Previously…
– Lucy tried to be supportive of Tori but was privately crushed by the knowledge that Tori and Landon slept together.
– After Rosie suffered a health scare in New York, Juanita traveled cross-country to be with her daughter — only to find that Rosie was discharging herself from the hospital and was desperate to continue pursuing leads to save Travis.
– The D.A. established a clear window of time during which Travis would have had the opportunity to poison Loretta Ragan.

The house is still dark, the kind of blue-gray quiet that belongs to an hour when most people are not yet out in the world.

Travis Fisher comes down the stairs expecting stillness. After everything that happened in New York, he expects to find his wife curled up on the couch in pajamas, a blanket around her legs, maybe her decaf coffee cooling untouched while the morning news murmurs low in the background.

Instead, Rosie is at the front door in jeans and a sweater, one hand braced against the wall as she maneuvers her shoes onto her feet, her now-prominent pregnant stomach making the task more complicated than usual. He stops short.

“Rosie,” he says.

She glances over her shoulder, and for a split second, guilt flickers over her face, though it is quickly replaced by practiced brightness. “Morning.”

“It’s barely morning.” He crosses to her, frowning with concern. “What are you doing?”

She straightens too quickly, forcing confidence into her smile. “I’m fine. I promise.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

Rosie reaches for her bag, which sits on the entry table. “I’m going to see Finn.”

“Now? He might not even be awake.”

“I want to catch him off-guard.” Her voice is steady, but there is an edge beneath it, the brittle determination of someone running on nerves rather than sleep. Travis recognizes it all too well. “The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. Loretta was poisoning people’s lives for years. If Finn was her plant inside Objection — if she promised him something she couldn’t deliver–“

“Rosie.” He steps closer, lowering his voice. “You discharged yourself from a hospital less than 24 hours ago.”

Her jaw tightens. “They said my blood pressure was coming down.”

“They also said stress is dangerous.”

“They said a lot of things.”

“And, from what your mom says, most of those things involved rest.”

For a moment, silence hangs between them, thin and fragile.

She looks away first. “I can’t just sit here. I couldn’t live with myself if we let this lead fall by the wayside and you…” She trails off, unable to vocalize the possibility.

“Then let’s let the police question Finn. Again.”

“The police are on the prosecution’s side. They helped build this case against you. What they all want is a conviction. Not to start from scratch.”

Travis inhales deeply through his nose. “Then let me go question him.”

“You need to be in court,” she says. “And no offense — you aren’t an investigator. I need to do this, Travis. For you. For all three of us.”

She pulls open the front door, then turns back. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he says, and an instant later, she is closing the door. He listens to the distant thrum of her engine starting, helplessness enveloping him yet again.

—–

The Fisher basement hardly resembles a basement anymore. What was once a catch-all for old furniture, seasonal decorations, and video game setups has gradually transformed into a war room. The old dining table that serves as the hub of Sarah Fisher Gray‘s private investigating firm is covered in stacks of phone records, legal pads, coffee cups, and scribbled timelines. Strings of names and times crisscross a corkboard propped against the far wall.

Sarah sits hunched over another set of call logs, one hand pressed to her temple as she squints at the numerals.

Across from her, Landon Esco leans back in his chair, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. The sleeves of his black sweatshirt are pushed up his forearms, and his eyes are red from too many hours of staring at the same things.

“There has to be something. Finn. Gia. Old enemies of Loretta’s,” he says, dragging a hand over his face. “God knows she had plenty.”

“If only we had any way of knowing who those people even are.”

The silence is thick with fatigue and defeat until footsteps sound on the stairs.

“Have you two not been to bed?” Matt Gray asks incredulously as he steps into the basement.

Sarah shakes her head miserably.

“You’d be surprised what eight cups of coffee and desperation to save your best friend can accomplish,” Landon says.

Concern settles over Matt’s features as he scans the cluttered space. “You haven’t found anything?”

“Nothing in Loretta’s phone records,” Sarah says, “but there’s no telling how many phones she had that we don’t even know about.”

Landon pushes his chair back, and it scrapes against the floor. “I’m gonna head home and get a few hours’ worth before court. Or at least a shower and some less grimy clothes.”

“Be careful driving,” Sarah tells him.

He responds with a nod, then heads up the stairs.

Matt goes to his wife, resting his hand on her shoulder. “You should rest, too.”

“I wish I could. I thought it was bad when Molly was on trial for Philip‘s murder, but at least she and I knew that she hadn’t really done it. We knew there could be a way out if it went too far.”

“Molly was willing to go to prison to protect Paula,” Matt says.

“Yeah. This time, there’s no escape hatch. I feel like I’m failing everyone: Travis, Rosie, Tim, Claire…”

“You’re not failing them. You’re doing everything you can.” His hand slides from her shoulder to her upper arm. “And there’s still time.”

Sarah stares despondently at the call logs, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I am so scared for him.”

—–

The Brooks home is still dark when Rosie reaches it. She stands at the front door for several seconds, wondering if she has jumped the gun, but then goes ahead and rings the doorbell anyway. If Finn did what she thinks he did, she feels no guilt for waking him up.

She waits. Finally she hears what sounds like creaking stairs inside. Impatient, she presses the doorbell again.

She hears someone arrive on the other side of the door. No doubt Finn is looking through the peephole and then deciding whether he wants to deal with her.

“Open the door,” she barks.

The lock clicks. A second later, the door slides open, revealing Finn in a pair of black sweatpants and a long-sleeved Alo t-shirt.

“It’s early,” he says.

“I don’t like to waste time. I was in New York yesterday. I met with Gia Vincent.”

His eyes flicker, recalibrating. “And?”

“And I think you’ve been lying to me. To everyone.”

Finn sighs, his lean frame blocking the doorway. “About what?”

“About your connection to Loretta,” Rosie says. “What did she promise you, Finn? And how did she screw you over?”

As he stands in the lobby of the courthouse, Travis clutches his car keys in his palm. The sharp edges of the keys dig into his skin, but it feels reassuring rather than painful — or maybe the sensation is simply redirecting the pain he already feels, giving it a physical presence.

The building is quiet at this early hour. There were two security guards stationed at the entrance when he arrived, and he moved quickly through the metal detector; now he stands by a bench that he cannot bring himself to sit upon. Not that standing is making him feel any more active. His eyes watch the building’s entrance like a hawk, waiting for the person he is meeting to arrive.

All of it runs through his head in a blur: the witnesses so far. The looks on the jurors’ faces. The vial of poison that he knows he had never seen until the police produced it from the depths of his gym bag. The terrifying image of Rosie collapsed on a New York City sidewalk, crumpling in pain while he was trapped in court an entire country away.

The glass door at the front of the courthouse opens, and Travis sees the person he called to meet him. A shot of adrenaline rushes through his body as he watches her go through security with the practiced ease of someone who has done so thousands of times.

“Mr. Fisher,” Audrey Tam says as she strides toward him, designer purse over one shoulder and leather briefcase in the other hand. “Keeping it casual for court today, I see.”

She looks him up and down, taking in the track pants and hoodie that he threw on before rushing out of the house.

“My suit is in the car,” he tells her.

“And is your counsel waiting there also?”

“Conrad isn’t here. He doesn’t know I’m here, either.”

The District Attorney furrows her brow at him. “What exactly is going on here? Why did you call me?”

“Because I want to talk to you one-on-one without anyone else in my ear.”

“You know I can’t discuss the prosecution’s case with you–“

“I don’t want to discuss the case,” Travis says. “I want to work out a plea deal.”

—–

The apartment is quiet when Landon lets himself in, morning light creeping through the sheer curtain over the sliding glass door. He drops his keys onto the counter with a soft clatter and runs a hand over the back of his neck, already feeling the weight of the day pressing down on him.

Lucy Champlain pokes her head around the wall of the small kitchen.

“Oh my god. You look like you got hit by a truck,” she says. “No offense.”

“Can’t be offended by something that’s true,” he mutters.

“Did you really pull an all-nighter?”

He nods, and she is already moving to grab a mug from the cupboard. “Sit down before you fall over. Coffee?”

“I don’t think my body can withstand any more caffeine. And I should probably sleep a little before Travis’s trial begins.”

He sinks onto the couch.

“Have you eaten?” Lucy asks. “You should eat. I can heat up your favorite gourmet breakfast…”

“Pop-Tarts,” he says, brightening ever so slightly. “You don’t have to–“

“I want to. You’ve done plenty for me.” She begins bustling around the kitchen. “So what happened?”

He throws his head against the back of the couch. “Sarah and I, we just have nothing. We’ve been over everything we can find. Someone did this — someone poisoned Loretta — but we can’t connect anyone to it solidly besides Travis. And I know he didn’t do it.”

Lucy emerges from the kitchen. “Pop-Tarts coming up shortly.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” he says.

“So are you. You’ve given me a safe place to stay while I get away from Bryce. And now you’re running yourself into the ground trying to save Travis.”

“He’s my best friend.”

“And I know he’d say the same about you.” Lucy takes a seat on the sofa beside him. “You’re an incredible person, Landon. That doesn’t change just because you haven’t been able to produce evidence that might not exist.”

“It exists somewhere. Someone did this.”

“Then maybe you’ll still be able to find it,” she says. “In the meantime, you also need to take care of yourself. Or let me do it for you.”

He manages a smile. “I appreciate you, Lucy.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

The toaster pops, and Landon scoots forward on the couch.

“Don’t you even think of moving,” Lucy says, patting his knee as she stands. “I’ll get them for you.”

“Thanks, Luce.”

She returns to the kitchen, fresh color in her cheeks. “Anything for you, Landon.”

—-

Finn stares Rosie down but does not budge from his spot in the doorway nor invite her inside the house. She simply stands there, waiting; she understands how powerful it can be to force someone to stew in silence, something that makes most people very uncomfortable.

“My connection to Loretta?” he says. “I was talking to her when she dropped dead. We’ve been over this.”

“But why were you talking to her?” Rosie questions. “You knew her better than you let on.”

“I knew of her.”

“That’s not what Gia implied.”

She holds his gaze and is sure that she sees something flicker there.

“Gia’s probably salty about being ousted from the company,” Finn finally says. “We haven’t spoken in a long time. We thought we had the votes to get Molly out, but it blew up in our faces.”

“See, that’s the part I wonder about,” Rosie counters. “You were an executive assistant. Why were you so personally involved in Gia’s coup?”

“Because I was her right-hand man. If it had worked out, I would’ve been invaluable to her. But it didn’t. And I got tossed out on my ass.”

Rosie folds her arms. “You know who else had a vested interest in taking Molly’s company from her? Loretta Ragan.”

“She hated Molly, sure,” Finn says. “But she didn’t have any involvement with Objection.”

“None that we can see. But what if she had a mole inside the company? Someone to do her dirty work for her?”

Finn inhales sharply through his nostrils. A few houses down, someone starts the engine of a car. Rosie finds herself swiveling her head just to check out the action. A silver Audi SUV starts down the street.

“It all makes sense,” Rosie presses. “Loretta installed you inside Objection. She made you promises that she failed to keep. You wound up unemployed and bitter, and you found a way to get back at her for good–“

“I know you’re trying to pull a rabbit out of your hat before your husband goes to jail, but there’s nothing here,” Finn says.

“So you say.”

“That I know.” He tosses her a cocky smirk. “I know that the police have, like, a window of time when they believe Loretta was poisoned. And I have an alibi for that whole time. I was at a bar drinking. That can be verified. And then I was at the Objection party, whether or not anyone wanted me there.”

Rosie’s stomach sinks. Instinctively she brings her hand to her bump again.

“Then I’m going to need to verify that alibi,” she says, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“Fine. Knock yourself out, if it’ll get you off my back.” He turns around. “Let me get a pen and paper so I can send you on your way and have some peace and quiet.”

She lingers outside the front door of the house. Part of her wants to burst inside and go snooping around, see if there is anything at all that she might find that could help Travis’s case. But she already knows that she won’t find that. Finn is too confident about his alibi, especially if the KBPD has already verified it. He is still hiding something — she is sure of that — but she is rapidly losing faith that he could be the one who actually poisoned Loretta.

“What are we missing?” she whispers, as much to the baby as to herself, as she continues cradling her stomach.

—–

In the nearly empty lobby of the courthouse, Audrey Tam does not respond to Travis right away.

Instead, she studies him, the way she might study a witness who has just said something unexpected on the stand — evaluating not just the words, but the posture, the breath, the cracks.

“A plea deal,” she repeats.

He nods once, the motion tight and constrained.

“You realize how unorthodox this is,” Tam tells him. “Approaching me without your attorney present. Asking to negotiate directly.”

“I know. I need this to end.”

She tilts her head. “End how?”

Travis exhales, glancing past her toward the courthouse doors, toward the day that hasn’t quite started yet.

“We have your witness list, obviously,” he says. “We understand your strategy. Today you’re going to hammer home the damage that Loretta did to my family: to my parents, to my aunt and uncle, to my wife and me. You’re showing the jury just how deep my alleged motive ran.”

“Alleged motive? Travis, you and I both know that you had every reason to want Loretta Ragan dead.”

“Wanting something and actually doing it are two very different things.”

She tilts her head. “If you’re still so insistent that you’re innocent, why are you coming to me in secret to work out a plea deal?”

“Because this is putting my wife and our unborn child in danger,” Travis says, his throat tight with emotion. “Rosie went to New York alone to chase down a lead and wound up in the hospital. I’m afraid that if this goes on much longer…”

He doesn’t finish the thought. He doesn’t have to.

Audrey eyes him even more carefully now. “And you believe a plea deal would… what? Spare her?”

“I believe — no, I know — it would end this. No more testimony, no more surprises, no more desperate Hail Marys.”

“You’re willing to do serious jail time to protect your wife and baby.” She folds her arms. “Why would I offer you anything less than the maximum sentence?”

He forces himself to look at her steadily. “Because you don’t actually know what happened that night. You don’t have proof. You’re floating a theory — and it’s a solid one, I’ll give you that — but it’s still a theory. And you’re about to build the rest of your case on character, not hard evidence.”

“You’re suggesting my case is weak?”

“I’m suggesting the jury could deliberate and still find room for reasonable doubt,” he says. “A plea takes away the risk. No deliberations. No appeal on the verdict. No chance the jury decides that you were wrong about my Aunt Molly killing Philip Ragan, and you could be wrong again. You get your conviction.”

A long beat stretches out between them.

“And in exchange?” she asks.

He hesitates — not because he doesn’t know what he wants, but because spelling it out makes it so real. He thinks of Rosie at the door, her hand on her stomach. He again pictures her on that sidewalk, writhing in pain, alone.

“I want a fixed sentence,” Travis says. “Fifteen years.”

Audrey doesn’t react, but she doesn’t interrupt, either.

“With the possibility of parole after ten years,” he adds.

“You expect me to believe this is totally altruistic? That you’re willing to spend the next decade or more of your life for the well-being of your wife and child?”

“Is that really so crazy? I would do anything for them. I always thought that meant, like, taking a bullet. I guess this is another version of that.”

She nods once, almost to herself. “Your attorney is going to hate this.”

“That’s why he’s not here. He wouldn’t have brought this to you.”

“He’s going to have to be part of this conversation if we move forward,” she says.

“Then call him. Wrap this up. Because I can’t let my wife endanger herself or our baby much longer.”

Audrey Tam fishes in her designer purse for her phone. Travis taps his foot anxiously against the tiled floor, wondering how it could have possibly come to this.

END OF EPISODE 1299

Is Travis jumping the gun by making a deal?
Will Rosie expose Finn’s secret at last?
Is there anything else Travis’s team can do?
Discuss all this and more in the comments below!

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