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.