Author's Note: Who all caught that Iron Fist season 2 date announcement? Personally I am pretty pumped for September.
"Hi, I'm Nelson. Er, Franklin. Er… Franklin Nelson. Franklin P. Nelson. …Esquire?"
Foggy shook out his hands in front of him, taking a shaky breath.
"Hi, I'm Franklin Nelson. Friends call me Foggy. I'm happy. I'm happy to be. It's good to be here… good to be here."
He leaned his head back against his headrest, and the car rattled as it slowed to a stop alongside the sidewalk.
With a raised eyebrow, Claire looked over at him from the driver's seat of the car, smirking slightly. "Talking to yourself?"
"You know something?" Foggy said harshly. "I've dealt with murderers before. Loads of times. Come face-to-face with them. Like, legit murderers. Matt and I, one time, we represented this guy…" Foggy held out his hands in front of him, forming a sphere. "He crushed someone's head with a bowling ball. Bashed a man's head in. With a bowling ball. For money. How messed up is that?"
"So why'd you represent him?"
Foggy put two fingers on the bridge of his nose, letting out a loud sigh. "Matt insisted on it."
"Doesn't sound like him."
"Yeah, well. The guy ended up throwing his own face into a spike after Matt beat Wilson Fisk's name out of him."
Claire widened her eyes. "Ah. That sounds like him."
"Come on. Let's just get this over with."
The two stepped out of the car and up onto the sidewalk, the home of Joy Meachum looming over them like an insurmountable peak. It took Foggy ages to actually knock, and a while longer for Joy to open the door and usher them inside.
"Franklin, right?" Joy asked hurriedly, as Foggy and Claire stepped into the lobby of the home.
"That's right, but, uh… you can call me Foggy. It's good to finally meet you, Joy. Wish it could be under, uh." He cleared his throat. "Better circumstances…" Foggy trailed off at the end, noticing a curly-haired blonde man leaned against the wall at the other end of the room. "Uh… is he…?"
"Danny. How's it going?" Danny gestured to them with his head without uncrossing his arms.
"He's a real charmer. Don't worry about it," said Claire. "Can we go over the plan? Just to make sure everyone is on the same page here?"
"Sure; step one, find the serial killer, step two, get as close to the serial killer as possible, step three, hope I don't get serial-killed. Did I leave anything out?" Foggy opened his hands to the crowd.
"I'll be right there with you, Foggy." Joy leaned against the table in the center of the room. "I have dealt with him plenty of times. I promise I will make sure he never gets suspicious of anything. My only question is how we are going to find out where he goes without getting caught."
"With this," said Claire. With two fingers, she presented a small black disc from her pocket, holding it in front of her. "It's a police GPS tracker. I called in a favor from a friend in the Harlem precinct to get my hands on it, so… don't lose it. It's light enough to attach to fabric. If you can get it anywhere inconspicuous on Kilgrave's person, we'll be able to learn where he's staying, and probably where the woman he's holding captive is as well."
"Great. So all I have to do is get my hands in his pockets," said Foggy with a roll of his eyes.
"Or under his clothes… but, yeah, essentially." Claire gave a sympathetic frown. "But this is how we get him, Foggy."
"I know. That's the shitty part." He groaned. "This is way beyond enough to get me disbarred. And just knowing about it is enough to get everyone in this room arrested. Felony stalking. With the intent to cause serious bodily harm. You must have some friend on the force." Foggy took the tracker from Claire, inspecting it cautiously. "…Okay. So. Just so we are one-hundred-percent clear on this. When you do capture Kilgrave." He tapped his fingers together. "We are going to apprehend him, right?"
"Are you kidding? What do you think we're going to do? We're going to kill him. What other option do we have?" Danny spoke up immediately, incredulous at the question. "You said it yourself; he's a serial killer!"
"Alright, alright, alright… I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. I'm not going to be party to that."
"I'm sorry, but I don't see any other way to stop him. We can't give him to the police. This isn't a normal situation," Joy said quietly, exchanging a cautious glance with Danny.
"That's a slippery slope if I've ever heard one."
"Got to say, I'm with Foggy on this one," said Claire. "Sure, maybe we can't just deliver him to the police so he can escape again, but that does not mean we have to jump straight to murder. Luke is strong enough to beat him up with both hands tied behind his back; maybe we can just… like, break his jaw, or rip out his tongue, or something…?"
"Oh, yeah, that would go over just great with a jury," Foggy added sarcastically.
"Hey, I'm trying to help you, here."
"We need to be absolutely sure he is never going to hurt anyone again," Danny said darkly.
"I agree. And I know the world would probably be better off with him dead. But I'm sorry," said Foggy, "I'm not going to help you if it means we are getting blood on our hands. That's not who I am. That's not what I signed up for."
Danny finally stepped away from the wall, though he still kept his arms crossed. "Well, I'm sorry, too, but we can't just let him-!"
"-Danny!" Joy raised a hand to stop him. "Just hold on. We need his help, okay? We can do things their way. Claire is right. It doesn't have to be all or nothing; we can find a middle ground here."
With a disgruntled frown, Danny looked from Joy back to Foggy, and then finally to Claire. "…Alright. Alright, fine. We won't kill him. Yet."
Foggy ran a hand through his hair. "Okay. Good."
"…Yet," Danny repeated. "But I will defend myself if I have to."
"Do it. If you have to," Foggy mumbled. "But right now… we don't have to."
"Are you alright, Foggy?" asked Claire, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah. I'm great. Golden." He took a breath. "Let's go do something illegal."
Foggy kept his hands limp at his sides, walking up the stairs of the Rand building close behind Joy, like a duckling.
"Just follow my lead. You'll do fine." Joy turned briefly and smiled at him, and he returned it nervously.
"I know. I know." He opened and closed his hands, palms sweaty. "Is there… is there anything I should make sure to say? Or… not to say?"
"Foggy! Just act natural, okay? Everything's fine. You're supposed to be here. You know what you're here to talk to him about. You're just our legal representation."
"I've definitely never done anything like this with a client before. …I mean, to a client."
"He's not a real client."
Joy waved to the woman at the reception desk, and Foggy flashed her a polite smile, scratching behind his head.
"And it would be best if you cut the nervous chatter," added Joy, letting Foggy into the elevator in front of her and scanning her ID to select their floor.
"Right, right." Foggy looked around the empty elevator. "…But. I mean. What- what if he tells me to tell the truth? Or asks me why I'm nervous? Or what I'm doing here."
"Then you'll tell him. You won't have any choice." She turned to him and narrowed her eyes, face serious- almost grim. "Which is why… if there was ever a time to keep a level head, this is the time. Okay? He won't have any reason to ask anything like that unless you give him one." She straightened up quickly as their elevator arrived. "Now please cut the chatter."
"Alright, alright… Chatter's just… kind of my thing."
The elevator let out a ding as it opened for Joy and Foggy, and the two stepped out onto Ward and Joy's floor. Joy waved to Megan- the secretary- as the two cut through the hall to the office at the end. Foggy kept a hand in his pocket, fingers rolling over the tiny round tracker.
The two arrived at the office door, and Joy stepped inside, leaving Foggy in the doorway. At the desk sat a man Foggy recognized, Ward Meachum. A man in a purple jacket stood over him, the two looking up from their conversation as Joy approached and waved to Ward.
Foggy took his hand out of his pocket, wiping sweat off on his pants. He knew who Ward was, which meant that the man in purple must be-
"Ah! This is Franklin, yeah? The lawyer?" The man in purple had a British accent, just as they had described Kilgrave.
He was… less scary in person. Foggy froze for a moment. Somehow… that thought made him even scarier. Somewhere, this guy had Matt captive, doing God knows what. And anyone with Matt as a captive was about the scariest piece of shit he could imagine.
"That's me!" Foggy smiled on pure instinct, and he threw out a hand, waiting to shake with Kilgrave. The moment he started to speak, confidence poured out of him, from some source he hardly even knew existed, and he continued on as if speaking to any other client. "Franklin P. Nelson, Esquire. Friends call me Foggy. It's good to be here. I'm here on behalf of Hogarth, Chao, and Benowitz; I'd love to sit down with-"
"Alright, quiet down and take a seat. Let's just get this over with."
Kilgrave didn't shake hands.
Foggy's feet started to move, awkwardly and mechanically, before he even completely registered what was happening, and he found himself climbing into one of the chairs in front of the desk, feeling more desperate to take a seat than he ever had in his life. The feeling gave him chills.
And no handshake. So that was plan A for slipping Kilgrave the tracker, immediately out the window.
Foggy and Joy exchanged a brief, marginally nervous glance.
"Let's just hear it. I want to be out of here early this afternoon," said Kilgrave, leaning against the desk.
Foggy glanced back to Kilgrave again, letting out a deep breath. "Alright, well. I'm not your accountant. But it is my job to keep Rand out of the sights of criminal prosecutors. And large financial improprieties, well… that's dangerous criminal territory. There's no way to sugarcoat that."
"Well, you're certainly not going to tell anybody about it."
The pair exchanged a glance, and Foggy shook his head, blinking once. "…No. No, I'm not. Nor would it be legally admissible even if I did, if I even wanted to, which I don't." He sighed. "I'm not making a threat. Just informing. The extensive financial reports provided to HCB's legal team suggest that a substantial and disproportionate amount of R&D funding is being redirected toward development of properties that simply aren't being developed. And this is coming out at the same time as repeated allegations that these same undeveloped Rand properties are being used to facilitate criminal gang activity. It doesn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure out that something illicit is going on here. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that, despite what limited protection your attorney-client privilege gives you, a financial juggernaut like Rand is subject to a lot of outside scrutiny. And honestly? Ethical concerns aside, you are drawing a lot of undue attention to yourself. If you aren't ridiculously careful in covering up shady business, an audit is putting you at risk of a huge corporate scandal. Like, Enron huge. Probably huger. Again… not judging. Definitely not threatening." He threw up his hands. "Just informing."
Ward, who had been tiredly slumped over his desk since Foggy had entered, spoke up for the first time, raising one hand in the air. "Look, I'm just doing what he tells me to."
"Well, what can you expect me to do? Only reason I'm wasting any of my time in this soul-sucking brick and mortar hellhole is to buy me leverage for these so-called 'illicit' activities. So how about you stop wasting everybody's time moralizing, Foggy, and tell me how you would recommend I do this without drawing attention to myself?"
"Honestly? Just stop dipping directly into company money. It should be simple. I mean, I'm not your accountant or your banker. But Rand is a huge company. I'm sure you have some inactive shell company that can fly under the radar if you launder money through it. More than enough to fund… whatever kind of business you happen to be conducting." Foggy cleared his throat.
"And moving these funds into a company that has never received an investment a fraction of that size is supposed to raise less suspicion? Come on, you think that never occurred to me or Joy?" Ward rested his palms on the desk, leaning back with a groan.
"I think you're used to legitimate business! Which is great! But, uh. To serve the interests of present company. I'm just saying. A judge is going to be more likely to look the other way when there is a degree of separation between a criminal transaction and the company that may or may not have financed it."
"Present company, you said," Kilgrave mumbled, stepping away from the desk and putting two fingers to his chin. "That's what you say, but how does that serve my interests? Be direct with me: how does this better protect my interests?"
"I." Foggy took a breath. "Whatever presence you have at this company. It draws attention from that. When it comes to a hypothetical crime, your best case scenario is to have as few people mentioning you as possible. Trust me when I say, I have dealt with a ton of would-be criminals in the past, and one of their biggest downfalls is getting too comfortable and overplaying their hand. And that's a situation with even less risk than you have to worry about, given that I would be surprised if even the worst of them has killed even half as many people as you have-" He cut himself off, realizing too late exactly how direct he was being. …Exactly as commanded. "…Oh, I should not have said that…"
Everyone in the room turned their eyes to Foggy, obvious horror painted on Ward and Joy's faces. Kilgrave seemed almost as intrigued as he was disturbed, possibly even moreso. Foggy felt the sweat forming on his brow, and he shuffled uncomfortably in his chair.
"Listen to me, now," Kilgrave commanded brusquely. His feet dragged on the carpet as he stepped off the desk. "Whatever communication you may have had with the Meachums about me. Whatever you may have heard. Whatever you may have otherwise assumed." Kilgrave made his way all the way around the desk until he loomed directly over Foggy's chair, standing over the lawyer with a twisted, menacing half-smile. His purple jacket dangled at his sides. "It's true. Every last bit of it. I am as dangerous as you could possibly imagine. I can do things you couldn't even dream of. I can make your life a living hell. And then some. And I could do it before lunch." He straightened out his jacket. "You won't tell anyone a word about me. Any recordings you have of me, or about me, you'll destroy. And that's a command, of course, but I'm covering my bases. Do you understand? I'm not just… informing you. No… that… that is a threat. Am I clear?"
The two stared each other down for a few tense moments.
"C- crystal." Foggy cleared his throat.
Kilgrave stepped away from Foggy's chair, marching all the way behind the desk and setting a hand on the glass, exasperated.
The tracker hung on the underside of his jacket, just out of view.
"…Well, I don't know about the two of you, but I have had quite enough legal advice for one lifetime. Joy, lead him out of building. And for God's sake, don't bring him back."
Foggy stumbled as Joy nearly yanked him from his chair, the two awkwardly making their way out of the office. Ward gave them both a grim, fixed stare without saying another word.
"Have a wonderful day, Mr. Nelson," Kilgrave said grimly, leaning against the window. "Not going to forget that name…"
The door slammed shut on Kilgrave's apartment, and he hung up his jacket on the coat rack as he stretched in the doorway, a curious look on his face.
"Jessica! Darling?" he called out, taking a few steps into the foyer.
She called out to him from the kitchen, in a singsongy sort of coo. "Hey! I'm in here!"
Kilgrave met her in the kitchen, where she stood over the oven in a blue dress. He closed the distance between them, resting his hands on her bare forearms.
She looked back over her shoulder to kiss him on the cheek. "Hi, sweetie."
"What- what's this?" he asked cheerfully, stepping to the side to get a better look at the tray in her hands.
She backed up a bit to open the oven, setting the tray inside. "Uh, it's salmon. We had leftovers in the fridge; I thought I would make some dinner. You were complaining that you were going to have a long day…"
"Yeah, I was right." Kilgrave chuckled at that. "Ah, well, you know you're not a great cook, but…" He shrugged halfheartedly. "Sure. We can try it, sweetheart."
"I hope you like it."
The two of them smiled at each other. Kilgrave breathed slowly for a few moments, truly appreciating the feeling.
And then the smoke alarm interrupted them.
Both jumped with surprise at the same time, and Jessica threw her oven mitts off just to cover her ears. Kilgrave looked at her briefly with some disgust.
"What- is that- did the oven set that off?" he asked incredulously.
"No, I- I don't see how it could! I just put it in!" She waved her hands frantically at the oven. "It's fine! No smoke!"
"Then what's the problem?"
He marched out of the kitchen and Jessica trailed anxiously behind him, high heels clacking on the hardwood floor. The source of the smoke was subtle but obvious- trailing up in tiny loops from the only jacket on the coat rack.
Kilgrave ran his hand under the bottom of his jacket, fingers rolling over a little plastic disc, which he immediately ripped off and held in the palm of his hand.
He shook it out, and the smoke stopped trailing, though a few sparks shot out at the same time. A red light in the center of the disc blinked, like it had malfunctioned somehow.
"What in the name of-?" Kilgrave sputtered, at a loss for words in his obvious outrage. "-What is this? Jessica! Tell me!" He shot her a venomous, accusatory scowl. "Did you have anything to do with this?"
She looked up at him with horror, shaking her head violently. "No! No! I- I have no idea what that is! I've never seen it before!"
He narrowed his eyes at her, then shook his head. "God damn it. God damn it!" The device cracked as Kilgrave threw it to the ground in frustration, putting both hands to his forehead. "What is it? Some kind of bomb?"
"I don't- I think- it looks like a GPS tracker or something." Jessica spoke slowly, obviously flustered but trying to manage his emotions at the same time. "…Maybe it's the police…?"
"No. The police are not the ones that have been relentless tailing me for the past month. I'll tell you what: whoever it is, I'd bet anything your ex-boyfriend Luke Cage had something to do with it." Furious, Kilgrave shook out his jacket and draped it around his shoulders again, slapping a phone into Jessica's hands. "Get Murdock on the phone. I've got work to do."