JOE GOLDBERG (40s, disheveled but eerily calm) sits in a plastic chair. His hands are uncuffed. That’s the first sign something is wrong. On the table is a leather-bound journal—his. And a single key.
The room is sterile. White walls, a single metal table bolted to the floor, a flickering fluorescent light. It smells of bleach and regret. you s04 h255
JOE: “Turn the key, Marienne. And don’t ever look for me.” JOE GOLDBERG (40s, disheveled but eerily calm) sits
MARIENNE: “You told the police everything. The Eat the Rich killer. Rhys. The… the cage under the gallery. They’re calling you a hero, Joe.” On the table is a leather-bound journal—his
JOE: (softly) “I’ve been in a cage my whole life, Marienne. At least this one has a library.”
JOE: “Because you’re the only one who saw me. Not the killer. Not the romantic. Just… the man who collects first editions and can’t stop putting people in boxes. You’re the librarian, Marienne. You know how to close a book.”
He walks to the door. Pauses. Doesn’t look back.