Chapter One

Matt

Matt's cane tapped on the sidewalk as he walked away from the courthouse. Still shaken by what had just happened, he replayed it in his mind. Two months ago, he and Foggy had obtained a multi-million-dollar verdict against the bank that had defrauded their clients, forcing them into bankruptcy and homelessness. Predictably, the bank had filed a motion for new trial. The hearing on the motion was today.

After the bank's attorney presented his argument, it was Matt's turn. It happened about halfway through his argument. "The evidence was more than sufficient to establish the – " he was saying, when he couldn't find the next word. He searched his mind frantically, but it was, simply, gone. His mind was a blank. He knew he was in court, but for what case? And what was the hearing about? He couldn't remember. Trying to slow his racing heartbeat, he gripped the lectern, feeling totally lost.

Finally, the judge intervened. "Anything further, Mr. Murdock?" she asked.

Barely aware of what he was saying, Matt answered automatically, his years of courtroom experience kicking in. "Uh, no, Your Honor. We'll submit on our papers." He gathered his notes and returned to counsel table.

The judge turned to the bank's attorney. "Anything further, Mr. Wilenski?"

"No, Your Honor."

"The matter is submitted," the judge said. "I'll notify you of my ruling in due course." She stood and left the bench.

"You OK, Murdock?" Wilensky asked after the judge had departed.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Matt answered with a wave of his hand. He picked up his papers and stuffed them in his briefcase, in no particular order, and hurried out of the courtroom.

By the time Matt reached the sidewalk outside the courthouse, he remembered why he was in court that morning. Jesus, he had really fucked up. He thanked God the clients weren't at the hearing. A married couple, both of them were working two jobs, trying to rebuild the life that had been destroyed when the bank defrauded them. Despite the win at trial, Matt knew it would likely be years before they saw a dime of the bank's money, unless the bank could be persuaded to make a realistic settlement offer. He had hoped that might happen if the court denied the motion for new trial. But after what happened in the courtroom, he wasn't sure how the judge would rule. He told himself this wasn't a motion that would be won or lost based on the oral arguments; the papers would decide it. And their papers, prepared by their associate (and future partner), Jasmine Espinoza, were good. As long as the judge read them, they should be OK.

As he walked along the sidewalk, he heard the hum of the (mostly) electric cars passing him. Not for the first time, he wondered how other blind people, lacking his heightened senses, were able to tell when one of them was approaching. His own senses seemed as sharp as ever, but he had noticed recently that he sometimes didn't process the information from them as quickly or as accurately as he used to. At other times, it was more difficult to stay focused. His cane came in handy at times like that. This was one of them.

He hailed a cab and got in, giving the driver the address of Nelson & Murdock. The firm still had its offices in Hell's Kitchen, but the neighborhood was no longer the Hell's Kitchen he and his law partner, Foggy Nelson, had grown up in. It wasn't even called "Hell's Kitchen" anymore. Its new, upwardly-mobile residents called it "Clinton." Matt reflected on the changes. Wilson Fisk had died of a massive heart attack five years ago, but his vision of a transformed Hell's Kitchen had prevailed. Gone were the abandoned warehouses and crumbling tenements, replaced by towers of steel and glass. He and Foggy had their office in one of them. There was still crime in Hell's Kitchen, but it was no longer the crime that took place at night, on the streets or in the alleys. Instead, it took place in board rooms, banks, and brokerage houses. This was the kind of crime that Nelson & Murdock now fought, using the weapons the law gave them.

There wasn't much need for Daredevil's kind of crime fighting in this new Hell's Kitchen, but when the need arose, he didn't hesitate to put on the devil suit. The media still reported on Daredevil sightings, but the stories now had a nostalgic tone. Still fit in his fifties, Matt kept himself in fighting shape, just in case. Maybe he'd lost a step or two; his right knee had never healed completely after he tore his ACL a few years ago. Nor had his back, after being injured in the collapse of Midland Circle. But he could still hold his own in a fight. He went to the gym regularly. Not Fogwell's – it was long gone, the building demolished to make way for expensive condos. These days, Matt went to a gym catering to other no-longer-young professionals trying to prevent, or reverse, middle-age spread.

The cab turned to the right and stopped. "This OK?" the driver asked.

"Uh, yeah, sure," Matt replied. He paid the fare, added a tip, and got out of the cab.

When he arrived at the 16th floor suite occupied by Nelson & Murdock, he went straight to his office and closed the door before sitting down at his desk. He rubbed his temples, trying to stave off the headache he felt coming on. As he did so, Foggy entered without knocking.

He skipped the preliminaries and got straight to the point. "I just got off the phone with a very worried Judge Danielsen," he said. "What happened?"

Matt sighed. Laura Danielsen was a law school classmate of theirs. Of course she would call Foggy. Shit. He waved his hand. "Nothing. I'm fine," he said.

"You know that doesn't work anymore, right?" Foggy told him. "I may not have super senses, but I know you. I know when you're lying." He pulled up a client chair and sat down.

Matt set his jaw stubbornly and leaned back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest.

"That's how you're playing this? Really?" Foggy frowned and rolled his eyes, not caring that Matt couldn't see him. "Stonewall all you want, buddy. You know I'll find out eventually. I always do."

"Honestly, Fog, I was just tired, that's all. What did Judge Danielsen say?"

"That you just stopped talking in the middle of your argument. And you looked 'totally lost' – her words, not mine."

"Yeah, well, I lost my train of thought for a minute," Matt admitted. "Like I said, I was tired, didn't sleep well last night."

"Whatever," Foggy muttered. "You gonna be OK for the settlement conference this afternoon?"

"That's this afternoon?" Matt asked. "Yeah, sure."

"OK," Foggy said doubtfully as he got to his feet and marched out of Matt's office.

Foggy

Back in his own office, Foggy considered this uninformative and, to be honest, infuriating conversation with Matt. It was only the latest in a lifetime of such conversations. Matt was like a brother to him, but damn, the guy did not make it easy to be his friend. Matt losing his train of thought in the middle of an important argument? It didn't happen. Not to Matt. And not in the courtroom. Matt was the most focused person he knew. He had to be. Besides, Laura Danielsen was no alarmist. If something happened in her courtroom that worried her enough to call him, it must have been serious.

It wasn't as if this was the first mental lapse he'd noticed recently. Just last week, Matt had forgotten the name of a new client, immediately after they were introduced, and it wasn't the first time he'd forgotten someone's name. He couldn't recall things like filing deadlines that should be second nature after years of practicing law. Once, he'd even forgotten his own bar number. There were also a few times when he'd looked uncertain moving about their office when no one else was there and he didn't need to act blind. But nothing had happened in the courtroom or, thank God, in front of a jury. Not until today. This was not good. Matt's reputation, and the reputation of the firm, were on the line. Not to mention the mental and physical well-being of his best friend. He had to do something, but what? He didn't know. He would talk to Marci. She could always see Matt with a clarity that often escaped him.

At the end of the day, Foggy took the subway to Brooklyn, going home to the Carroll Gardens brownstone he and Marci had bought after the birth of their twins, a girl and a boy, both now in college. He drank a beer as he waited for his wife to come home. Her days were often longer than his, now that she was the managing partner of the firm that she and three other lawyers had established after Jeri Hogarth succumbed to ALS, only a few years before the discovery of an effective treatment.

Marci picked up on his mood as soon as she walked in the door. "Why so worried, Foggy Bear?" she asked after she sat next to him on the couch and greeted him with a kiss.

"It's Matt."

Marci sighed. "Of course it is. It's always Matt. What is it now?"

"I'm worried about him."

"You're always worried about him," Marci pointed out.

"This is different," Foggy protested. "This is serious." Marci's expression grew increasingly somber as she listened to Foggy relate what happened in court that morning. "And that's not all," Foggy said, then went on to tell her about the mental lapses he'd observed. "Now that I think of it, it's been going on for months. I just didn't see the pattern, until now."

"You're right, it's serious," Marci agreed. "But, honestly, what did you expect?"

"What do you mean?" Foggy asked, shocked.

"He went out as Daredevil – and got beaten up – for years. Think about it – all those blows to the head, and most of the time, his only headgear was that ninja do-rag of his. It was only a matter of time before something like this happened."

"You're right," Foggy said grimly. "I should've seen it coming. But what can we do?"

"I don't know." Marci picked up her tablet and ran a search. After she absorbed the information on the screen, she said, "If it's what I'm thinking it is, there's not much we can do."

"Why, what do you think it is?"

"It's what football players get, you know, after getting hit in the head all the time. They call it CTE. And it says here – " She gestured with her tablet. " – that there's no cure. All they can do is try to prevent further damage and manage the symptoms."

"Damn." Foggy shook his head. He held out his hand. "Let me see." She gave him the tablet. He read, growing more horrified with every sentence. "Oh, God," he breathed when he had finished. "This is worse than I thought." He rubbed his forehead. "What do we do?" he asked helplessly.

"Support him, help him, if he'll let us," Marci replied. "That's all we can do. But we have to do it discreetly, so he doesn't get all prickly and defensive like he does."

Foggy nodded grimly. Marci was right. But he knew his friend. Matt would not handle this well. Tears filled his eyes. Matt had already had to deal with too much shit in his life, and now this. Maybe it was self-inflicted, but even so . . . .

Marci scooted closer to him and put her arms around him. "It'll be OK, Foggy Bear. I don't know how, but we'll find a way."

Matt

That same evening, Matt sat on the couch in his dark apartment. He'd been forced to move out of his loft apartment when the garish billboard across the street had finally gone dark, after years of protests and legal actions by nearby residents. When that happened, his rent became unaffordable. Fortunately, he still had months left on his lease. He needed all of them to find another place with suitable roof access – suitable for Daredevil, that is. He finally found one, in an older but well-maintained building on a mostly-residential street in Hell's Kitchen. It was only a few rooms, originally part of a larger apartment that had been subdivided into two. But a door in the kitchen opened onto a little-used back stairway that led to the roof.

Matt spent the evening, and much of the night, considering his predicament. His father wanted him to use his mind instead of his fists. Now his mind was betraying him, because he'd decided to use his fists, too. He knew what was happening to him. He'd seen it coming for a while. But now Foggy knew. Or he would figure it out soon, with Marci's help. And there were all of the people who were in the courtroom that morning. He'd avoided thinking about it for years, but he always knew this day would come. He always knew he'd have to pay the price for the punishment he took as Daredevil. Now he was paying it. He could no longer deny his new reality.

He reviewed his options. None of them was good. Foggy would have a plan. He always had a plan, Matt thought fondly. But there was no plan. Not for this. There was no treatment, no cure. It couldn't even be accurately diagnosed until after death. Matt remembered the football players who had taken their own lives and donated their brains for medical research. He couldn't beat this thing, but he wasn't ready to go there. Not yet. But that time might come.

For him, the verdict had been rendered. But he could still try to limit the damage to the people he cared about. Whatever plan Foggy came up with, it would jeopardize everything they'd worked so hard to build. Matt couldn't allow that. He knew what he had to do.

Matt was the first to arrive at the office the next morning. As soon as he heard Foggy's footsteps, he was on his feet, heading for Foggy's office. Before Foggy could even sit down, Matt slid a piece of paper across the desk.

"What's this?" Foggy asked.

"Read it."

Foggy sat behind his desk, then picked up the paper and read it. When he finished, he dropped it on the desktop and said, "No way. You are not resigning from this firm."

"I just did."

"You can't. There is no Nelson & Murdock without Murdock."

Matt sat down in one of the client chairs. "You know what's happening, Fog," he said grimly. "There is no Murdock, not anymore."

"Look, we can handle this. There's gotta be a way – "

Matt shook his head. "There is no way. It's not gonna get any better. Make Jasmine a partner, she's earned it, and hire a new associate. I'm not gonna let you risk everything you've worked so hard for."

"Everything we've worked so hard for, you mean," Foggy corrected him. "My name may be first on the door, but you're the face of this firm. You can't just walk away."

"I can, and I am."

"But we can figure out a way to make it work. You don't have to try cases any more. Jasmine and I can cover your court appearances. And you're right, we need to hire another associate anyway. We'll help you, support you, we all will . . . ." Foggy stopped himself. He was starting to babble.

"I know you mean well, Fog, but if I can't carry my weight around here, I don't want to be here."

"You can't mean that."

"I do. You're better off without me."

"You said that once before," Foggy reminded him. "It wasn't true then, and it wasn't true now."

"I don't want your charity," Matt said. He stood up and strode out of the office.

"Matt!" Foggy called after him, but it was too late. Matt was gone.