconds.MICHAEL looks around.Looks back.He should be dead.He is not.

And now, as the reality of that sinks in, as the smell of burning car finally reaches him, we can see the confusion drain away.All that staggered chaos in Michael’s eyes suddenly replaced with steel.He should be dead.He is not.

And now he’s walking.Toward the car.

Walking faster.Determined.

He starts running -- running toward the fire and --

THE PARKED TAURUS.VERNE and IKER standing there --

CLOUD OF SMOKE rising over the hill just in front of them. Thick black smoke wafting up above the fog, as --

MICHAEL coming toward the car.Glancing around to make sure he’s alone.Wiping away at the smoke to get close. Recoiling as another little explosion fuels the flames and he’s throwing things into the burning frame of the car!

The Rolex.His cell phone.His belt.A ring. Throwing in anything that might survive the fire and --

VERNE and IKER have seen enough.

MICHAEL done throwing shit into the car.One last look around and now he’s running.Up into the woods.Scrambling up the mountain, toward the trestle, into the sun, as...

FORTY PEOPLE -- ATTORNEYS -- ASSISTANTS -- PARALEGALS -- ACCOUNTANTS -- KAREN -- MARTY -- DON JEFFRIES -- all sitting

absolutely silent amidst the debris of an eighteen hour work session.ALL EYES ON --

BARRY hunched over a phone.Listening and listening and...

And now he’s hanging up the phone.Turning to the room.

A beat.And then someone starts to clap.And someone else. And then they’re all APPLAUDING -- MARTY -- DON JEFFRIES -- BARRY -- happy warriors all -- and as the backslapping and smiles keep building.

THE CAMERA FINDS

KAREN hesitating.But only a moment.Because it’s easier then to join the party than not.Smiling now.Her tight smile.But is she letting it in, or forcing it out?

A beat-to-shit Chevy Caprice rumbles into the lot.Stops there.MICHAEL walking from a pay phone.He’s wearing new sneakers, new parka, knit hat pulled low.Getting in and --

TIMMY behind the wheel.Quiet.Tentative.

TIMMY nods.DROPS the car in gear, and --

Glass box. BRINI, JEFF GAFFNEY, and TWO ASSOCIATES in the middle of a meeting.Looking over as --

Someone in the hallway, calling THE PARTNER away from the door and GAFFNEY rushing out to join the conversation and --

BRINI.But she won’t answer.Imploding.Holding herself. Hand to her mouth.Pressing back against the tears that are coming no matter what she does, as we --

KAREN at the mirror.Still wet from the shower --

A rushed meeting.THIRTY PEOPLE -- U/NORTH BOARDMEMBERS and PRIMARY STOCKHOLDERS -- seated in a room that could hold three hundred.Everyone has an information packet and a copy of the lawsuit deal memo.SECURITY GUARDS manning the door. And up front, addressing the assembled --

KAREN trying to choose a suit --

They’re eating out of her hand.

KAREN at the mirror putting on makeup.

THE BALLROOM.She’s rolling now --

And she’s done.And it’s gone very, very well.Many happy prosperous faces.

The big, weird hub of three different huge reception rooms. Wall-to-wall carpet.Chairs stacked in distant corners. Empty.KAREN walking off her excitement.Standing there.

Catching her reflection in a wall of mirrors.

And then...

She turns.Stops.Blinks. Freezes.

She’s just paralyzed.He’s carrying one of those copy-shop boxes.

He drops the box.Pulls out a RED-COVERED BOOKLET.

KAREN is reeling.She can hardly breathe.

Across the room -- THE DOOR TO THE BALLROOM OPENS and --

MICHAEL hesitates.She’s serious.It’s his.Ten million.

She can’t make sense -- swamped -- lost --

MICHAEL starting to walk away and --

DALBERTO and TWO OTHER DETECTIVES are coming quickly from one of the distant empty ballrooms and --

TWO SECURITY GUARDS are jogging out of the ballroom and --

KAREN just drifting to the floor and --

MICHAEL walking away.Leaving chaos in his wake.

There’s DON JEFFRIES still carrying on and DALBERTO trying to calm him down.

U/NORTH BOARDMEMBERS spilling out of the ballroom to see what’s going on.

KAREN sitting there on the floor in shock like some sort of accident victim.

FINALLY

GENE waiting by the exit.Watching MICHAEL come toward him. Headphones around his neck make it clear he’s been listening to the whole thing.

They trade a look.MICHAEL has just torn off his skin. Naked to the world.

MICHAEL nods.Walking away, as we --

Rush hour.MICHAEL walking -- walking toward the park -- walking through the sea of people and faces, as we begin to hear the crazed, manic voice of --

TAIL CREDITS begin --

As we fade out and...