The front entrance of Hogarth, Chao and Benowitz was walled off from end to end by metal detectors and security guards, closer resembling an airport than an office building. The whole display left Karen Page standing with bewilderment in the entrance for a long time, a briefcase in one hand and a plastic bag in the other.
Two guards met her at the first metal detector, and one of them began sifting through her briefcase as soon as she set it down on the table to pass through it.
"Hey, it's just a briefcase, alright?" Karen said sharply, suspiciously watching as the guard flipped through her papers. "Nothing that you need to be reading."
"Just being thorough," the guard replied without looking up.
Karen put one foot past the metal detector before the other guard threw his hand up.
He tugged impatiently on his earlobe, raising an eyebrow at her. "Ma'am, earrings?"
With a sigh, she removed them, setting them on the table alongside the briefcase.
"You need metal detectors and armed guards for your law firm?" Karen asked impatiently, snatching away her belongings after stepping through.
The guard lowered his head slightly. "It's just a temporary measure, ma'am. For recent security concerns."
"Right…"
Off-put, Karen tucked her briefcase under one arm and looped the other through the handle of the plastic bag, reattaching her earrings with her free hand as she walked across the lobby to the secretary's desk.
"Good afternoon, ma'am," said the secretary without looking up from her computer. According to the flowery nametag just above her computer, her name was Amanda, although her demeanor did not seem very cheery to match.
Karen leaned into the desk, trying to get her attention. "Hi. Karen Page, here to see Fo- uh, Franklin Nelson?"
"He's in a meeting," Amanda replied dully.
"I- what? No, he's not!" Karen laughed incredulously. "I just spoke with him this morning! He's expecting me."
"Did you make an appointment?"
"No, I didn't make an appointment. I don't need an appointment. I'm not even a client; it's a personal matter."
Amanda rolled back in her chair and set a hand down on the desk, looking up at Karen for the first time. "Karen Page. You're press, right? You wrote the-"
"Yes, I am a journalist," Karen interrupted, unimpressed. "But it is none of your business what I do, because I am not a client. This is a personal matter."
Amanda stared her down for a few moments, then turned back to the computer. "He's in a meeting."
"I can't believe this," Karen scoffed, stricken with disbelief. "…Where's his office? Third floor, right?"
"Uh, ma'am, you're not allowed- ma'am!" Amanda stood to stop Karen as she marched past the desk into the stairwell, but ran out of energy shortly after and slumped back into her chair, resigned.
Shaking her head, Karen climbed the stairwell and marched straight for the office at the end of the third floor, tastefully emblazoned with "Franklin P. Nelson, Esq."
The door swung open, and without a word Karen stepped inside, placing her briefcase and bag on the floor in front of the desk and taking a seat. With a loud creak, the chair behind the desk swiveled around to reveal Foggy, hunched over and clasping his hands together.
"Welcome to my lair," he declared menacingly.
Karen snickered, glancing over her shoulder. "Helpful secretary you have here."
"Well, what can I say? Good secretaries are in short supply these days." Foggy put his hands in a square, fixing them on Karen as though looking at her through a frame. "'Karen Page, of the New York Bulletin'."
"Franklin P. Nelson, Esquire," she replied with widened eyes.
"Yeah, do you like that? They couldn't fit 'Attorney at Law' on the sign."
"Sure; it's very, uh… professional?" Karen laughed out loud, relaxing into her chair. "I'm so happy for you, Foggy."
"No, don't! Don't be happy for me!" Foggy protested, waving his hand around. "I mean, look at you! You've made such a name for yourself! Who am I, now? Just some nobody tucked away on the third floor."
"Pft, yeah, some nobody with an office three times the size of mine."
"Yeah, I know, right? Look at me! I'm King of the Douchebags! This is my throne room!" Foggy raised his hands dramatically, gesturing to the giant window behind his desk. "Just wait'll you see my consultation fee- and fair warning, I don't give discounts for friends. And I am hourly."
Karen leaned down to grab the plastic bag next to the desk, presenting it with one hand. "How about I just give you a meatball sub and we call it even?"
"That sounds like a fair compromise."
With a light laugh, Karen reached into the bag and dug out lunch for both of them, placing Foggy's sandwich in the center of his desk. He unwrapped it enthusiastically, and Karen watched him with a bit of nostalgia.
"So I talked to Matt," she said quietly.
Foggy looked up, briefly hesitant, and spoke with his mouth full. "…And how is he?"
"Oh, you know… he's self-righteous, he'll barely talk to me, and he won't acknowledge that his life is imploding."
"Yeah… that sounds like him."
"I get the impression he has barely been leaving his apartment." Karen rapped her fingers along her still-wrapped food, appetite waning. "I don't want to just leave him, but Jesus. I don't know what I can do to help."
Foggy shook his head, a little resigned. "I get it, Karen. And I'm sorry. But it's his choice. There's nothing we can do about it." With a sigh, he raised his food to his lips, but hesitated upon coming up with a new question. "Has he been out… you know, in the horns?"
"If he has, I haven't heard about it from any sources," Karen replied with a shrug. "I think he's giving it a break."
"Well… that's good news! Right?" Foggy shrugged, off-put by Karen's ambivalent frown. "Karen?"
"I don't know. At least then he was out there doing something to help people.
"Yeah. And putting his life in danger," Foggy added with a raised eyebrow.
They exchanged a glance, and Karen sighed and slumped into her chair.
"…Listen, Foggy, I wanted to talk to you about something else. Work related." She looked up at him pleadingly.
"You're not in legal trouble, are you?" asked Foggy with a sudden sense of urgency.
"No! No, nothing like that. I just… I've been looking into your law firm." Karen bit her lip, hesitant to continue. "I wanted to talk to you a little bit about Jeri Hogarth."
"Hogarth? I'm sorry, Karen, but I can't help you. She died before I was ever recruited. I'm really not the best person to ask. I don't know-"
"-but you can ask around yourself, right?" Karen interrupted bluntly, leaning into her seat. "You can get information that I can't."
"Karen, what is this about?"
The question gave her pause, and she crossed her legs as she considered it. "Her death has been raising questions. I don't think they're unfair ones. That's all."
Foggy laid out his hands on his desk, frowning apologetically. "The police did a thorough investigation. It was suicide. That's all there is to it."
"Really? You really believe that?" Karen scoffed, almost instinctively. "This coming from the man who helped uncover that half of our entire police precinct was corrupt?"
"There's nothing to disbelieve! She put a gun to her own head and pulled the trigger! That'swhat happened!" He shook his head sympathetically. "Look, I thought it was creepy, too. I looked into it when I got recruited by the senior partners. I even got Brett to show me the autopsy report. There's just nothing to uncover here."
"Not necessarily."
Foggy narrowed his eyes as she bit her thumb and looked away from him. "…Is this about the mind-controller?"
Clearly caught by surprise, Karen shrugged slightly, a little irked. "I'm not ruling anything out."
"Karen, that's a conspiracy theory. You know how convenient that is."
"Yeah, I do. To be honest, it's a little too convenient."
"Hogarth was going through a divorce! Her girlfriend was under investigation for murdering her ex! That kind of thing would drive anyone-"
"Foggy, do you listen to public radio?"
"Do I- what?"
"Patricia Walker. 'Trish Talk', have you heard of it? On air, she made comments about this mind-controller guy, then a few days later walks them back with a creepy apology. You can look this up; it's all over the internet. Now she is mysteriously missing."
"Karen, that's not-"
"-Jessica Jones! Private investigator! She did work for your law firm, she was a known associate of Hogarth, and she was a purported victim of this guy. Now she's missing, too."
Foggy pressed his fingers against his temple, clearly a little at a loss for words.
With a sigh, Karen relaxed a little, uncrossing her legs and sitting forward. "Hogarth was being very public about this Kilgrave guy. There are a lot of puzzle pieces here, and it really seems like they are starting to fit together. There are even eyewitnesses."
"I'm a lawyer, Karen. You know what I'm going to tell you about how reliable eyewitnesses are," Foggy replied regretfully. "Do you realize what you are suggesting? We don't have explanations for any disappearances. But we do have honest-to-God proof that Hogarth's death was a suicide. I mean, we can't just jump to the most fantastical explanation."
"Really? After everything we have seen in this city, this is a fantastical explanation? The Incident, and a bulletproof man walking around in Harlem… and Matt… and this is too much for you?"
"Point taken. But if you really want to investigate something so hard to prove, why come to me for information? Why not go to the partners here that actually knew Hogarth?"
Karen let out a long sigh. "Because I tried that, and they threatened to sue me. That's why I told your secretary I'm here for personal reasons."
"…Oh my God. I'm sorry."
"-And I don't know about you, but I wouldn't expect anyone to get that defensive unless they had something to hide." She turned slightly to point behind her, toward the door. "And I know they wouldn't be keeping goddamned armed guards at the entrance to the building unless they thought they had something to worry about."
"I guess I can't argue with that," Foggy sighed. "But there's nothing I can really do to help you anyway."
"I don't need you to work any miracles. Just look into Hogarth's history with this Kilgrave story, and see if there's anything it seems like they're trying to keep quiet."
"I'm sorry, Karen, but I would be risking my job- hell, my career- by talking to you about this. And if it's you writing the article about it, God knows I'd be the first person they'd look to."
"People could be getting hurt, Foggy. Seriously hurt."
"I understand that, but-" Foggy stopped short, visibly torn. "You obviously have a lot to go on so far! You are a great journalist. You can figure this out without me."
"I'm working on it, but I can't take anything to print as long as everything I have is circumstantial. If there is anything out there that could serve as proof- serious proof, that I could print, and that people would really listen to- it's being buried, or- or covered up. And I'm sure it's here, at Hogarth, Chao and Benowitz."
"You're asking me to work against my own firm, Karen." Foggy threw up his hands, disappointed. "I just got this job. It's all I have right now. I just can't help you. I'm sorry."
She stared at him for a long time, saddened and kind of shocked, before looking at the ground. "…Okay."
"I'm sorry."
With nothing left to talk about, Karen picked up her briefcase, sliding her chair back a little.
"Karen," Foggy said abruptly, getting her attention. "If you really believe this mind-controller stuff… I mean, if this is really what you want to investigate… you could really be putting yourself in danger."
"It's what I signed up for," she replied frankly.
"I just hope you'll take care of yourself," said Foggy. "I mean… if you… got attacked, or something…"
Karen waited at the door for a long while before opening it and stepping through, glancing back only once. "It wouldn't be the first time."
The door shut behind her with a thud.