Jane: Hey.
Alan: [hands her a folder]
Jane: [looking through the pages] Where did you get these?
Alan: Somebody from the archives delivered them.
Jane: [continues to look through the pages, getting upset] That's not possible... My foster parents would have told me.
Alan: Jane. These files just... didn't appear out of the blue... You ordered them.
Jane: When?
Alan: You tell me.
Jane: [through her teeth] I can't remember.
Alan: You own that house.
Jane: [Slams her hand on the table and shouts] NO!
[takes a deep breath]
Jane: I forget "little" things, like appointments, birthdays, pick-ups...
[starts hyperventilating]
Jane: Not...
Alan: [squats down to face her] I'm sorry.
[looks away]
Alan: I shouldn't even be here; I should have picked her up.
[when Jane doesn't answer]
Alan: The trust fund has been paying the property tax. It's managed by a... Patrick Ryer? I think you have an uncle. That explains why you keep trying to photograph the place.
Jane: [doesn't say anything, looks at Alan helplessly]
Alan: Jane hey... Hey.
[puts her hand on her cheek]
Alan: We're gonna figure this out.
