Those who have been following my coverage of the Harlan Coben adaptations coming out of the garbage chute of Netflix are probably aware of how much I hate the writer and the streaming platform. For those who don’t, here’s a primer: I hate Coben and everything of his that’s been commissioned by Netflix. I hate the readers who have made his books famous. I also hate the people who watch these serialized adaptations so that more of Coben’s nonsensical books can be turned into shows. The only people I do not hate are the cast and crew who are in charge of turning Coben’s trash into something digestible. I know that their hearts aren’t in it. It’s pretty apparent that they are doing it because there’s an audience for this, which Netflix is going to milk until their enthusiasm runs dry, and...