Chapter 3 – Something Money Cannot Buy

Matt

"You were expecting someone else, I think," Madame Gao said. "The Black Sky, perhaps?"

"Don't call her that," Matt snapped. "That's not who she is."

"As you wish," she said serenely. "Sit, please. We have much to discuss." She gestured toward a chair facing the one she was seated in. He remained standing, gripping his cane. "I regret the necessity of misleading you, but I needed to be sure you would come. It was a test of sorts."

"Did you really need to drag it out for five days?"

"As I said, I needed to be sure of you."

"Sure that you could manipulate me, more like it," Matt muttered under his breath.

"Not at all," she assured him. "I simply needed to know that you would stay the course."

Matt couldn't help himself. He asked the question that was uppermost in his mind – the only one, really. "Did she . . . did Elektra make it out?"

Gao shook her head. "I don't know. There has been no trace of her since the building fell."

Matt sank into the chair behind him. A vise gripped his heart. It was the answer he was expecting, but that didn't make it any easier to hear. Still . . . if he and Gao had survived the collapse of Midland Circle, why not Elektra, too? He wondered how Gao had escaped, but that was a conversation for another time. "What do you want?" he demanded.

Gao didn't answer him right away. Instead, she turned her attention to the low table next to her chair. A tray on the table held a teapot and two cups. She lifted the pot and poured. "Tea?" she asked.

"No, thank you," Matt replied stiffly.

"Very well," she said. She sipped tea and set her cup on the tray before she continued. "We have certain interests in common, as we did when you came to me seeking information about the criminal known as 'The Blacksmith.'"

"I remember," Matt said warily. An uneasy feeling had been growing in him, ever since he walked into the room and discovered Gao waiting for him. Now he realized the source of his unease: he couldn't read her. He couldn't hear a heartbeat or pick up any of the other involuntary physical reactions that told him whether a person was lying, and much more. Either she was an expert at suppressing or masking her reactions – or she simply didn't have them. The thought chilled him.

"As you know," she continued, "we – the Hand, that is – worked with Wilson Fisk at one time." Matt nodded. "We let him believe he was in charge, but he was working for us." He thought 'A Better Tomorrow' was his idea, but it wasn't. It was ours."

"Your way of getting control of the Midland Circle site – and what was under it," Matt pointed out.

She inclined her head toward him. "True. But it was more than that. After the inevitable . . . damage, Hell's Kitchen would rise again, better than before."

"You mean gentrification, forcing people out of their homes to build new ones they could never afford to live in."

"That was Fisk's vision, not ours."

Matt scoffed. "So, what, the Hand was going to go into the affordable housing business?"

"Something like that."

He shook his head. "I don't believe you. It was all about getting access to that . . . substance – isn't that what you call it? – the stuff you use to cheat death."

"That was part of it. As I have already said."

"Well, I want no part of your kind of immortality. The cost is too high."

"Ah, yes, your God," she commented, "no doubt you are looking to Him to grant you eternal life."

"My faith is none of your business," he shot back. "I've seen what happens when you bring people back. The Hand controls them, uses them to do evil."

"That's what Stick told you, of course," she observed, "but you are a lawyer, are you not? You must know that there are two sides to every case."

"Not every case," Matt thought, but he kept his reservations to himself. He simply said, "So argue your case."

"When we were exiled from K'un-Lun, it was because we wanted to use our powers and knowledge to benefit humanity, instead of keeping them hidden and hoarding them. That never changed. What changed was what we learned about humanity. We learned that ordinary, mortal humans are simply incapable of taking a long view. They cannot look past their next paycheck or their next meal or their next coupling. We had . . . I have a different perspective. What may seem cruel or ruthless to short-sighted humans is merely the result of seeing the long view."

Matt scoffed. "That's what you call it, long-range planning?"

"One might call it that," she agreed. "Surely you understand that sometimes individuals have to suffer for the greater good."

"Yeah, tell that to Elena Cardenas."

"An unfortunate example of that principle."

Anger sparked in him. "No, she wasn't," he snapped. "She was a person, a better one than either of us. Fisk had her killed – for you." He pointed a finger at Gao. "And for what? So you could acquire the Midland Circle site."

"I had nothing to do with her death. I would have counseled against such a course of action, but Wilson was ruled by his hatred of you. That is why Elena Cardenas died: because Wilson used her to draw you out. It had nothing to do with the property. He wanted to destroy you. But I think you already know that."

Guilt stabbed at his gut. Elena's death was his fault. He had known it ever since the night at the warehouse on the water, when Fisk boasted of using Elena's murder to lure the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. But he wasn't going to give Gao the satisfaction of admitting it. Instead, he asked, "Why am I here?"

"Ah, yes," she said, waving a hand, "time to discuss our business. I have brought you here, because I have need of your skills – your legal skills, that is."

"There are plenty of lawyers in this city. Why me?"

"If my plan succeeds, the last vestiges of Wilson Fisk's wealth and power will be stripped away from him. You, your friends, your beloved Hell's Kitchen, all will be safe from his predations."

"I'm pretty sure that's going to happen anyway, once he's convicted."

She chuckled mirthlessly. "Surely you, as a lawyer, know the vagaries of your legal system. Fisk has already escaped justice once. Can you be certain it will not happen again?"

"No," he admitted.

"Then work with me," she urged him, "and we will ensure that Fisk cannot manipulate the system once again."

"What, exactly, do you want me to do?"

She poured tea and drank before she answered him. "Fisk is in financial difficulty. His cash flow was disrupted during his incarceration, and his legal expenses are mounting. Unlike you, Mr. Donovan does not work for free. Fisk owns certain properties in Hell's Kitchen that were returned to him after his federal convictions were overturned. They are essential to our plans. You will persuade him to sell them – to me. He will not know that I am the buyer, of course."

"Really?" Matt asked in disbelief. "You do know that Fisk wants to kill me, right? What makes you think I can persuade him to do anything?"

"Because you are going to get Wilson Fisk out of jail," she replied serenely.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Matt asked. "I just put Fisk in jail. I have no interest in getting him out."

"Not even to keep your friends safe?"

"Are you threatening them?" Matt demanded. He surged to his feet and stood next to her, towering over the tiny, aged woman.

"I am no threat to them. I was referring to Wilson Fisk," she replied evenly. "And his respite from jail will be temporary. We only need you to get him out on bail. You will not be letting him walk – is that the correct phrase?"

"Yes."

"If you work with me, if you cooperate, not only will your friends and your beloved Hell's Kitchen be safe, you will be well compensated."

"I don't want your money."

"I am well aware of that," she said. "I am not proposing to pay you with money. What I am offering is something much more valuable, something that money cannot buy."

"What, then?"

"I will restore your eyesight."

Author's Note: A reviewer questions whether Matt would even want his sight back. Good question! It will be addressed, along with others, in future chapters. Stay tuned!