N: Michael is at home and finds his wife cheating on him with the Tennis Coach. Franklin and Michael chase him to a house and used Michael's gardener's truck to pull the house down. Turns out that the house was owned by Martin Madrazo and now Michael owes him about $5 million for the rebuild. After that Michael is watching TV when he goes up to Jimmy's room and smashes his TV. After beating Jimmy at the bike race, Michael finds out that Tracy is hanging out with bad people. After saving Tracy from the Seashark people, she is mad at Michael. Her and Jimmy walk away from Michael.
(Michael knocks on Lester's front door and, noticing the camera, looks into the camera)
Michael De Santa: (giving the double finger to the camera) Fuck you, Lester. You gonna let me in or what?
Lester Crest: Gimme a minute.
(Lester unlocks the door and Michael walks in to find Lester at his computer)
Lester Crest: I was wondering when you'd show up.
Michael De Santa: I was dead.
Lester Crest: Praise be! I guess you weren't very dead. You... need my help.
Michael De Santa: How do you know?
Lester Crest: 'Cause you came here. Why else would you?
Michael De Santa: I haven't been a good friend for you, Lester. I know that.
Lester Crest: And you're gonna make it up to me by doing whatever I ask. Or rather, I-I mean... I need something done, you need to know something, so, why not help each other?
Michael De Santa: I gotta make some dough.
Lester Crest: So you're back in the game?
Michael De Santa: I guess. Look, Lester, about what happened before...
Lester Crest: I know you never mentioned my name. I know I'm not on any lists anywhere. I know you never betrayed me. As for you, you gotta figure that I never told anyone. That instead of gently decomposing in North Yankton, you're angrily decomposing in Los Santos with a shrink... and a wife who don't love you no more.
Michael De Santa: Yeah... yeah, well. Since you put it like that.
Lester Crest: Hey, shut up a minute. I'm getting an Eyefind alert. That little college boy, sack of shit, phony, fuck!
Michael De Santa: Who? Jay Norris?
Lester Crest: Yes. That fuck is a lying bastard. I've read his fucking emails, he's a fucking cheat.
Michael De Santa: I-I-I heard him say that he saved America...
Lester Crest: What? By outsourcing all the jobs? By selling us little bits of plastic, restricted-access shit? Well now it's payback time, you lying turd.
Michael De Santa: The hell are you talkin' about?
Lester Crest: You are about to get that white collar gig that you always dreamed of, Mikey. Here, take this err, fashionably retro, 'weird-for-a-forty-five-year-old-man-but-I-cannot-let-go-of-the-1980's bag, and dress yourself up like a billionaire math genius with low level Asperger's. You better be ready for the minor glitch of your repulsive pseudo-messianic life.
Michael De Santa: Okay, Lester...
Lester Crest: Get out of here! Call me when you're ready. We are about to put the Darwinism back in social Darwinism, and brother, it is gonna be fun.
Michael De Santa: You fuckin' kiddin' me? I'm a bank robber, not a web designer.
Lester Crest: So we'll go robbing... soon. I'll find something. Just like the old days.
