[Cell phone buzzes] That's the fifth time she's called this morning.
Let her bake.
I'm pissed. And I still really don't understand what happened.
Deed, business license, liquor license, bill of sale, all with our signatures on it.
That looks just like my handwriting.
Because it is. Mine too.
How does Svetlana own our bar and our girls?
Not our girls, just our bar. She told us we were signing adoption forms but really it was papers making her the owner of The Alibi.
So we still own our girls?
Yes.
And she still owns her kid?
Yes.
Who owns the titty van again?
Still ours.
So technically, she just owns The Alibi?
Correct.
Fuck her.
[Sighs] Her name is still on our bank accounts. Bitch might be cleaning us out. We gotta close 'em.
Can we get her arrested for stealing?
What do we tell the cops when they see our signatures on the forms? That we're idiots?
All right, I hate to tell you I told you so 'cause I know you're heartbroken, but this just proves that I was right about her without saying it.
You just did say it.
I worked at that bar my whole life. So now what? What, Svetlana's our boss? Do we still get paychecks?
The bar checking account is in her name.
We need to get her ass down here. I got questions.
Oh, she can keep her lying Russian ass over that bar. I don't want her back in this house.
Then we'll go to The Alibi.
I want to stab her fucking heart out
Right. I'll go alone.
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