New York Bulletin offices:

Karen's morning, in contrast to Matt's, was much less dramatic. She took the N train to the Bulletin offices, intending to trace Fisk's money trail. Like she and Matt had discussed, Donovan probably wasn't the one who managed Fisk's cash. He probably had someone else handling his finances in light of Owlsley's death. It was going to be a long morning of sorting through boring financial statements to find the new money man. But as Ben had told Karen when she'd first investigated Union Allied, the boring stuff was often what had the most long-term payoff. Going after mid-level guys would only get mid-level enforcers that Fisk could easily replace. But following money? When one went down that rabbit hole, it was almost impossible to find where the trail would stop. And besides, this was something Karen was way too used to doing. It had been how she uncovered the skimming going on with the Union Allied pension, the whole incident that had been responsible for her getting tangled up with Fisk, and subsequently meeting Matt and Foggy. And it was how she'd found Carl Hoffman's hideout. If there was any one thing Fisk couldn't suck into a black hole, it would be large sums of money.

Before going to her office, she made a stop at Ellison's office, which was two doors down from hers, and furnished almost identically, making it almost a mirror image of her office (with the desk on the right and the couch on the left here, the reverse of her office). Karen figured she needed to apologize to Ellison for her little outburst the night before and explain why, ethics be damned, she had to be the one covering Fisk. She also felt that it might be of benefit to Foggy's District Attorney campaign if he got some press coverage in the Bulletin, if his write-in candidacy was at this infant stage to stand any chance against Blake Tower's firmly established campaign.

To her luck, when she arrived, Ellison was sitting at his desk and had his laptop open. He was reviewing a story that Robbie at the city desk had submitted about next year's impending shut down of the 14th Street Tunnel, which would greatly snarl subway service in Brooklyn and Queens for over a year as the L train was taken out of service to repair damage from Hurricane Sandy.

"Come in."

"Sorry to bother you, but do you have a moment?" Karen asked, walking in.

"If you're here to ask me to change my decision about who covers Fisk, the answer is no," he said, not looking up from his laptop.

"I'm not going to back off on pursuing Fisk," Karen replied. She closed the door behind her and sat down in a chair across from Ellison's desk. "I mean it. I got better insight into Fisk does and what he's capable of."

Ellison looked at her and took a deep breath.

"Look, Karen," he said, massaging his bald dome, "You're a very talented reporter. Okay? I can see why Ben thought you were a natural. But…you've gotten yourself into trouble more times than I want to count. And when you make decisions like that, they reflect badly on this paper."

Karen scoffed, knowing Ellison was referring to all of her previous brushes with death. "I know," she said, quietly, "I was out of line last night, yelling at you, I'm sorry. But…Ben was like a second father to me. In fact, I'd say he'd probably be a better father than my actual dad. If he was still here, he'd want me investigating Fisk."

Ellison took off his glasses and fidgeted with them in his hands. "I'd rather not see you follow him to an early grave," he said, lowering his voice. "I mean it. Ben was a real pain in my ass, yes, but he was a great journalist. He was likable, non-threatening, and courteous to everyone he met. He could get people to open up to him about things they wouldn't normally say to him, things they sure as shit wouldn't say to me, without realizing they're doing it. If it weren't for him, that scandal with the Teacher's Union and others like it would never have been recovered."

"I know," she murmured, "He told me about that. The Teacher's Union. The toxic runoff. All of that."

"And you, Karen, you're meant for the hard-hitting stories Ben was known for covering," Ellison continued, "But I think every editor at this paper, and at every other paper in the city, would prefer that you be reporting the news, rather than be the news. Ever since Lewis Wilson, I can't shake this feeling every time you go out there that one day will be that day that you don't return to the office alive, and I get a call from the NYPD asking me to come down to the morgue and identify you."

"I get it," Karen nodded slowly, "I have a friend who's just like that. He's involved in a dangerous line of work, much more dangerous than this. There was an incident that happened to him a while ago that made me realize I have to just accept that fear, rather than run from it." She took a deep breath. Don't know if Matt's toils are appropriate for this situation, but okay. "Though with the arrest of Caldwell, I can understand it if you're afraid that Fisk might have a spy or two in the office."

"That too," he said, "Caldwell may not have been the only reporter out in that newsroom that was getting paid off by Fisk. For all we know, he could have someone watching you."

Karen nodded. With Fisk's unlimited resources, it wouldn't be strange if he had a few guys tailing her, though she was also sure Matt would've picked up on that by now if that was the case. "Have you vetted everyone on the staff?" she asked.

"That's gonna take a few days," he said, glancing from Karen to the door and back. Karen stared at him. "Look, if you're going to investigate Fisk, you should be smart about this. Keep as little of your work as possible in your office. Make sure it's kept somewhere safe and secure where only you can access it. You get what I'm saying?"

Karen smiled, relieved that she had finally gotten Ellison into her corner, and this time, he was genuine. "You got it boss," she answered, enthusiastically.

She got up from the chair and began striding towards the door. As she got to the threshold, she stopped, remembering she had wanted to pitch the story about Foggy's campaign.

"Oh! I almost forgot! There was one more thing I wanted to tell you." She snapped her fingers and spun around to face Ellison. "You remember Foggy Nelson?"

"Your former boss from Nelson & Murdock," Ellison said, putting his glasses back on.

"He's decided to run against Blake Tower in the District Attorney's race," she said.

"Matt contacted me last night and said Foggy's doing it to keep the public attuned to the injustice that is Fisk being back on the streets." She deliberately chose not to mention that she had moved into Matt's apartment, or that they were living together, as that little detail would represent a different conflict of interest.

"Really?" Ellison asked, intrigued.

"Yeah," Karen said. "Of course, it's a conflict of interest for me to interview someone I used to have a professional relationship with. So uh, can you pass this along to the election team as soon as you can?"

"I'll put Glori and Simon on it as soon as they get in," Ellison answered.

"Thanks, Ellison." You're a life saver.

To start her investigation, Karen went back to the list of companies she'd compiled the previous night that had used Donovan to apply for business charters in the United States. She decided to start with Vancorp, the shell company Fisk had used to buy the Presidential hotel from Kazemi, suspecting that he was using it as the final destination for his money. Using Vancorp's name, she ran the phone book, calling up all the big banks in Manhattan to see if they remembered anyone opening an account in the name of that company, to no avail. Not a single bank had ever so much as heard of a company like Vancorp.

So Karen dove into the list she'd composited of shell companies that Donovan had filed business charter applications for. Working through the list, she eventually found a bank with a charter that had been filed by Donovan: Red Lion National Bank. They were a new bank that had only opened up a branch in the Financial District three years ago, around the same time Fisk was arrested. A Google search revealed that Red Lion had one other branch, located in the Caymans. Shocker. It didn't take a journalist's degree for Karen to conclude that this was another offshore firm.

On the pretense that she was looking into the Kazemi story, Karen got Jennifer to give her the name of a fraud investigator at the FDIC. She was given the number for one Tanya Mills. According to Mills, Red Lion Bank was under investigation by the FDIC on suspicion that the bank was being used as a safe haven for gangsters and crimelords to store their money. She didn't have much more at the moment, but said she'd have something for Karen by Friday.

While Karen waited for Matt to show up from his prison visit, she decided to go through the financial statements for the trail of shell companies she'd managed to connect to Fisk. What she found was that in the past six months, beginning around the same time Fisk bought the hotel from the Kazemis, at least a dozen of these companies were making thrice-weekly wire transfers to Vancorp, all in denominations of about $2 million each, using Red Lion as an intermediary. She also found that these shell companies had all previously been clients of Silver & Brent, Owlsley's old firm.

By 12:30, she had managed to connect at least twelve companies to Red Lion, Vancorp, and to Fisk. She decided to call up the investigator to relay her new information.

"Tanya Mills, FDIC," Tanya answered the phone.

"Hi," Karen said.

"I told you, I'm still gathering information about the FDIC's inv-"

"Yes," Karen cut her off, "I know you said you couldn't meet until Friday morning, but I found something. I don't think it can wait till then."

"This investigation is classified, we're not supposed to talk publicly about them. Though I'd be happy to talk to you off the record."

"Yes, absolutely. Off the record," Karen replied, writing down Tanya's address, which she'd gotten through directory assistance.

She looked up as she heard a knock at the door and Matt walked into the office. He quickly closed the door shut behind him. He looked winded, and Karen couldn't help but notice he had a bandage over his left eye, suggesting things hadn't gone well in his efforts to get information on the Albanians. But she wasn't able to immediately shift focus to that as Tanya spoke again.

"Honestly, though, I feel I'm probably not the best person you could talk about this with-"

"No, only somebody who works at the FDIC can help me," Karen said, now eager to end the call so she could deal with Matt.

"All right, I can set something up."

"You will? Thank you so much," Karen replied, relieved.

"Tomorrow at the FDIC offices, at noon?"

Karen looked at her watch. "No…Yeah, tomorrow is perfect. Great. Thanks."

She hung up the phone and got up from her chair.

"Hey," she said, stepping around her desk, "I think I figured out how Fisk has been skirting the FBI asset freeze."

"I have to talk to you-" Matt tried to speak, but Karen spoke over him.

"He's been funneling his money through Vancorp, which is the shell corporation that owns the hotel, and he's keeping it in an offshore firm named Red Lion National Bank."

"Karen-"

"That's the smoking gun! If it's not smoking, it's at least kinda warmish…"

"We have a problem, Karen," Matt said, his voice shaking slightly.

Karen paused and took a real look at Matt. With his glasses on, she instantly recognized the look on his face. It was the same one he had sported when he'd come by her office that night to move her to the precinct, when the Hand was targeting her.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice tight with concern. Matt could feel her gaze traveling over him, from the cut on the side of his face down to the scrapes on his knuckles.

"Like I've been drowned in a cab," he admitted. "But it'll heal."

They faced each other in silence for a few moments. Eventually she said, "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Yes, please," he said. He groaned in discomfort as he slowly lowered himself onto the office couch. Karen handed him a bottle of water she kept by her chair and then sat down next to him. He took the bottle with a quiet "Thanks," and downed half of it in one go.

"How's Michael?" Karen asked, "He okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, he's fine," Matt said, rubbing the spot on his cheek where Michael had punched him. "It's better than it looks," he added, sensing the concern in Karen's heartbeat.

"Other than that, how was the rest of your visit?"

"Not good," he said, shaking his head. "I—We need to be careful. I think you and Foggy are at even more risk than you were five hours ago. Fisk knows I'm not entirely who I claim to be."

"What are you saying? Does…" Then it hit her what Matt was talking about, without him having to say it: Fisk had figured out that he was Daredevil. Matt had hinted the previous day that he was afraid of what might happen if Fisk were to get his hands on that information. He could easily make a mess of Matt's personal life, and if he were being particularly sadistic, he could also ruin Foggy and Karen by means of their associations with Matt. What made it even worse was that he now had the FBI around his thumb, and maybe even had agents working for him. He could have them start combing through their lives with a fine toothed comb, looking for anything to use to bring them down. Thinking about it made all the blood drain from her face. "Fuck. Are you saying that…Fisk knows who you are?! That you're Daredevil?!"

Matt lowered his head sadly. "I think so. Yes."

"Jesus Christ…" Karen buried her face in her hands. "Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit! Fuck!" She started thinking through their options. There was no guidebook on what to do when your vigilante boyfriend told you that the violent and very connected crimelord you're pursuing found out his secret identity. She settled on a pragmatic choice: get a full statement from Matt so she could get an idea of how much Fisk knew. That might be a deciding factor in how he might move against them. "Okay. This is not good. So…"

"I know," Matt said, his voice a low whisper.

Karen quickly grabbed a notepad and pen from her desk and started writing. "Well tell me what happened."

He laughed softly. "What, we're doing this like an interview?"

Karen scowled at him. "No! This is completely off the record. I just want to know how much Fisk knows about your other life. How much he knows might affect how we proceed from here."

"Karen-"

"Start at the beginning," she said, exasperated, "Who did you speak to in the prison besides Michael?"

Matt laughed uneasily. "Well I talked to Michael. Tried to get him to grant me an entrance with Vic Jusufi. Vic had a guy watching him, to make sure that he didn't squeal." He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I tried to push him to talk…but he punched me, I guess to maintain his protection status. I tried to leave, but the guard insisted I had to get checked out by the nurse for liability purposes, so I followed him to an exam room deep in the bowels of the prison."

Karen paused. "That doesn't sound like proper prison protocol." She didn't know much about prisons, but even a lawyer like Matt should not have been back there at all.

"Well, the nurse came in," Matt answered, "He checked me out to see if I was concussed. There was a camera in the room. And it suddenly activated. A second later, the nurse took out this syringe and he tried to inject me…I think Fisk wanted me drugged so that his inmates would have an easy time shanking me."

He felt Karen's breath hitch. Matt had come so close to getting drugged and stabbed to death in a prison corridor. She couldn't bear to think about how close Matt had come to dying again, so she focused back on the immediate task: finding out what Matt had learned from the Albanians.

"I subdued him before he could stick the needle in me," he said, trying to reassure Karen. "I tried to get out, but the door was locked, and the mesh on the lone window in the room was secured very tightly, so I couldn't get out that way."

"He trapped you in there?"

Matt nodded. "He must have had this planned for months. Anyways, seconds later, the telephone in the room rang. I picked it up, and Fisk was on the other end."

"Fisk called you?" she asked, a tone of disbelief.

"Yes," he said.

"How did he do that? He's under 24 hour video surveillance-"

"I don't know how!" he exclaimed, "Somehow, he has a way of remotely accessing security cameras." He took another deep breath.

"What did Fisk say to you?"

"He told me that he was impressed by my quick reflexes," he said. In a more somber voice, he added, "He also told me that for threatening Vanessa, he was going to kill me. Then he hung up. Then his guards unlocked the door to the room. So I left, and I was ambushed outside by a group of seven inmates who were working for him."

"Holy shit…" Karen whispered, horrified. As if on autopilot, she took a hand and touched the bandage on Matt's forehead. He flinched at the cool touch of her skin against the wound. "Did they do this to you?"

"Yeah, they slammed my head against a wall," Matt said, chuckling. "Took some effort, but I managed to take them all out."

"Was that it?"

"I hurried into the next wing over," he resumed, "And I was accosted by a pair of guards. They were working for him. I took them out. Then I met Vic. He told me what I needed to know about Fisk's shanking, and then he had one of his men steal a guard's uniform to escort me out of the prison." He paused. He was hesitant to tell Karen about what happened next, knowing she'd pause at how close he'd come once again to being killed.

"Jeez," Karen whispered. "That's gonna be on the news tonight."

"Fisk owns the prison, Karen," Matt said, shaking his head, "I bet the warden and the guards are gonna cover it up. They don't want the headlines."

"All right," she conceded, "Well you got out alive, and that's what counts-"

"It doesn't end there," he interrupted, "I got in the cab, intent on coming straight here to warn you. But Fisk had replaced my cab driver and I didn't notice until—"

"How could you not notice that Fisk replaced your driver? With your heightened senses and all?"

"I passed out," he replied, sheepishly, "So I didn't know until I woke up almost 45 minutes later, and he just drove the cab into the Hudson. I got myself out and hurried home to change, and bandage myself. Then I came straight here."

Karen smiled. "That's great." She put her arms around Matt and pulled him in for another hug. It was good that at least he was alive, and that was all that mattered. Even so, it didn't erase the fact that Fisk now had dirt he could use to ruin all three of them. As soon as she pulled out of the hug, she asked him, "What are we going to do?"

Matt laced his fingers through Karen's hand.

"Well, my visit wasn't entirely a loss," he admitted, "I found out with certainty that Fisk paid for his own shanking."

Karen didn't seem perturbed by the news. Then again, with Fisk, she had to assume every possibility. Just when she thought she'd seen the most depraved thing he could do, he'd proven her wrong and done something more. Paying a bunch of inmates to stage a riot to cover up the murder of a blind man who threatened his fiancee was right up there with his car-door decapitation of Anatoly. "Really?" she asked. "Who is it?"

"The Albanians' prison boss, Vic Jusufi, he told me," Matt said, exhaling as he remembered what he'd been told, "Fisk paid a lifer named Jasper Evans to shank him, just enough to look convincing for the Feds to think he was being targeted for snitching."

That's great! Karen thought, realizing they now had the name of an associate who could be squeezed. "That's fantastic!" she said. "So, uh, did you happen to speak to Evans or not?"

Matt shook his head. "Well see, that's where it gets rather interesting. According to Vic, Fisk cooked the books and had Evans quietly released from prison. So the books make it seem like Evans is still in solitary, when the reality is, he's out there somewhere, Karen."

"Well at least that's progress," Karen said, "We now know a potential witness who could bring in Fisk."

"Assuming we can find him," Matt said.

Karen bit her lip. "Yeah. Yeah that could work. We find Evans. Get him to go on record saying that Fisk paid him to shank him and arranged his release. We'll have ironclad proof that Fisk manipulated the FBI and they'll have no choice but to send him back to prison."

"Well…" Matt trailed off like he expected Karen to finish the sentence.

"Well, what?"

"Who are we supposed to take this to? Fisk knows I was at the prison. He's got the FBI around his thumb. We go waltzing into their offices, Evans won't last more than a few days."

An idea popped into Karen's head. The FBI couldn't be trusted. But the opposite could be said of the NYPD. In the NYPD, they actually had several allies they knew they could trust. Brett had stopped Fisk from escaping once, and he'd been of great help to them during the Punisher case. And he'd told them at the hotel that there was a task force at the 15th that was dedicated just to investigating Fisk-related crimes. "Maybe we should go to the cops."

Matt narrowed his eyes. "What, we take it to Brett?"

"He was talking at the hotel yesterday about there being a task force to investigate Fisk," she said, hesitantly. "I'm sure his colleagues would love to have such a lead fall into their lap."

Matt thought of Blake, Hoffman, the other cops in Fisk's pocket. "Given what just happened to me, Fisk probably thinks that I'm dead. If we show up at the precinct, and he's got cops there still working for him, they'll find a way to tell him about this. I told you, he has ways of circumventing the FBI's communication block."

"Yes, but Evans is not supposed to be out of prison," Karen insisted, "He can prove that Fisk is manipulating the FBI."

"True," Matt conceded. In the grand scheme of things, anything that could build a strong case against Fisk would help, big or small. "Except he's just a periphery in Fisk's syndicate. He's just a soldier. He's not a capo or even an underboss."

"He might also give us the names of other inmates Fisk has paid," she suggested.

Matt sighed and rolled his shoulders. "I don't deny you are making valid arguments, Karen. But right now, we might consider following up with the Kazemi story. Brett said that Fisk's lawyers bailed out his attackers, and we know with certainty that Fisk was behind purchasing the hotel from Kazemi."

"They probably know less about Fisk than Evans does."

"They might tell us who Fisk's new underboss is," he elaborated, "They lead us to him, we find this new Wesley replacement, and we get him to give up Fisk."

There was a moment of silence as Karen considered their options. "What's to say we can't do both? Find Evans, and Kazemi's attackers, and Wesley 2.0?" she said. "Every lead we find on Fisk could help."

"It's a thought," Matt said, stroking his chin.

"We have the information," Karen said. "Might not be enough for me to print something, but it might be enough to cost Fisk a couple of valuable allies."

"Yeah," Matt agreed, "And if that doesn't turn out..." he remembered that Ben had noted in his files having an informant that had given him some important information about the Rigoletto crime family, one Silvio Manfredi. "...we might consider reaching out to people who knew Fisk back in his childhood. I'm sure there's a few retired mafiosos who remember the exact details of how he came to power."


Penthouse Suite, Presidential Hotel:

Dex and Lim stood attentively in the hallway outside Fisk's penthouse in the Presidential Hotel as a lone female bellhop emerged from the elevator, pushing a cart on which sat a tray covered with a steel pan. There was an audible beep as the tray and cart were wheeled through the metal detector, setting off the alarm. Dex and Lim stopped the cart and proceeded to inspect the contents. Lunch for their prisoner today would be a very naked cheeseburger with French fries and not much else. Just to show that room service was treating Fisk like a guest, the tray also had a small Heinz ketchup bottle and salt and pepper shakers, plus a tall glass of water.

For the two agents, it had been a very quiet night, in sharp contrast to the chaos that had unfolded on Monday night/Tuesday morning when they were settling Fisk into his new digs. Dex had to admit it that the shrink's advice was very helpful. Spying on Julie for a couple hours served as a nice distraction from his work, and his other object of desire. Despite his efforts to act like he found Fisk disgusting, he couldn't help but harbor a high degree of fascination with the big man. He seemed to be able to anticipate every one of Dex's moves, something illustrated perfectly when he and Lim had entered the penthouse just before six o'clock that morning for a surprise room check. Dex was even more perplexed and intrigued by the way Fisk watched him attentively as he exited afterwards. He couldn't help but wonder whether Fisk was playing some kind of mind game with him, anticipating his room inspection or showing admiration for his shooting skills.

Hence, while waiting in the hall for Fisk's lunch to arrive, he'd decided that the best way to show Fisk his appreciation for this was to play a prank on him. Lim happily agreed to his proposal, knowing that as his babysitters, they could do almost anything they wanted to Fisk and he wouldn't be able to do a thing about it. Dex picked up the burger, inspected the bun and patty to make sure none of it appeared to be tainted, then took a bite out of the burger. He then proceeded to dump the burger and fries off the plate and onto the tray, and covered them with the steel pan that had covered the plate during the elevator ride. Meanwhile, Lim removed everything else from the table except for the tray, and placed these items on the bottom level of the cart.

The whole time, Dex noticed out of the corner of his eye that O'Malley and Wagner, the two senior agents who were guarding Fisk's door, were just standing there, doing nothing. They must have figured out what he and Lim were doing and wisely decided not to ruin the younger agents' fun. In fact, O'Malley was visibly smirking at them, while Wagner just kept a very stone face throughout. Wagner, come on, crack a smile already! It's funny!

Their job now finished, Dex and Lim slipped back into the command center, took seats at one of the surveillence stations, and rotated the security cameras in the penthouse to focus on the doors. As they watched, O'Malley widely opened the doors and poor Wagner wheeled the service tray into the penthouse and across the barren living room to Fisk, who was sitting at the lone table attentively. Dex grinned at Lim, and zoomed the camera in as Wagner set the tray down in front of Fisk and removed the pan. How does a hardened mafioso react when you mess with his burger? Dex mused. Truth be told, he expected that Fisk probably would go bananas at someone contaminating his lunch. He'd had enough experience eating out at restaurants to see how hostile some people got towards wait staff when their food didn't come out perfect. Given the rumors he'd heard about Fisk's volcanic temper, Dex was hoping he might react the same way. It would make great footage to circulate around the office, maybe even send to YouTube to further humiliate Fisk.

Fisk stared at the tray, and the partially bitten burger, seemingly trying to decide what to do about the food in front of him that someone had clearly already eaten. Dex and Lim waited patiently, wondering what exactly was going on inside his head. A few moments later, they had their answer. Fisk just calmly moved the tray closer to him. Then, using his utensils, he broke the bitten half of the burger apart and dumped the pieces into another part of the tray one at a time with a spork. Okay, so far so good. It was what Fisk did next, though, that shocked them most: he started cutting the rest of the burger up with the spork and began eating it piece by piece.

"If I'm being honest, that's not the way I thought this was gonna go," Dex said. I was THAT certain he was going to angrily throw the tray aside…

"Who eats a burger with a spork?" Lim asked, incredulously.

Their little study of Fisk's eating habits was interrupted by the door opening. Dex looked up as Hattley came into the command center, accompanied by Nadeem and another portly agent that Dex thought looked familiar but couldn't quite pin a name on. He'd seen him around the office, but that was all he knew.

"Special Agent Poindexter," Hattley said.

Dex stood up. "Ma'am," he said, nodding.

"This is Supervisory Special Agent Donald Winn with OPR." Hattley motioned to the new face that had accompanied her and Nadeem.

Dex was confused. What the hell is the Office of Professional Responsibility doing here? And what do they want with me? Something to do with the motorcade attack?

"Poindexter," Winn said, politely, "Why don't you go grab a cup of coffee?"

Dex stared at Winn for a moment, doing his best to remain as stoic as possible. The fact that he was being sent out of the room could only mean that OPR needed to talk to his colleagues about something that involved him. As certain as he was that this "something" was the motorcade, he knew Winn probably wouldn't tell him even if he asked. So he simply nodded and said, "Yes, sir." He then begrudgingly stepped away from the computer station and exited the room.

Rather than go down to the hotel bar for coffee like Winn had suggested, Dex decided to just wait in the hallway, so he could quickly get back to work as soon as Winn was finished up talking with his colleagues. While he waited, his mind drifted to Julie, and what she'd be doing tonight.

About a minute or so later, Nadeem exited the room, interrupting Dex from his thoughts. "Dex!" Nadeem called out.

Dex reluctantly turned around to face his colleague. He and Nadeem had been good friends and close colleagues for all of the past six years. Ray's family were really the closest thing he'd ever had to a proper family, and he'd grown to enjoy spending time with Seema and Saami. Dex and Nadeem were also close enough that they were able to confide in one another when they felt like they were under heavy burdens. Perhaps right now, Nadeem could give him some insight into why he was under investigation.

"Don't sweat this," Nadeem said.

Now Dex was annoyed. Clearly, the agent from OPR wasn't here to do a simple question-and-answer interview with his colleagues about the motorcade ambush. And why was Nadeem trying to sound cryptic? "Sweat what, exactly?" he asked. Get to the point, Ray.

Nadeem turned his head away for a moment, shifted his feet, and put his hands on his hips. "OPR wants a private interview with Fisk," he answered.

Dex felt a bout of anger bubbling beneath the surface. It took a lot of effort to maintain his outwardly calm exterior. "And I'm the only one asked to leave the room," he continued, finishing Nadeem's sentence. What does OPR think they'll accomplish by getting a statement from Fisk about me?

Nadeem glanced at his feet, and bit his lip, looking like whatever he was about to say brought him great pain to say. "It would be inappropriate of me to tell you that the Office of Professional Responsibility has launched an internal investigation into the motorcade attack," Nadeem said. He briefly glanced over his shoulder to make sure that no one was around who could hear them, then turned back to Dex and lowered his voice to a whisper. "It would also be inappropriate of me to tell you that there was a slight discrepancy between your official report and the forensic analysis of the shooting."

Well gee, that totally is no shocker, Dex thought. He was familiar enough with FBI policy that this was just standard procedure for use of force situations, here and in every other law enforcement agency. Any time an incident happened in which lethal force was used, an internal investigation would be opened to determine whether or not the use of their gun was justified. This happened even in cut-and-dry situations, like the Albanians' attack on the motorcade.

Although Dex accepted that internal investigations were part of the game, it still was something that frustrated him to no end. Ever since the Michael Brown killing in Ferguson three and a half years ago, it seemed like every time a cop killed someone, even in situations where it was 100% obvious that deadly force was the only option, the press would swarm out like vultures and pounce on the unlucky cop and vilify them. Even when the facts came out and showed that the deceased was a criminal with a lengthy record, the cop would still be painted as the bad guy and the criminal painted as a victim. Even worse, due to political pressure, police departments these days were all to quick to jump the gun and throw good cops under the bus in order to save face with the media and the courts of public opinion.

What annoyed Dex even more was the hypocrisy of it all. These same media outlets that condemned every cop who so much as used lethal force or who was caught on a heavily edited, vertically-shot cellphone video using force to subdue an individual resisting arrest? They were the same ones who were also the quickest to praise the actions of the new vigilantes who had popped up across the city in the past few years, including Daredevil, Luke Cage, and Frank Castle. It made Dex feel envious of them, to the point he'd actually vented about it to the shrink last night. "I understand you're just trying to do your job, but respectfully sir, if I was wearing a mask, the press would be calling me a hero. Instead I'm sitting here trying to justify defending myself!"

Because truth be told, Dex knew that, morally, his actions during the attack had been what was expected of him. Enemy combatants had attacked his transport, and killed or maimed his colleagues, many of whom he had known and worked with for years. All because they were just doing their job, protecting a prisoner. Though that wasn't to say his methodology at taking them out wasn't 100% kosher. He remembered that there was one pair of gunmen who had dropped their weapons and raised their hands, shouting that they were surrendering. Rather than listen to them, he'd disassembled a gun taken off one of their comrades and used the individual parts as throwing daggers, which he lobbed into their throats. Dex had figured that no one really would care, as they'd killed FBI agents and he could argue that they were trying to get him to let his guard down. Nevertheless, when he wrote about these deaths in his report, he claimed that he shot these gunmen just like the others, figuring that no one would bother to look too closely. Given the circumstances, he'd figured OPR would do the same and let this one slide. Boy, how naïve that line of thinking had been.

"Yeah, it would be inappropriate for you to tell me all this," he snarked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Fortunately, it seemed like he still had some allies in the FBI who were on his side, irrespective of everything else. Nadeem, at the very least, was in his corner. The look that Nadeem had on his face was one of sympathy. Of a friend helping out a friend.

"Because of you, my wife still has her husband and my son still has his father," Nadeem said. As Nadeem turned around and went back into the command center, Dex could hear the unspoken message in Nadeem's sentence. Nadeem was lucky to be among those who survived the attack with minimal damage, though that had understandably been enough to rattle his family. Dex remembered overhearing snippets of the conversation that Nadeem had had with his wife when she stopped by around 10:00 am to deliver lunch to him, and the way she'd expressed how their son was experiencing nightmares. It had to be worse for the families of the five agents who hadn't been as lucky. Think about that, Dex, he heard Dr. Mercer's voice say to him in his head. People like him can help you.


125 Broad Street:

125 Broad Street was a 40 story building situated at Broad and South Streets in the Financial District. Designed in the 1970s by the architectural firm of Kahn & Jacobs, this skyscraper sat almost on the southern tip of Manhattan's island. It had a wide assortment of tenants, including the New York Civil Liberties Union, the ACLU, and the Patrolman's Benevolent Association of the City of New York. It was the largest police union in the United States, and represented over two thirds of the 36,000 police officers in the NYPD, Brett among them. 36,000 cops who probably all would want Fisk back in prison as much as Matt and Karen did.

That Wednesday afternoon, Matt and Karen took the 4 train down to Bowling Green, and walked the few blocks to 125 Broad Street in hopes of catching Brett Mahoney so they could get information on the perps responsible for the Kazemi attack. Matt had reluctantly agreed to Karen's idea, after she suggested that they also ask Brett to dig up information on Jasper Evans. It might not tell them where Fisk was hiding Evans, but they might be able to find someone who knew Evans from before he went to prison and thus have an idea of his old haunts. Matt knew he'd have to be careful tiptoeing around Brett, since Brett would have a hard time believing Matt just picked up this information from an Albanian at the prison, not without admitting the truth about him being Daredevil.

When they arrived at the building's lobby, they were surprised to find Foggy waiting by the elevators, staring absentmindedly at the floor indicator as he waited for an elevator to descend.

"Foggy!" Matt shouted, recognizing Foggy's heartbeat. He felt his face and Karen's light up together, and Karen tugged him over by the arm to meet him.

Foggy turned at the sound of his best friend's voice and the scowl on his face was promptly replaced with a faint smile. He was happy to see his former work colleagues. Moreso, he was happy to learn that Matt and Karen had finally made love. They must have done so again last night, as they were both glowing far too brightly. For people who should be terrified by Fisk.

"Um. Hi, Karen. Hi, Matt. What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" Karen asked.

"My question first," Foggy said.

"Well we came looking for Brett, and Manolis at the precinct said he was down here," Matt answered, putting his hands on his hips, "Was hoping he might give us some information on a case that's connected to Fisk. What about you?"

Foggy looked from Matt to the floor indicator. The elevator seemed to be taking forever. "My first port of call as a District Attorney write-in candidate," he answered, wistfully, "Marci thinks I might stand a good chance if I make friends with New York's Finest. And what better way to do that than get chummy with the union representing 2/3rds of the NYPD."

"That's 24,000 people you're trying to sway, Foggy," Karen said.

"Don't you have clients to be defending?" Matt asked.

"Nope." Foggy shook his head. "I've put in a leave of absence at the firm. I can't exactly multitask a campaign and take on new clients here."

"What about Marci?"

"Hogarth's granted her a reduced caseload. She'll still have a few clients, just not as many she'd normally be handling."

From behind his glasses, Matt gave Foggy a skeptical expression. "You do realize that if you win, Marci will have to resign from her job, right?" He didn't know much about politics, but he could see a potential for a huge conflict of interest if Foggy was D.A. and still dating Marci. Foggy would have to recuse himself from any case where a defendant hired Hogarth's firm, lest he risk getting accused of playing favorites with them. "There's no way the public is going to let you be dating a lawyer on the opposite side without some members of our fraternity thinking you have a bias problem."

"I'll cross that bridge when I have to," Foggy said.

"Have you already spoken to Glori?" Karen asked.

"Glorianna O'Breen from the Bulletin?" Foggy nodded, "Yep. Marci and I just had an interview with her this morning at our apartment."

"Did you say anything to her about me?" Matt asked. He wanted to be sure Foggy was being careful with his words to avoid saying anything that might connect Matt to Daredevil.

"Of course I didn't," Foggy said, rolling his eyes, "I just told her why I was entering the race. And a few tidbits about what it was like growing up in Hell's Kitchen back in the 70s. Plus, Marci also said I was going to be paying visits to several prominent officials in City Hall to see if I could persuade them to break away from Tower."

The elevator arrived and they stepped in. As they rode the elevator up to the 12th floor, where the PBA was based, Foggy turned to Matt.

"How did things go with that socialite whose dad Fisk put in the hospital?" he asked, breaking the silence. "That Kazemi guy?"

Karen answered. "He bought the Presidential Hotel six months ago through a shell company called Vancorp," she said, "I did a little digging and it turns out that it's one of a number of shell companies that Fisk's lawyers have filed charters for that allow them to do business in the United States. It's his main sham business and he's using it to funnel money into one Red Lion National Bank."

"Vancorp," Foggy repeated, "He's named a shell company after his girlfriend?"

Matt chuckled. "I think Fisk's banking on people being too ignorant to figure out the pun."

"How long did that take you to find all this?" Foggy asked Karen.

"Couple hours of due diligence," Karen said. She laughed, halfheartedly. "It's boring, but, you can't exactly take Fisk on by solely using fists and punches."

Matt grimaced.

"Is there something wrong, Matt?" Foggy asked, concerned.

Matt exhaled. "Foggy," he said, "You and Marci need to watch your backs, in case Fisk does anything to you in the next few days."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Foggy stared at Matt, confused. "What could Fisk possibly be doing?"

Matt hesitated, unsure how much of the details he should disclose regarding his visit to the prison, which he doubted Foggy would be happy about. "Look, the last time we spoke before I 'died', when you brought my armor to the precinct, you told me that it was important that I keep my two lives separate, that we're both facing disbarment-well, both of us and Marci-if anyone puts two and two together. Remember that?"

"What are you getting at?"

Matt's voice lowered to a whisper. "Foggy, Fisk knows that I'm Daredevil."

Foggy's jaw dropped. Karen could see the blood drain from his face and he looked like he'd seen a ghost. "What?!" he exclaimed.

"Yeah, big 'whoa,'" Matt said.

"Well what the fuck happened?" There was a time and place for Foggy to ream Matt out for being careless, but that would have to wait until later.

"I went to visit the prison this morning," Matt explained. "I went to see Michael. You remember Michael, right?"

Foggy nodded. Michael Kemp?

"Since Fisk owns the hotel, I figured that maybe the shanking Fisk received the other day was something he'd arranged to manipulate the FBI, and perhaps the Albanians there, as ones who hate Fisk, would know who this guy." He took a deep breath, "Somehow Fisk knew I was coming, and had this big trap laid out for me. He can access the prison cameras even from the confines of his suite in the Presidential. He saw me fight a bunch of inmates he'd hired to kill me on the off-chance I stopped by." He paused for a moment before continuing. "And then when I got out of the prison, he had one of his men try to drive me into the Hudson in a taxi cab."

Foggy ran his fingers through his hair, trying to process this information and refrain from throttling Matt for being so careless.

"At the very least," Matt spoke up, sensing Foggy's fear and exasperation, "I found out some good information."

"Which is?"

"Fisk has been planning this for months," Matt answered, "The hotel being bought, even his shanking, it's all part of the plan."

"My head is spinning…" Foggy put a hand to his forehead.

"The Albanian boss at the prison, he confirmed my suspicions. Fisk paid a lifer named Jasper Evans to shank him," Matt explained, "And even better, Fisk arranged for him to be released from prison."

"Jesus…" Foggy said. "Tell me you're gonna find him before Fisk has him killed."

"That's what we're doing here," Karen said, "Evans is a lifer, he probably has a file with the NYPD. I'm thinking Brett might be able to dig up some information on where he lives, maybe whatever got him on Fisk's radar. We put him on record with the Bulletin, Fisk gets exposed and either he goes back to prison, or at the very least he gets humiliated."

Matt cleared his throat. Karen glanced at him, then remembered, they were also here to gather information on Rostam Kazemi's attackers. "Plus, Brett might be able to give us the names of the guys who beat up Kazemi. If we go after them, we might get one of Fisk's capos."

Entering the union hall on the 12th floor, it felt to Karen like she, Matt and Foggy were walking into a reunion of Jos. A. Bank men's department clients. The room was filled with NYPD cops from all over the department, including patrol officers, supervisors, detectives, and a few of the Chiefs. As they made their way through the crowd, Matt felt overwhelmed, picking up snippets of various conversations going on. He was letting Karen hold his elbow and allowed her to guide him through the room, to avoid betraying his heightened senses.

They found Brett standing by the coffee machine on one side of the room, pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee.

"Detective!" Foggy called out.

Brett looked up, and scowled at the sight of his childhood friend.

"What the hell are you three doing here?" he said. "This is a union-only function."

Foggy smirked, which seemed to just annoy Brett even further. He knew deep down Brett was glad to see him, Karen, and Matt, even if he didn't want to admit it. Brett had once said to him that they were technically supposed to be enemies, but that didn't stop lawyers and NYPD cops from secretly cooperating under the table. Especially cops like Brett, who had gained a lot of credit for recapturing Fisk and later received a promotion for the arrest of Frank Castle. "You know what I love about our dynamic?" Foggy said, "We skip the pleasantries. No hellos. No how-you-beens. Straight to business."

"I'm about to get to the business of dragging your asses up outta here," Brett quipped.

"Well we wouldn't have intruded if it wasn't important," Foggy said, defensively.

Brett sighed, wearily, and put his hands on his hips. "Let me guess. You also need a favor."

Foggy beamed at him. "See? Do you have this kind of shorthand with anyone else?"

"What do you want?"

It was Matt's turn to speak. "Uh, we're here to talk to you-"

"I'm asking Foggy," Brett interrupted. Matt stopped talking.

"Wilson Fisk," Foggy said, in a low whisper. "His cushy new situation is a federally-funded slap in the face to every officer in this room."

Brett shifted, flinching a bit at the mention of Fisk's name. "I told your friends the same thing yesterday," he said, "Everyone in this department hates the situation. Not sure what that has to do with you crashing this party, though."

"I just want to say a few words, express my solidarity," Foggy said, "And it would play better if you gave me the floor. Just to say a few things."

Brett exhaled. He wasn't sure what Foggy could do to boost the cops' morale. "It's been a long week, Foggy, okay?" he stated, "And you talking is only gonna drag it out. Now, it's time to go. In handcuffs or on your own."

Foggy waved his hands in front of his face. "Say no more. 'Hey, Brett, how's it going?'" And with that, he stepped away from Brett, disappearing into the crowd of officers. "Excuse me, esteemed constables…"

Brett turned to Matt and Karen. "What the hell could he want?" he asked. "What's gotten into him, Murdock?"

It occurred to Karen that Brett and the other cops in the room almost certainly didn't know yet about Foggy throwing his hat in the District Attorney's race. He'd only declared it less than 24 hours ago. "I think he's trying to get Frank Reagan and every other cop in this department to pledge their support to his District Attorney campaign," she said.

"He's running for District Attorney?" Brett asked, baffled. "Since when did Foggy Nelson enter politics?"

"Last night?" Matt said, his voice turning upwards, making it sound more like a question than a statement.. "He wants to pressure Tower into prosecuting Fisk at the state level."

"He's gonna have a big uphill battle entering this late in the going," Brett muttered.

"The primary's still a month away," Matt pointed out.

"True," Brett nodded, "But does he know how many asses he'll have to kiss by then if he wants to stand a chance against Tower? Tower's been with the D.A.'s office for 14 years, I just don't see how anyone would pick Foggy over him."

Karen shook her head. "Considering the hot topic Fisk is, I'm gonna disagree with you."

In the meanwhile, Foggy made his way up to the dais, a raised platform with a podium and a microphone. There was a navy blue backdrop behind the dais, sporting the logo of the police union in gold, as well as the NYPD logo and the City of New York seal.

Foggy tapped the microphone to see if it was working. "Guys, could I have-"

"Hey, Counselor," one officer in the crowd, Spinelli, shouted, "I personally wanna thank you for springing my arson perp out of jail on a technicality!"

The room erupted into a series of jeers and boos. Matt and Karen were stunned. Karen wasn't pleased to see Foggy being treated like a nuisance. Neither was Matt, who was resisting the urge to go beat the shit out of the heckling cop. Which he didn't want to do, not in the presence of a bunch of boys in blue with guns.

"Come on," Foggy tried to speak over the noise, "There were mitigating circumstances, and you know it, Officer. His building was not up to code."

"Let me show you where to stick your mitigating circumstances," the cop fired back. "Up your ass!"

The room erupted in uproarious laughter that drowned out everything else. Brett realized the immediate problem: the other officers in this room, most of them weren't from the 15th Precinct, and didn't have the same amount of courtesy towards lawyers as he did. For them, lawyers were the assholes who got in the way of them doing their jobs. The 15th Precinct was the rare exception to that rule. It was the one precinct in Manhattan where the cops and lawyers got along just fine, especially the ones like Brett who felt that Nelson & Murdock did them a public service clearing out the corrupt cops in Fisk's pocket. Unfortunately, he needed to sway opinion in favor of Foggy, and to do that, Foggy needed to be given room to speak. So he jumped up on stage and politely nudged Foggy aside so he could take the mike.

"Hey, hey, hey, people," Brett spoke into the microphone, "Look, um Nelson's all right. He helped this department put Fisk behind bars. Just give him a minute."

"Thank you, Brett," Foggy said.

Brett nodded. "One minute," he said.

Foggy turned back to the microphone. "Officers, I don't mean to disappoint. But I'm not here to talk only about Wilson Fisk. With his name on everyone's lips, he's getting far more publicity than any cop killer deserves. His name deserves to be buried, buried in the same hard earth where he put your fallen brothers. I'm here to talk about Blake Tower, our honorable district attorney." Foggy became more animated, stoking his anger over the meeting he had with Tower yesterday. "Here's a man charged with ensuring the safety of this city, just as you are! And yet, he stands idly by while this monster bribes an inmate to shank him, then manipulates the feds into whisking him out of prison and into the warm lap of luxury. Someone smarter than me-"

"That's a pretty freakin' low bar, isn't it?" one officer in the crowd spoke up.

Foggy pressed on, refusing to let any more interruptions derail his speech. There was a very good quote from Edmund Burke that he realized was very appropriate for this situation. Matt had taught him the quote, alongside his various quotings of Thurgood Marshall. "That man said, 'The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.' Blake Tower is a good man doing nothing. Which is why, with the proud support of my former colleagues from Nelson & Murdock, I'm running my own write-in campaign for district attorney, to oust Blake Tower and to put Wilson Fisk into the deepest prison hole allowable under the Eighth Amendment. And I would love nothing more than to do that with the endorsement of each of you and your illustrious union."

A hush fell over the crowd of cops, who were all listening with intent. Matt and Karen could hear a few of them murmuring to one another as they let Foggy's words sink in, and weighed the pluses and minuses of supporting a write-in candidate. From what Matt could pick up, it seemed like most of the cops were worried about alienating Tower's office if he ended up being reelected.

Finally one of them broke the silence, asking, "All right, where do I sign up?"

Within a matter of minutes, there was a long line of about 30 to 40 cops queued up to shake hands with Foggy on the dais, get their picture taken, and sign a sheet of paper pledging their support. While that was going on, Matt and Karen pulled Brett aside.

"Is there anything new on the Kazemi case?" Karen asked. "Any luck on finding the assholes responsible?"

Brett nodded slowly. "Well do you want to hear the good news or the bad news?"

"The good news," Matt replied instantly.

"We've found four of them," Brett replied, "Steve Houston, Marcus Platt, Samuel Pollak, and Kevin Johnson."

"That's...that's great," Karen said. Maybe we can get them to tell us who Fisk used to hire them. "So, uh, where are they?"

Brett grimaced. "The bad news is that they're dead."

Karen felt her heart skip a beat. She looked at Matt and could tell he was thinking the same thing she was thinking. Dead? Boy, Fisk must have wanted them discarded very quickly. "Dead?" she repeated. "How?"

"White Plains Police found them in a burned out Escalade near their Metro-North parking lot last night," Brett elaborated, "They'd been shot in the head execution style. Guess whoever hired them doesn't want them talking."

Fisk must not be happy that they got caught... Matt thought. Even without any solid evidence, the murders of four of the Kazemi attackers was proof enough that Fisk wanted to cover his tracks as quickly as possible before any of them could give up his middleman. But there were still three others who hadn't yet been killed, probably because Fisk still had some use for them.

"Weren't there seven of them, though?" Matt asked, trying to sound like his knowledge of the case was limited to what the news had reported.

Brett nodded. "There are three others we're still trying to find. Casey Williamson, Arthur Brown, and Dennis Munoz." He pulled out his phone and texted mugshot photos of the three to Karen's phone. "If they're smart, they've probably gone into hiding by now."

"Hopefully..." Matt muttered.

"I wish I could be more helpful there, but that's all I have for the moment," Brett shrugged, "Unless there's anything else you want to know?"

Matt clicked his tongue. "As a matter of fact, we have some vital information for the Fisk task force that you're on at the precinct."

Matt and Karen spent the next few minutes getting Brett up to speed on what they'd learned about Vancorp, Red Lion Bank, Fisk's shanking, his deal with the FBI, and Jasper Evans.

"You're sure that this is true? That there's a guy out of prison who's not supposed to be out?" Brett asked, skeptical of their claims about Evans. Matt declined to mention the exact details of the prison riot that Fisk had orchestrated, since he suspected that there was no way Brett would believe a blind man could fight off a half-dozen plus hardened inmates and several prison guards, or that an Albanian mob boss would just pass that word off to Matt.

"The source we got this from is very reliable," Karen told him. "How soon can you find his last known address for us?"

"I'll run his name when I get back to the precinct in a few hours," Brett said. "But I gotta be honest: you two better be prepared for the possibility you might have to find other witnesses than just a hired goon like Evans to bring Fisk down."

"Yes, Brett," Matt sighed. "We don't forget what it took to take him down the first time."

"We were just lucky that Hoffman grew a conscience," Brett said.

Karen pursed her lips. "Speaking of which, is there anything you can say about the task force you're on?"

"Not much," Brett replied, sounding mournful more than anything. "Like I told you yesterday, rumor is he might have a few cops still in his pocket who managed to avoid getting caught. Sleeper cops, if you want to be technical."

"Really?" Karen said, writing in her notepad. "Do you have any names?"

Brett shook his head. "Costa's got a couple hunches that seem promising. I've spent this morning looking at some of Blake and Hoffman's former colleagues, but that turned out to be a bust. What exactly do you plan to do with this information? This doesn't strike me as something you can print without more evidence."

"Might be good for the NYPD to show some transparency," she replied. She smirked as she realized, "And a certain masked vigilante I know of might be able to turn your water into wine." She got an idea. "Tell you what, if Matt or I find anything of worth to you and your men, we'll trade. Our information for your suspected dirty cops."

"Done," Brett said, after taking a moment to consider the proposition. "Just be safe out there."