Some days, Matt Murdock really, really hated practicing law. Today was one of them.

He and Foggy were representing the owner of their favorite diner, who was being sued by a customer who claimed to have found cockroaches in her fruit salad. Matt was sure the case was bogus. He didn't have to inspect the client's kitchen to know it's spotless; he could tell from the food. Karen, who knows what she's talking about – her family ran a diner, after all – confirmed it.

The client, Lucille Benoit, was a Haitian immigrant, a poster woman for the American Dream; she came from Haiti with nothing and now owned a thriving business. Her diner served both American comfort food and Haitian specialties. But this lawsuit threatened to ruin that. She had insurance for fire and theft; but, unfamiliar with Americans' litigiousness, she opted not to purchase liability coverage. If the plaintiff won the case, it would put her out of business.

What was worse, the plaintiff's lawyers, Eric Pitzer and Kendra Hart, were the most sleazy duo Matt had encountered in a long time. "If their lips move, they're lying" had become his, Foggy's, and Karen's mantra. They even lied when there was no reason to. It was as if they couldn't help themselves.

Karen had described the two lawyers to him. He'd never thought of Karen as being particularly catty, but this pair brought out something in her that he never knew was there. Pitzer was "the Pillsbury dough boy in a three-piece suit." Matt didn't know what a "Pillsbury dough boy" was, but he got the general idea. Hart was "skinny as a rail" with hair that looked like she'd stuck a finger in an electrical outlet. Meow! What they looked like didn't mean much to Matt, not after years of total blindness; it was their voices that got to him. Hart's high-pitched, nasal voice grated on his ears. Pitzer tried to come across as a smooth operator, but he just sounded oily and smarmy.

The plaintiff, Fiona Sullivan, was a liar, too. Her deposition testimony was one lie after another, from finding the cockroaches and confronting Lucille about them (it never happened) to her claims of suffering PTSD and food aversions as a result (no doubt her sleazy attorneys would find and pay an equally sleazy doc to back up those claims, but Matt knew they were bullshit). During her deposition, he had to tap the table almost nonstop to signal Foggy that she was lying. But what his enhanced senses told him wasn't admissible in court. They needed evidence, admissible evidence.

Their client's deposition was today. It was even worse than he expected, if that was possible. Pitzer handled the questioning, with Hart whispering suggestions in his ear between questions. Some of the worst ideas were hers. The sleazebag grilled Lucille unmercifully, mostly about matters that were totally irrelevant to the case, like her family in Haiti (some of whom were not model citizens), her nonexistent criminal history, her immigration status (she had a totally legitimate green card), her hairstyle (braids, worn in a bun), and where she got the money to open the diner (loans from family and friends). Pitzer also insinuated that she'd paid off the city inspectors who consistently gave the diner an "A" rating. Foggy's and Matt's repeated objections didn't even slow him down. Every few questions, he would ask Lucille to repeat her answer, claiming he didn't understand her accent. (Matt was sure this was just a ploy to try to trip her up; he could understand her perfectly.) After the second time, Foggy tried to put a stop to it by asking the court reporter to read back the answer, but Pitzer was undeterred. Apparently he'd never gotten the memo about not pissing off the court reporter. Matt couldn't let the devil out in the middle of a deposition, so he just gritted his teeth and clenched his fists under the table as he listened to the questions, each one more offensive than the last.

After almost an hour, Matt had heard enough. He pushed back his chair, stood up, and announced, "That's it. We're taking a break." He turned and marched out of the conference room, not waiting for Pitzer's response. The asshole didn't deserve the usual professional courtesy. Foggy and Lucille followed Matt out of the room.

Once Foggy closed his office door, Lucille sank into a chair. "Wow," she said, letting out her breath all at once, "you weren't kidding." Her breathing and heart rate were faster than usual, but she seemed more angry than upset.

"How're you doing?" Foggy asked.

"OK, I think," she replied. "You did warn me what they were like."

"This isn't discovery, this is harassment," Matt declared. "We can stop it, right now, if that's what you want."

"Stop it how?" she asked.

Foggy answered. "We go back in, terminate the deposition, then go to court and ask for a protective order to stop the harassment."

"Then what?"

"We come back at a later date and finish the deposition, hopefully without the harassment," Foggy replied.

"But there's no guarantee he'll comply," Matt added. "And I'm betting he won't. It's his nature, as the scorpion said."

Lucille steepled her hands in front of her face as she considered what her attorneys were telling her. Then she took a deep breath. "No," she said firmly. "Let's finish this today. I want to get it over with."

They returned to the conference room. When the court reporter indicated she was ready, Pitzer resumed his questioning. "Lucille," he said, not observing the formality that usually prevailed at depositions, "I've placed a series of photos in front of you."

He got that far before Foggy held up a hand. "Just a minute, counsel. We need to go off the record so I can describe them to Mr. Murdock."

"Oh, all right," Pitzer grumbled. "But make it quick."

As Foggy described the photographs of dead cockroaches to Matt, Pitzer whispered to Hart, "What use is he, anyway?"

"OK, we're done," Foggy informed him, handing back the stack of photos.

"Finally," Pitzer griped. Then he turned to Lucille. "Back on the record. Directing your attention to exhibits 5 through 10, the photographs of your diner's kitchen – "

Lucille interrupted him. "Those aren't photographs of my kitchen, counselor."

"They're not?" Pitzer sneered. "Then whose kitchen is it, if not yours?"

"I don't know, but I'm telling you, it's not my kitchen. Maybe it's yours, counselor."

Matt suppressed a grin and imagined Foggy was doing the same. The client was doing just fine. She was going to get through this.

Lucille's retort seemed to push Pitzer back on his heels for a moment, but then he regrouped. "How do you know this isn't your kitchen?" he asked, waving exhibit 5 in front of her.

She took it from his hand and looked at it. "For one thing, the floor is a checkerboard tile. My kitchen floor is a solid color."

Undeterred, Pitzer handed her exhibit 6. "Same question."

"The, uh, insects in this one look like they're on a tile counter top. The work surfaces in my kitchen are stainless steel."

And so it went. When Pitzer got to exhibit 10, he heaved a skeptical sigh and went on to a new subject. Two hours into the deposition, he finally got around to the plaintiff's claim. He tried to poke holes in Lucille's testimony that the incident never occurred, and she had never met or spoken to the plaintiff, but he was unable to make any significant inroads. At the three-hour mark, he seemed to run out of steam, and he wrapped up his questioning.

As soon as Pitzer said, "no further questions," Foggy and Lucille were on their feet, heading to Foggy's office. Matt stood up, too, but he didn't follow them. Instead, he grabbed his cane and slipped out of the office. Once outside, he found the cooler air that told him he was in the shadows on the side of the building. He waited there until Pitzer and Hart exited. Then he followed them at a safe distance, but still close enough to hear their conversation. They were gloating, apparently thinking the deposition had gone well for them. Unbelievable.

"I really put that uppity Black bitch in her place," Pitzer was saying.

Great, Matt thought. Not only assholes, racist assholes. He scowled and gripped his cane more tightly.

"Did you see how she squirmed when I showed her the photos? Pitzer asked. "Who cares if they weren't her kitchen? They could've been, and she knew it."

Matt seriously doubted it. None of Lucille's reactions to seeing the photos revealed anything but confusion about why Pitzer was showing them to her.

Hart apparently decided to pile on. "God, what a liar," she said. "I was watching her when she claimed she never even met Fiona. She was fidgeting like crazy, and her eyes were darting all over the place."

"Takes one to know one," Matt thought wryly. Lucille's unchanging heartbeat proved she was telling the truth. Hart, the habitual liar, was projecting.

Matt hung back a little as Pitzer and Hart turned the corner onto 10th Avenue. Then he started following them again, staying back far enough that he could blend in with the other pedestrians crowding the sidewalk.

"We have to jack up the pressure on her," Hart was saying. "I don't know how much longer Jason can hold on."

"Don't worry," Pitzer assured her. "The n – " He sounded like he was about to utter a racial epithet, but apparently he reconsidered. "The bitch will be out of business by the end of the month."

Matt felt sick to his stomach. The racism was bad enough. But they were also out to destroy everything that Lucille had worked so hard for. He had to stop them. And who was Jason? And why did he need to hold on? Matt had no idea, but he was confident that Karen could find the answers to those questions.

Matt had gotten what he needed. He headed back to the office, seething. This damn case was really getting to him. And there were still hours to go before nightfall, when Daredevil could unleash his anger and frustration on the criminals of Hell's Kitchen.

###

Matt walked into the office the next morning to find a very agitated, and angry, Karen. She was waving something around – a newspaper, maybe.

He had barely gotten through the door when she declared, "I'm gonna kill those assholes."

He could guess who she was referring to, but he asked anyway. "Kill who?"

"Pitzer and Hart, of course."

"What've they done now?"

Foggy stepped out of his office. "They're trying the case in the press. Apparently they've figured out they aren't gonna win in court. Not with an unbiased jury, anyway."

"Exactly," Karen agreed. "So they managed to plant an article in the Bugle, repeating Fiona's claims and alleging Lucille is running a dirty restaurant. The paper even ran some of the fake cockroach photos."

"Damn," Matt swore. This explained the conversation he'd overheard yesterday. The case was never about Fiona. Their goal was to put Lucille out of business, apparently to benefit someone named Jason.

When he told Karen and Foggy what he'd overheard, Karen slammed the newspaper down on her desk and asked, "Who's Jason?"

"You don't know?" Matt asked.

She shook her head. "No, this is the first time I've heard of him. But you can be damn sure I'm gonna find out."

"He's gotta own a restaurant, probably somewhere near Lucille's place," Foggy said. "They're trying to eliminate his competition."

"Yeah," Matt agreed. "And it's probably not doing so well, if he can only hang on until the end of the month. We need to find him, and soon."

"I'm on it," Karen said.

"But even if we find him," Foggy pointed out, "it may give Fiona a motive for lying, but that's not gonna be enough to make the case go away."

Matt felt deflated, like when he took a stomach punch and all the air went out of him. Foggy was right. Motive alone wasn't enough.

"There's something else," Karen said slowly. Matt turned toward her, a questioning expression on his face. "The roommate."

"The roommate?" Matt asked.

"Yeah, Fiona's former roommate," Karen explained. "I interviewed her when we first took the case and didn't get anything useful. But I always felt she was holding something back. She knows more than she was telling me. I'll talk to her again."

Matt nodded. "Good."

"And I'll talk to Ellison, too," Karen went on, referring to her former editor at the New York Bulletin. "Maybe he can get their food critic to pay Lucille a visit and give her a good review."

"Do it," Foggy said. "And meanwhile, we'll demand a retraction from the Bugle."

"Even if they run one, it won't do any good," Matt griped. "The jury pool is already tainted, and the retraction will be buried on page 26."

"I know," Foggy said, "but we need to do it anyway. Looks like we've all got work to do." He sighed wearily and headed back to his office to start working on the retraction demand. Matt followed him. Karen picked up the phone to call the former roommate.

###

Late the next afternoon, Karen called out, "Guys! I've got something." Foggy and Matt emerged from their respective offices to stand on either side of her desk.

"Kendra Hart has a cousin, Jason Hart," she said. "Guess what business he's in?"

Foggy answered first. "He runs a diner."

Karen pointed at him and said, "We have a winner! He owns Jason's Java Joint on 45th, a block from Lucille's. I've eaten there. It's not very good." Matt imagined her wrinkling her nose. "He can't possibly compete with Lucille, so they're trying to put her out of business."

Matt tipped his head toward Foggy. "There's your motive."

"Yeah," Foggy agreed.

"One other thing," Karen said. "He failed his two last health inspections. I'll bet those photos Pitzer had are of his kitchen."

"That's a bet you'd win," Foggy told her.

"Confirming their motive is helpful," Matt said, "but we still need evidence that they're acting on it."

"I'm working on it," Karen assured them.

###

Just before lunchtime, two days later, Karen marched into the office, waving a sheaf of papers around. "Got it!" she said triumphantly.

Matt had heard her coming and was already emerging from his office. "Got what?"

"A signed affidavit from Sandra Burke," Karen told him. She apparently saw the puzzled expression on his face, because she added, "Fiona's former roommate."

"Foggy!" Matt yelled. "Get out here!"

"What the hell, Matt?" Foggy said as he rushed out of his office. "Is the building on fire?"

"No, it's something good," Matt told him, gesturing toward Karen.

Foggy grabbed the pages from her hand and read them as he and Matt followed her into the conference room and took their usual seats at the table. He muttered as he read, "Oh, man." "Holy shit." "Oh, my god." And, finally, "Wow." He finished the last page and put it down, then straightened the pages and handed them back to Karen. "You tell him," he said.

"I thought Sandra wasn't telling me everything when I interviewed her before," she began. "Turns out I was right. This time, she couldn't wait to spill the beans. Her conscience must've been acting up. Anyway, according to Sandra, Fiona's an aspiring actress but not a very good one."

"Got that right," Foggy muttered.

Karen ignored him. "She's had a hard time getting work. Somehow Hart found her – Sandra doesn't know how – and hired her to play the role of the plaintiff. Hart and Pitzer came up with the story and fed it to her."

"Yeah, she did sound kinda rehearsed at her depo," Matt observed thoughtfully.

"Anyway, it all came out when Fiona let it slip that she was expecting a big payday. When Sandra asked her about it, she couldn't resist telling all."

"Holy shit," Foggy repeated. "This blows their case out of the water."

"Damn right it does," Matt agreed with a grin. "Great work, Karen." He and Foggy spent the afternoon drafting a letter demanding that Pitzer and Hart drop the case. Karen delivered it, along with a copy of Sandra's affidavit, just before the close of business that day.

###

Four days of complete radio silence followed. On the morning of the fifth day, halfway through opening the mail, Karen rushed into Matt's office. "It's here!" she exclaimed, then described the documents she was holding in her hand: a substitution of attorneys firing Pitzer and Hart and a stipulation to discontinue the case signed by Fiona, representing herself in propria persona.

"I guess it finally dawned on her that she was committing perjury and could go to jail," Karen commented.

"You'd think that might've occurred to her before," Matt noted dryly.

"Yeah, well, I don't think she's all that bright," Karen pointed out. "Anyway, it looks like she fired Pitzer and Hart on the spot, and she's dropping the case. It's over."

"Yeah," Matt agreed. He sighed wearily as he picked up the phone to call Lucille. "Until the next case from hell."