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Henry Muck is a complex and challenging figure to embrace. He often retreats into deep, isolating depressions, making him inaccessible to those around him. His battles with addiction render him unreliable, while his tendency towards deception is second nature. Unresolved anger from a traumatic childhood and repeated public humiliations fuel his unpredictable outbursts of rage. Despite his efforts to be perceived as good, his primary concern is maintaining that image, which ironically alienates those who see through the facade and make no effort to hide their own flaws.
Yet, it seems unjust for Henry to be scapegoated in an international financial scandal he had no hand in orchestrating, abandoned by those who claim to care for him. Would you agree?
Much of this situation was beyond Henry’s control; he was essentially designated as a scapegoat by Whit Halberstram, the mastermind behind the company, should one be needed. The ominous letter Henry received last episode was a clear indication of Whit’s manipulative view of Henry and the world. “I feel like I’m in the room with a reptile,” Henry confides after their next encounter.
However, Henry contributes to his own downfall by lashing out at Yasmin. He fails to realize how fed up she is with his erratic behavior—his frequent absences, infidelities, and financial mismanagement, particularly his ill-advised investment in Tender stock. At one point, when he yells at her, she becomes unresponsive, mechanically agreeing with him. Her reaction suggests the weariness of someone who has endured abuse. That night, she lies awake, staring at the ceiling.
But Yasmin is no longer the helpless child once tormented by her father. Now, she’s a savvy strategist, a survivor, and above all, a masterful liar. If she gives Tender the nudge it needs to crumble, she can orchestrate a smooth exit, preserving her reputation. Sadly for Henry, he will be left to face the aftermath alone.
So Yasmin engineers a completely made-up government scandal, in which the benevolent Labour official who opposed Tender all along, Lisa Dearn (Chloe Pirrie), is framed for an imaginary cover-up of nonexistent memos decrying the company. Yasmin engineers all this to protect Jenny Bevan, the Labour minister who really is implicated in the scandal thanks to her chummy relationship with Yasmin and Henry themselves.
Jenny refuses to play ball with the scheme. When she meets with Yasmin, Lord Norton, and the rabidly right-wing tabloid editor Kevin Ruhle, she’s so horrified by their willingness to print straight-up lies in the newspaper that she flees the meeting. Yasmin instead uses Harper’s connections to Burgess, the crusading FinDigest editor, to get the story out anyway. Harper and Burgess are both sharp people, but neither of them sees through Yasmin’s ruse, perhaps because it gets them exactly what they want, which is Tender’s head on a platter.
The handmade corruption story does its job. Lisa resigns at the behest of the slimy, unnamed Labour Prime Minister. Tender’s stock tanks. Yasmin resigns from the company without telling Henry. When he calls Whit from the office, he finds the man’s phone left behind in his desk. Everyone’s flown the coop and left Henry holding the bag.
His position could be physically dangerous for him. For one thing, Ferdinand, Tender’s connection to its Russian backers, shows up at Whit and Henry’s hotel room with that guy who was present during Rishi and James Dycker’s bender, making it clear he gave Dycker a hot dose to kill him. They tell Whit escape is not an option, and that he now lives (and, implicitly, dies) at the pleasure of their paymasters. Tender still has value to them, you see: It has the vulnerable personal and financial data of all its users, and that’s something the fascists can use. These people aren’t going to hesitate if Henry looks shaky.
For another, Henry is a threat to himself. In a ghastly phone call, a tearful Yasmin and Lord Norton justify their participation in tanking Tender despite knowing Henry will never come back from the shame of it. “He’s never faced consequences,” Yasmin says, as though framing him for crimes he didn’t commit is the same as using tough lough to make him take responsibility for his mistakes. They do this knowing who Henry is, knowing what he’s like, knowing his family history. As far as they’re concerned, they’re murdering him.
It’s not easy on Yasmin to do this, to be fair. When she calls Jenny and tries to land a job in her comms office, the politician indignantly blows her off. (Assuming you’ll just waltz right into the office of a woman whose mentor you publicly destroyed over her express wishes is classic Yasmin.) “You abandoned him when he needed you the most,” Jenny spits at Yasmin regarding her addict husband, “so you take that for a dance around your conscience.” You can see this blow to Yasmin land almost physically.
So Yasmin does what she always does when she has nothing else: She returns to Harper. Their conversation is a meticulous unpacking of the unhealthy psychology that has long driven their relationship. Harper admits she’s happy to have all this power at Yasmin’s expense — after all, Harper is going to make a fortune when Tender tanks — and Yasmin thanks her for her honesty. Both say they envy each other: Yasmin wishes she had Harper’s intelligence and confidence, while Harper wishes she had Yasmin’s looks, pedigree, and ease of access to the world. Harper has always resented Yasmin for making her feel less than; Yasmin loves Harper for showing her how she can be more.
Most importantly, they zero in on Yasmin’s damage. Why does she feel this constant need to be in control, “to dominate” as Harper puts it, to “not be at anyone’s mercy.” She grew up at somebody’s mercy, Yasmin laughs through her tears, and can’t bear to live that way again.
The two go out clubbing, getting fucked up and dancing all up on each other to Daft Punk’s “Veridis Quo.” That’s just one of any number of colossal, impeccable needledrops throughout the episode, also including When in Rome’s “The Promise,” A Flock of Seagulls’ “(I Ran) So Far Away),” and Enya’s “Only Time.” (I’ve heard the odd complaint about the older and somewhat more obvious music on the soundtrack this season before, but I find the application consistently thoughtful and the song choices unerringly rad, so I’ve got no issues. Bring on the goddamn New Order, I say.)
The two frenemies end their outing by resting against each other on the sidewalk outside, smoking cigarettes in the early morning light.
“You have no idea how good I feel right now,” Harper tells Yasmin.
“We’re here forever,” Yasmin replies, “even if we can’t be.”
Let’s see if they feel this way about their lives, and each other, by the end of the business day.
Sean T. Collins (@seantcollins.com on Bluesky and theseantcollins on Patreon) has written about television for The New York Times, Vulture, Rolling Stone, and elsewhere. He is the author of Pain Don’t Hurt: Meditations on Road House. He lives with his family on Long Island.