Unlike shows like Dynasty and Big Little Lies, Succession's "wealth on display—glass-walled corner offices, grayscale hotel suites—is insulation that appears expensive, but not cozy," says Shirley Li. "Their rich surroundings look cold, bleak, and sterile. Money, for the Roys, manifests as a pristine double-edged weapon, lulling them into seeing their crisis as an opportunity and preventing them from grasping the larger implications of Waystar Royco’s scandal. It’s darkly funny to see Logan’s allies, during a meeting aboard the jet to discuss their next steps, perk up at the mention of him needing someone to play interim CEO, even though he makes it clear he’ll still be calling the shots. Never mind the sexual-assault allegations against a high-level executive, the company’s toxic workplace, or the plight of its employees. Getting a chance to be the puppet in charge is far more important, rendering everything else invisible. Even Kendall, the Roy calling himself 'righteous' and insisting that he intends to 'change the cultural climate,' is shielded by his wealth, which allows him access to a high-powered lawyer, a team of crisis-PR managers, and his ex-wife’s gorgeous apartment as a harbor in which to set up shop. Such affluence means he doesn’t have to engage with the public—and therefore doesn’t register the dire consequences of his actions or how phony he sounds. He doesn’t clock his ex-wife’s disdain and thinks he’s on the same page as his new hires, whom he pummels with grandiose ideas, not about how to transform Waystar Royco’s practices, but about promoting his image. Early in the episode, he escapes the post-press-conference frenzy in a company car, safe from the outside world. At least, he is until Logan calls. On Succession, the family’s money protects them from the rest of society, but it does nothing to protect them from their own everlasting dysfunction and toxicity. Indeed, such seclusion knits them closer together, tightening their twisted codependent relationships and securing their ignorance."