Chapter 3 – Reasonable Doubt

Matt

"Matthew Murdock is Daredevil." Matt took a staggering step back when he heard Vanessa say those words. He thought he was prepared for this, but he wasn't. The blood drained from his face. For an instant, the world was dark and silent as his senses blanked out. His heart hammered. He couldn't seem to catch his breath. Then Foggy's hand was on his shoulder, solid and warm.

"Hang in there, buddy." Foggy's voice seemed to come from far away, as if his friend and law partner was at the bottom of a well. The world came back as his senses kicked in. Foggy's hand was still on his shoulder, nudging him gently toward the reception room couch. He took a seat. Leather creaked as Foggy sat down beside him. An acrid odor filled the air between them: stress sweat, his and Foggy's. Wheels squeaked: Karen, pulling up a chair. Her heart fluttered, her breaths fast and shallow. She sank onto the chair.

They sat in silence for several minutes as Matt focused on taking deep, slow breaths and slowing his racing heart. Then the phones started ringing, their cell phones and the landlines on their desks, all of them at the same time.

"Don't answer them," Foggy ordered. "Karen, lock the door."

She nodded and hurried to comply. The lock on the front door clicked into place.

They lapsed back into silence. Foggy finally broke it. "We're fucked, aren't we?"

Matt cleared his throat and swallowed. "Probably," he said. "Me, anyway. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, not if I can help it."

"That may not be up to you," Karen said, her voice shaking.

"Oh, well, if I get disbarred, my mom will finally get her wish. She always wanted me to be a butcher, you know," Foggy quipped. No one laughed. Then he turned to speak to Matt. "I'm thinking now would be a good time to tell us about that plan you said you had."

His plan. Yes, he had a plan. "Reasonable doubt."

"That's it? 'Reasonable doubt'?" Foggy asked.

"Yeah. We just need to raise a reasonable doubt that I'm Daredevil. So we put on a 'reasonable doubt case.' We've done it in court plenty of times. Now we're gonna do it in the court of public opinion."

"OK," Karen said slowly.

"Look," Matt said. "Most people have no idea what a blind person can do. If they think about it at all, they think we're basically helpless, because they can't imagine how they could do . . . well, anything, if they couldn't see."

"So you're playing the blind card," Karen commented. "Are you OK with that?"

"Sure. Whatever it takes. And it's our best bet."

"If you say so," Karen said doubtfully.

"I do."

The sound of voices, a lot of them, drifted in from the street in front of the brownstone. Karen went to a window and peeked out. "They're here," she said.

"Who?" Foggy asked.

"The media. Bunch of reporters, a couple of TV remote vans."

"Any cops?"

Karen took another look. "None that I can see."

"Nah, there won't be, not yet," Matt said.

"You sure about that?" Foggy asked.

"Yeah. Blake Tower's not gonna prosecute me based on Vanessa's say-so. Not with her motive to lie. She'll have to give him more evidence, if she has any. Or the cops will. They'll be watching, trying to catch me going out as Daredevil."

"You can't!" Karen exclaimed.

"But if Daredevil suddenly stops showing up, people are gonna know he's Matt," Foggy pointed out.

"He's not gonna stop showing up," Matt said.

"But you can't – " Karen repeated. Her voice trailed off; apparently she'd figured it out.

Foggy answered for both of them. "It's not gonna be you in the mask."

Matt smiled and pointed a finger at him. "Bingo!"

"Who?" Karen asked. It only took a few seconds for her to answer her own question. "It's Danny Rand, isn't it?"

"Right again."

"You're sure that'll work?" Karen asked as she walked away from the window and resumed her seat.

"Yeah, pretty sure. We're about the same size, and our fighting styles are similar. Plus, Daredevil goes out at night, so it'll be dark – "

Karen nodded. "Yeah, that could work. But what about Drew?"

"It's not about his case anymore," Foggy said. "And us going public about the threats should protect him."

"But – "

"But I'll ask Brett to give him and Lydia protection until this is over, just in case," Foggy said.

"And Danny will keep an eye on them," Matt added. "But you and Foggy need to get someplace safe. Marci, too."

"No way!" Foggy asserted.

"Nope, not gonna happen," Karen declared at the same time.

"But – " Matt said.

Foggy interrupted him before he could say another word. "No 'buts,' Matt. In case you haven't noticed, there's a media mob right outside our door. And you said it yourself, the cops are gonna be all over you like a cheap suit, hoping you slip up. Vanessa's thugs can't get to us, not as long as they're around."

"That's not all, Matt," Karen added. "This isn't only your fight. If Vanessa's allegations stick, we're all screwed. We need to make sure they don't. We work together, remember?"

Matt bowed his head and held out his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Now that that's settled, we need to feed the mob outside our door," Karen said briskly. "I'll start working on a statement."

"And Matt needs to dust off his blind act," Foggy said. "It has to be convincing."

Karen

An hour later, Karen emerged onto the brownstone's front stoop and stood in front of the bank of microphones that had been set up after she alerted her former editor, Mitchell Ellison, that she would be making a statement. The reporters saw her and began shouting questions.

"Is Murdock Daredevil?"

"Is Murdock really blind?"

"How does he do it?"

"Does he have powers?"

"If Murdock isn't Daredevil, who is?"

She remained silent, her lips pressed together in a thin line. When the shouting finally died down, she said, "I'm going to make a statement. The full text has been posted on our firm's website. I will not be taking any questions." Then she read the statement she, Foggy, and Matt had written together:

"Matthew Murdock is a respected attorney who has twice assisted law enforcement in bringing Wilson Fisk to justice. The allegations recently made by Vanessa Fisk are a poorly-disguised attempt on her part to retaliate against Mr. Murdock for his role in holding Wilson Fisk accountable for his many crimes.

"Mrs. Fisk's motivation to fabricate false claims against Mr. Murdock is not the only reason to discredit her allegations. Mr. Murdock is totally blind. He has been totally blind since the age of nine. Over the past several years, multiple videos purporting to show Daredevil in action have been widely circulated. They show Daredevil doing things no blind man could possibly do. Whoever Daredevil is, he is not blind. Mr. Murdock is not Daredevil. That's all."

Not satisfied with her statement, the reporters started shouting questions at her again. She ignored them. She spun around and slipped inside before the reporters running up the front stairs could reach her. Foggy locked and bolted the front door behind her.

The day finally ended. Not much work got done. It was a little before six o'clock when Karen tapped on the frame of Matt's open office door. "Showtime."

He raised his head and gave a resigned half-smile. "Give me a few minutes to finish up."

"You got it."

She waited in the reception room until he emerged from his office, his briefcase over his shoulder and his cane in his hand. He took hold of her arm, and they walked out together. The assembled reporters started shouting questions as soon as the door opened, but they ignored them.

Karen leaned toward him and whispered, "Stairs." He used his cane to find the edge of the stoop and followed her down the stairs. As they reached the foot of the stairs, she whispered, "Last one." She glared at the assembled reporters until several of them stepped back, allowing them to pass. They turned right, in the direction of Matt's apartment. Most of the media contingent followed them. In the middle of the third block, Matt stumbled on a stretch of uneven pavement. Karen caught him before he fell, and they went on. Two blocks later, they walked past Matt's building and went into the Thai restaurant at the end of the block.

As soon as Karen and Matt entered the restaurant, one of the diners spotted them and got to his feet, clapping. The rest of the customers followed suit. When they approached the counter to pick up their takeout order (called in by Karen before they left the office), the restaurant's owner hurried out of the kitchen.

"Ms. Page! Mr. Murdock!" he exclaimed. "Welcome!"

"Good evening, Mr. Panya," Matt replied. He reached for his wallet, pulled out a credit card, and placed it on the counter.

Mr. Panya waved his hands. "No, no, no charge."

"I insist," Matt said.

"Your money's no good here," Mr. Panya told him, picking up the credit card and thrusting it back into Matt's hand.

Karen glanced over her shoulder. A cameraman from the media throng had followed them into the restaurant. He was filming the whole thing. "Better accept," she advised Matt.

Matt made a little bow in Mr. Panya's direction. "Thank you."

Karen picked up their order, and they turned to leave. As they walked toward the door, one of the customers approached them and patted Matt on the shoulder. Karen gave an inward sigh of relief when Matt remembered to look startled. "Thank you, man," the customer said. "We got your back. All of Hell's Kitchen does."

Matt nodded but said nothing. They walked halfway down the block and went into Matt's building, leaving the reporters outside. Karen made sure the front door closed and locked behind them.

Upstairs in Matt's apartment, Karen set their food down on the kitchen counter while Matt took a bottle of beer out of the fridge for himself and poured a glass of wine for Karen. He had just taken a seat on the couch and started to drink his beer, when he jumped up, put down the bottle, and raced up the steps to the roof access.

"Where are you going?" Karen called after him.

When he reached the top of the steps, he turned to answer her. "Making sure the door to the roof is locked."

"Good idea."

He pulled the door toward him, making sure it was closed, then turned the latch. The deadbolt slid into place. "Locked up tight," he said.

As he descended the stairs, Karen's gaze fell on the closet next to them, the closet where Matt kept his Daredevil gear. "Oh, shit," she breathed.

Matt heard her. "What?"

"Your Daredevil . . . stuff. We gotta get it out of here. What if the cops search your place?"

"They won't."

"You can't know that."

"No probable cause," Matt declared. "Vanessa's claims aren't enough to persuade a judge. She's not a credible informant, not with her motive to lie. They'll need more than that."

"And if they get more?" Karen crossed the room and opened the closet. She raised the lid of the trunk and lifted out the tray with "Battlin' Jack's" boxing robe. She reached into the bottom of the trunk and pulled out the armored shirt and leggings made by Melvin Potter. "If they do – when they do – these better not be here," she said, holding up the garments.

"OK," he said resignedly. "Point taken."

"Lucky for you," she said, "I carry a large handbag." She picked up the handbag in question and stuffed the shirt and leggings inside it, then returned to the trunk and scrutinized its remaining contents.

"The shirts and pants look enough like regular clothes," she said, thinking out loud. "You can put them in with the rest of your clothes. Unless they're bloodstained, of course. If they are, we'll need to get rid of them."

"Can't just throw them in the trash. The cops'll search it, for sure."

Karen nodded. "And if they don't, the press will. Any that have blood stains can go in your briefcase, along with the ropes, the sticks, the gloves, and the mask. We'll figure out a safe place to stash them in the morning. Now let's eat. Our food's getting cold."

To her surprise, Karen was hungry, and Mr. Panya's pad thai was delicious, as always. She polished off her half of the order and leaned back with her glass of wine. As she looked around the apartment, her gaze was drawn to the flashing sign across the street, its light flooding through the windows – the very large windows, with no drapes or shades.

Matt got up from the couch to carry their plates to the kitchen, no longer bothering with his blind act in the privacy of his apartment. Karen stared at the windows again.

"Matt," she began, then hesitated. Matt wasn't going to like what she was going to say. "You need to be careful, even in here. You can't go running up the stairs like you did earlier. What if someone sees?"

He set the plates down. "How, exactly, is someone gonna see? We're on the sixth floor, in case you've forgotten."

"I haven't forgotten."

"So, what, some reporter's gonna rappel down from the roof?"

"I wouldn't put it past them," Karen told him dryly.

"You mean that's something you would've done, if you were still one of them."

Karen chuckled in spite of herself. "Probably. That, or send a guy up in a cherry-picker to spy on you."

Matt made his way back to the couch, trailing his hand along the kitchen counter and appearing to count his steps as he did so. He ran his hand along the back and arm of the couch and took a seat next to her.

"That was a good move, by the way, when you stumbled in front of the press earlier," Karen said.

"It wasn't intentional," Matt told her.

"You're kidding."

Matt shook his head. "No. I was focusing on the crowd. I wasn't paying enough attention to where I was stepping."

She shrugged. "Whatever. It worked. They definitely noticed. But if your plan's gonna work, you have to sell it, like, all the time."

He sighed wearily and rubbed his forehead. "I know. It's just – "

She finished the sentence for him. "A pain in the ass."

"Yeah."

"You can do it. I mean, you were 'Mike Murphy' for months. And that wasn't just the blind act, you had to be a whole different person."

"He wasn't that different. He was a dick, I'm a dick."

"You're not a dick." The look on his face told her he didn't believe her. "Well, most of the time."

"I did some pretty bad shit when I was Mike," he said.

"You didn't – ?"

He seemed to know what she was asking and answered the question before she finished it. "No, I didn't kill anyone," he said with a sad half-smile. "But men died because of me, because of what I was doing."

Men had died because of her, too. Her brother Kevin. Ben Urich. Jasper Evans. Father Lantom. The thought of them was a stabbing pain in her gut. She turned toward Matt and took both of his hands in hers. "I get it," she whispered. Then she raised her voice. "But you didn't kill them."

"It's still on me. Owlsley had them killed because he thought they were messing with his operations, but it was all me."

"No," Karen said firmly. "Owlsley had them killed because he's a killer. He didn't have to kill them. He chose to kill them, because that's who he is."

"I should've stopped him."

"How, exactly? By getting yourself killed? What would that accomplish?" She dropped his hands and took a sip of her wine. When she set her glass down on the coffee table, she asked, "Do you remember what you told me after Father Lantom's funeral? About doing more good than harm?"

Matt mouthed a silent "yes."

"So think about the lives you saved when you took Owlsley down. The guns and drugs that were taken of the streets, the girls who weren't trafficked. That counts for something."

"But, I should – "

"No," she said firmly. "'More good than harm,' that's what you said. You – and Daredevil – have done infinitely more good than harm. You need to stop beating yourself up over the people you couldn't save."

He seemed to consider this for a moment. Then he grinned and asked, "You're sure you're not a lawyer?"

She chuckled. "Positive."

She drank the last of her wine and set the glass down on the coffee table. Time to go. Tomorrow was going to be just as crazy as today, probably worse. But she didn't want to leave. In spite of the craziness swirling around them, it felt good, spending time with him. It reminded her . . . . "Don't go there, Page," she told herself. She stood up and squared her shoulders. "I should be going."

Matt walked her to the door.

"See you tomorrow," she said. "Foggy will pick you up in the morning."

"OK. See you tomorrow." He opened the door and stepped aside to let her leave. She looked back at him, standing alone in the entry hall, until the door closed behind her.

Matt

The following days were a nightmare. In the morning, Foggy picked him up as planned. When they stopped to pick up coffee on the way to the office, Matt heard the whispered comments all around him.

"Is that him, the blind one?"

"He's not really blind."

"Do you think he's Daredevil?"

"He's gotta be faking it."

"How does he do it?"

"I don't know, he looks kinda . . . buff."

"He must have superpowers."

"I don't care who he is. Hell's Kitchen needs Daredevil."

Not everyone was skeptical. A man walked up and got in line behind them. He stood silently for a moment, but Matt could tell he was going to say something. And he did. "Look, man, I don't know if you're really Daredevil, but if you are I owe you." Matt half-turned toward him, his eyebrows raised quizzically. "You saved my sister when she was being stalked by her asshole ex. Thanks to you, he's doing a five-year bit upstate. She'd be dead now if it wasn't for you."

Matt didn't know what to say. "I, uh . . . I'm not . . . ," he stammered.

The man interrupted him. "You don't have to say anything. I get it. Just let me pay for your coffee."

"You don't have to – "

"I know. I want to."

Matt knew enough to choose his battles, and this wasn't one he chose to fight. He bowed his head and said, "Thank you."

When they arrived at the office, they had to push their way through the assembled reporters. If anything, it felt like there were more of them than the day before. The shouted questions were much the same, though. So were his and Foggy's muttered responses: "No comment."

From now on, Foggy decreed, they would come and go through the rear entrance, unless they wanted the media to know they were leaving. They advised their clients and other attorneys coming to the office to use the back door, too. That only worked for a day, until a reporter for the Daily Bugle figured it out. After that, they were under siege on both sides.

Vanessa

"What were you thinking?" Wilson Fisk's roar shattered the quiet of the attorney-client interview room at Attica supermax. "Attacking Nelson?" He rose from his seat at the table, as far as his restraints allowed, and towered over his wife. Instinctively, she took a step back, but only one. She had nothing to fear from her husband. Ben Donovan, who had escorted her to the meeting, retreated to the far side of the room.

"It wasn't me," Vanessa said. "I never ordered the attack on Nelson. It was an overzealous underling who thought it was a way to curry favor. He has been dealt with."

"I certainly hope so." Fisk lowered himself back into his chair.

"Wilson, you need to understand – " she began.

"What I understand," he said, interrupting her, "is that our deal with Daredevil is the only thing that has kept you safe for the past year, and you chose to end it."

"It wasn't my choice," she protested. "The attack on Nelson ended it."

"And you're sure Murdock is going after you now?"

Donovan answered him. "Yes. We still have a few contacts in the NYPD. They confirm Nelson and Murdock met with Detective Mahoney the morning after the attack."

Fisk scowled.

"Revealing Daredevil's identity was simply the next logical step," Vanessa told her husband.

"Explain it to me, please."

She took a seat at the table, across from him. "Ever since Owlsley's departure, Daredevil has become emboldened. He thinks he's untouchable."

"And whose idea was it to use him against Owlsley?" Fisk demanded.

"Mine," Vanessa conceded. "But you know as well as I do, Wilson, Owlsley had to go, and Murdock got the job done. I was hoping Owlsley would take care of him for us, but that . . . didn't happen."

"That was . . . unfortunate," Fisk observed.

"Yes, it was," Vanessa agreed. "Once Owlsley was out of the way, we should have been sitting pretty – but for Daredevil. He's hitting us – and we're losing money – every night. We can't continue to sustain such losses if we are to have any hope of getting you out of here." Vanessa waved a hand at their surroundings, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

Donovan crossed the room to stand next to Vanessa. "As a first step, we're working on getting you moved to the general population, where you'll have more . . . freedom of action. But it's proving more difficult than expected. The people who could make that happen have been . . . resistant to our approaches."

"Everyone has vulnerabilities," Vanessa observed. "You simply need to find them."

"Just get it done," Fisk snapped.

"Yes, sir." Donovan stepped back into his corner.

"And now there's something else," Vanessa said.

Fisk raised his eyebrows. "What's that?"

"Nelson and Murdock have filed a personal injury lawsuit against JW Properties."

"How is that a problem?"

"If they look too closely – actually, there's no 'if' about it – when they look into JW Properties – " She shot a glance at Donovan, reminding herself to choose her words carefully. "We both know what they'll find out."

"So pay off their client and shut down the case," Fisk said.

"That's not going to work, not with them. That Page woman is the worst of them." She fell silent, noticing the murderous look that crossed her husband's face at the mention of Karen's name. "You know what she's like. If she thinks she's on to something, she won't stop, even if there's no longer a case."

"You're right about that," Fisk said thoughtfully.

"We need to neutralize the threat, once and for all. That's why I exposed Murdock as Daredevil. Now that the police know who to look for, it's only a matter of time until he's arrested, if he carries on as Daredevil. His only other option is to stop. Either way, we win – and he and his two partners are discredited."

Fisk lowered his voice. "I don't like it. We need to eliminate the threat – permanently."

Vanessa shook her head. "We can't. Not now. They're surrounded by the media, and the police have Murdock under surveillance. It's too risky."

Fisk took a deep breath and let it out. "All right. We'll try it your way, for now."

Vanessa rose from her chair and walked around the table to stand next to her husband. She caressed his cheek. He leaned into her touch. "Please don't be angry with me, Wilson," she said softly, almost crooning the words. "I know what I'm doing. You need to trust me."

"I do. It's just . . . difficult."

"I know. You want to be in control. You should be in control. But that isn't possible right now."

"No, I suppose not."

"But you will be. Just remember: all I do, I'm doing it for you. And I learned from the best." She leaned down and kissed his forehead.

Fisk was silent for a moment, then looked up at his wife. "If we're doing it your way, there is something else we can do to neutralize the threat." He turned toward Ben Donovan. "Mr. Donovan?"

The lawyer took a few steps toward his client. "Yes, sir."

"You still have the video of Murdock, don't you?"

"Of course."

"Get it to one of your tame contacts in the media, and make sure it goes viral."

"Yes, sir."