Chapter 7
12th January 2015, 15th Precinct Police Station - Hell's Kitchen, NYC
Matt listened intently as John Healy described the alleged self-defense killing, cataloging every subtle reaction in the man's physiology. His heartbeat remained unnaturally steady—too controlled for an innocent man facing murder charges. Matt detected no sweat, no tremors in his voice, no unconscious fidgeting. This wasn't some random bowling enthusiast who got into a fight; this was someone trained to kill.
When Foggy tried to bow out of the case, Matt made a split-second decision. "We're taking the case," he declared, ignoring Foggy's confusion. Matt needed to know why Confederated Global—likely connected to what whoever was behind Union Allied—suddenly had an interest in their tiny firm. Healy was their best lead, and Matt wasn't about to let him go.
As he questioned Healy, Matt grew increasingly frustrated. Every attempt to uncover the connection between Healy and the mysterious man was met with practiced deflection. The steady heartbeat never faltered, even when Matt pushed harder. Whoever had trained this man had done an excellent job.
Foggy pulled Matt aside, his agitation evident in his quickened pulse and hushed tone. "We should not be doing this," he insisted.
"Doing what?" Matt asked, though he already knew.
"Defending professional criminals."
Matt felt torn. Normally he would agree with Foggy, but his instincts told him this case might lead to something bigger. "You're the one that keeps saying we need real clients."
"That's not a client. It's a shark in a skin suit! You pegged it back at the office. There's something off about this whole thing."
"We agreed to represent him, Foggy. We're gonna try this case and let the jury take it from there."
They returned to Healy, and Matt suggested waiving the 180.80 procedure to buy them time, hoping to get Healy to open up. But Healy immediately shut him down with a firm "No."
Matt raised his eyebrows behind his glasses, surprised by the immediate rejection. Healy wanted no delay, no hearings, no discovery—straight to trial. "You'll need to testify," Matt pointed out, testing him.
"I'm just gonna have faith in our judicial system and you're gonna do your jobs," Healy replied coolly.
"That simple?" Matt asked skeptically.
"That simple," Healy confirmed. "And, uh, as for the man who hired you... all you need to know is his check's gonna clear."
Matt's jaw tightened. The message was clear: don't ask questions, take the money, do the job. Whoever Healy worked for had power and didn't appreciate curiosity. But that only made Matt more determined to find out who was behind all of this.
12th January 2015, Nelson & Murdock Law Office - Hell's Kitchen, NYC
"You wanna tell me what the hell's going on with you?" Foggy demanded as they reentered their office. "First you decide we're taking the case unilaterally and then you cross-examine the guy like we're playing bad cop/worse cop."
Matt sighed, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. "If we want to keep the lights on, we gotta take some cases for the money. You were right about that."
"Okay, for the record, this is the first time you've ever said I was right. I hate it."
Despite everything, Matt felt a smile tug at his lips. "Sometimes, we have to do things we aren't proud of."
"Yeah, but this can't become what we do," Foggy insisted.
"Yeah, I know."
"And we have to be on the same team, making decisions together."
Matt nodded, genuinely contrite. "I got carried away. I'm sorry, Foggy."
"It's okay."
Matt extended his fist, and Foggy bumped it after a moment's hesitation. The small gesture restored a bit of normalcy between them, and Matt was grateful for it.
"So?" Matt prompted.
Foggy's tone shifted to professional mode. "Okay. So assuming he's indicted, which, yeah, it's on the DA to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that it wasn't self-defense. Shoe girl's DD-5 says that she didn't come out of the back room until after the fight had started, which helps us."
"And what about Prohaszka's men?"
"They lawyered up. Wouldn't give a five."
Matt frowned. "Since when do the victims of an assault not give a statement?"
"Another chit in our favor," Foggy said. "Plus Healy's pretty banged up. Argue defensive wounds, which makes it look more like a fight and less like an execution."
Matt started to formulate their strategy. "So, you open, I'll sum up. And we should cash that check, have Rose see what she can find out about Confederated Global."
"Right. Where the hell is she?"
12th January 2015, Daniel Fisher's mother's building - Hell's Kitchen, NYC
Rose stood outside the modest apartment building in Hell's Kitchen, a gift-wrapped package clutched in her hands. She checked the address on her phone one more time before slipping it back into her pocket. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she pressed the buzzer for apartment 3B.
"Who is it?" a woman's voice crackled through the intercom.
"Mrs. Fisher? It's Rose Evans. The P.I. your son hired." Rose leaned closer to the speaker, her heart pounding in her chest.
There was a long pause, and Rose wondered if the woman might simply ignore her. Finally, the intercom crackled again.
"Third floor," Mrs. Fisher said.
The door buzzed and unlocked. Rose hesitated for just a moment before pulling it open and stepping inside. The hallway was dimly lit, with faded wallpaper and the faint smell of cooking from other apartments. She climbed the stairs slowly, rehearsing what she would say when the door opened.
At apartment 3B, she paused again before knocking gently on the worn wooden door.
It opened to reveal a tired-looking woman in her sixties with graying hair pulled back in a simple bun. Her eyes, which might once have been kind, were now shadowed with grief and suspicion as she looked Rose up and down.
"I didn't expect you'd have the audacity to show up here," Mrs. Fisher said, making no move to invite Rose inside.
Rose held out the wrapped gift she brought, the paper crinkling under her tight grip. "This is for Tommy. Daniel mentioned his son liked model airplanes."
Mrs. Fisher hesitated, then reached out to take the package. "Thank you." Her voice softened slightly, but her posture remained rigid in the doorway.
"I just wanted to see how you and Tommy are doing," Rose said. "And to talk, if that's okay."
The older woman studied Rose's face for several long seconds, then sighed and stepped aside. "Come in. But please keep your voice down. Tommy's just fallen asleep."
The apartment was small but tidy, with toys scattered in one corner of the living room. Framed photos lined a bookshelf—most of them showing Daniel with a young boy. Rose's eyes were drawn to one that showed Tommy sitting on Daniel's shoulders, both of them laughing with identical smiles. The resemblance between father and son was striking, and it sent a sharp pang through Rose's chest.
Mrs. Fisher placed the gift on a small dining table. "Can I get you some tea?" she offered, more out of politeness than genuine hospitality.
"No, thank you," Rose declined. "I won't stay long."
Mrs. Fisher gestured to the couch, and they both sat, a careful distance between them. A strained silence filled the room, broken only by the soft ticking of a clock on the wall.
"Mrs. Fisher," Rose finally said, her voice barely above a whisper, "I can't stop thinking about what happened. I was supposed to help him, and instead I got him killed."
Mrs. Fisher sighed heavily. "I don't blame you for my son's death, Miss Evans."
"I blame myself." Rose couldn't keep the self-recrimination from her voice. "I should have been more careful. More aware of the risks."
Mrs. Fisher's eyes drifted toward a partially closed bedroom door where a soft nightlight glow spilled through the gap. "My grandson asks about his daddy every night," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "What am I supposed to tell him?"
"The truth," Rose said firmly. "That his father was brave. That he tried to expose something wrong."
A bitter laugh escaped Mrs. Fisher's lips. "And look where that got him."
Rose leaned forward. "We can still bring the people responsible to justice—"
"Stop." Mrs. Fisher cut her off sharply. "Please." She rose from the couch and walked to a small desk in the corner. From a drawer, she pulled out a white business envelope and returned to the couch.
"They came to see me yesterday, right after Daniel's funeral," she explained, turning the envelope over in her hands. "Men in expensive suits. Said they represented Union Allied's 'remaining interests.'"
She handed the envelope to Rose, who opened it and began scanning the document inside, her eyes narrowing as she read.
"This is a gag order," Rose said, looking up in disbelief.
"I know what it is." Mrs. Fisher's voice was tired but resolute. "I also know what raising a child costs. Tommy's only five. There's school, college, medical bills..."
"They're buying your silence."
Mrs. Fisher straightened her shoulders. "They're buying Tommy's future. And after what happened to Daniel... to you... I believe they'd do worse if I didn't sign."
Rose handed the document back, feeling a cold anger solidifying in her chest. "But you know this isn't right."
For the first time, Mrs. Fisher's composure cracked. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she looked toward a photo of Daniel.
"A few days before he died," she said, her voice breaking, "Daniel told me something didn't feel right at work, with the numbers. I told him that whatever it was, he had a responsibility to do something about it." Her voice hardened. "I figure I have a few years before I have to tell my grandson that."
"They have to pay for what they've done," Rose said.
"They won't listen."
"I'll make them listen."
Mrs. Fisher shook her head and stood, walking to the door. "I already signed, Miss Evans. I have Tommy to think about now, and he's all that matters to me."
She opened the door, a clear signal that Rose had overstayed her welcome. "If you have anyone that you care about... let it go."
"I understand why you signed. And I promise, I won't do anything that puts you or Tommy at risk." She rose from the coach and moved towards the door. Stopping in the threshold, she turned back to face the grieving mother. "But I can't let this go. Not until they face justice for what they've done."
Mrs. Fisher's expression softened just slightly. "You remind me of him," she said quietly. "Stubborn. Brave."
Rose gave her a sad smile. "If you ever need anything—"
"Goodbye, Miss Evans." The door closed gently but firmly.
Rose stood there for a moment, her shoulders dropping. Then, straightening her spine, she turned and walked down the hallway, determination hardening her features.
Outside the building, Rose paused on the sidewalk, taking a deep breath of the cool afternoon air.
She knew she was treading dangerous ground. These people had already killed two people that she knew of, and they wouldn't hesitate to do it again. But she couldn't walk away. She had to see this through.
12th January 2015, Nelson & Murdock Law Office - Hell's Kitchen, NYC
Matt sat at the conference table with Foggy, the scent of Chinese takeout filling the small office. Paper containers rustled as Foggy sorted through their dinner, occasionally pushing a box toward Matt with a gentle nudge against his hand to indicate what was inside.
"Let's pull section 35.15 of the Penal," Matt suggested, his fingers moving across the braille text of the legal document before him.
"35.15," Foggy confirmed, typing the reference into his laptop.
Matt nodded, the familiar routine of case preparation providing a welcome distraction from his concerns about Rose's unexplained absence. "Then we'll take our facts and fit them to the CJI and the statute."
Foggy sighed heavily, the sound followed by the frustrated tapping of keys. Matt could hear the increasing tempo of Foggy's heartbeat—a sign of his growing frustration.
"Got the insights?" Matt asked.
"It's still loading. We need better Wi-Fi," Foggy complained, hitting a key repeatedly as if that might speed things up.
Matt leaned back in his chair. "We need better everything."
"Let's do that," Foggy said, his voice brightening with mock enthusiasm. "Let's win cases, be popular and make money."
"It's not about that, Foggy," Matt replied, though he couldn't help but smile at his friend's enduring optimism.
"I know, but it could be just a little, a smidge."
The door opened with a soft creak. Matt's head turned toward the sound, relief washing through him as the familiar scent of honey, lemon, and lilies filled the room. Rose had returned.
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Matt could sense her hesitation as she took in the scene—the two lawyers surrounded by legal documents and takeout containers.
"You're back," Matt said, keeping his tone neutral despite his curiosity about her day-long absence.
"Sorry I was gone so long," Rose replied, her voice carrying a note of weariness that hadn't been there this morning.
Matt's mind raced with questions. Where had she been all day? Why had she left without saying anything? He could detect subtle signs of emotional strain in her voice, a slight elevation in her heart rate that suggested stress or anxiety.
"You find out anything on Confed Global?" he asked, keeping his tone casual despite his concern.
"Yeah, uh, it's a subsidiary of a holding company of a loan-out to a holding subsidiary and on and on and on," Rose replied, moving further into the room. "But that dickhead's check cleared in about two seconds."
Matt raised his eyebrows at this, turning slightly toward Foggy. "There's your money."
"Bang on the router, will you? The wi-fi is acting up." Foggy requested, his frustration with the slow internet evident in his voice.
"Oh, hey, no more long lunches until this is over, okay?" The gentle admonishment was as much as he could say with Foggy present, but he hoped she would understand his underlying concern.
"You got it," Rose agreed quietly.
Matt heard her cross the room toward the router. Her movements were the same as this morning - confident and precise. Nothing in her gait or posture suggested anything had happened to her physically during her absence. Clearly something had upset her though.
A hollow plastic thump echoed as Rose hit the router, followed by Foggy's triumphant exclamation.
"All right, practice insights for New York State Penal Law 35.15," Foggy announced, his mood immediately improved.
As they returned to work, Matt found his attention divided. Part of him focused on Healy's case, but another part remained acutely aware of Rose moving around the office, wondering about her day's activities. There was the faint trace of unfamiliar perfume on her clothes—she'd been close to another woman, older than her if he had to guess from the classic scent alone. And beneath her usual composed exterior, he could detect signs of emotional tension in her carefully measured breathing and her tensed muscles.
Something had happened today, something Rose wasn't sharing. Matt respected her privacy, but he couldn't help but wonder what she had been doing that was important enough to disappear without explanation on her first day of work.
For now, though, they had a case to prepare, and a professional killer to defend. Matt pushed his curiosity aside and focused on the law, though his awareness of Rose remained, a constant presence at the edge of his senses.
12th January 2015, Rose's Apartment - Hell's Kitchen, NYC
Rose was curled up on her couch, a glass of red wine in hand, when she heard the soft thud of boots on her fire escape. She didn't startle—she'd been half-expecting this visit.
"You know," she called out without turning around, "most people use the front door."
Matt slipped through her window, a cool draft following him inside. "Most people keep their windows locked in January. I took it as an invitation."
Rose set down her wine and turned to face him. Even in the dim light, she could see the dark stains on his black outfit. "You're bleeding."
"Just a scratch."
"A scratch that's soaked through your shirt," Rose raised an eyebrow, already moving to retrieve her medical kit. "Your definition of 'scratch' needs work."
"I've had worse," Matt said with a slight shrug, then winced at the movement.
"Sit before you fall down," Rose pulled on latex gloves with practiced efficiency and gestured for him to sit on the couch. "And try not to bleed on my couch."
Matt complied, removing his mask as he settled onto the cushions.
"Where were you today?" he asked quietly as she began examining his wounds.
Rose's hands stilled briefly before continuing their work. "I visited Daniel's mother."
"How is she holding up?" Matt's voice was soft with concern.
"As well as can be expected," Rose said, cleaning a particularly nasty cut on his shoulder. "I needed to see how she and Tommy were doing. I owed them that much."
"Tommy?"
"Daniel's son." Rose's voice caught slightly. "I brought him a model airplane. Daniel had mentioned he liked them."
Matt was silent for a moment, his head tilted in that way that meant he was listening to her heartbeat, reading her emotional state. "What happened?"
Rose sighed, setting aside the bloodied gauze. "Union Allied got to her first. Right after the funeral. Made her sign a non-disclosure agreement in exchange for what they're calling an 'indemnity payment.'"
"Buying her silence," Matt's voice was tight with anger.
"And Tommy's future." Rose started stitching the reopened wound on Matt's side. "She didn't have a choice, really. Not with a five-year-old to raise alone."
"And you blame yourself."
It wasn't a question, but Rose answered anyway. "Of course I do. If I hadn't gotten involved—"
"Daniel came to you," Matt interrupted. "He chose to investigate. You didn't force him."
"No, I should have protected him better." Her hands trembled slightly as she tied off the last stitch.
Matt caught her wrist, his grip gentle but firm. "Rose."
She pulled away, stripping off her gloves with more force than necessary. "Don't. Don't try to make me feel better about this."
"I'm not." Matt's voice was steady. "But carrying that guilt won't help bring his killers to justice."
Rose dropped onto the couch beside him, suddenly exhausted. "His mother told me to let it go. Said if I had anyone I cared about, I should walk away."
"And will you?"
"No." Rose's voice hardened with determination. "They killed Daniel, they killed Daria, and they're probably responsible for who knows how many other deaths. Someone has to stop them."
Matt nodded, a small smile playing at his lips. "That's what I thought you'd say."
"Is that why you really came here tonight? To make sure I wasn't giving up?"
"Maybe I was worried about you," Matt admitted. "You disappeared without a word on your first day."
Rose felt a warmth spread through her chest at his concern, even as she tried to maintain her irritation. "I thought we were keeping things professional, Mr. Murdock."
"This isn't about work," Matt said softly. "This is about making sure you're okay."
The sincerity in his voice made Rose's breath catch. She was suddenly very aware of how close they were sitting, of the warmth radiating from his body.
"I'm okay," she assured him, her voice equally soft. "Or I will be, once we bring these bastards down."
Matt's smile turned dangerous. "We will. Together."
Rose nodded. "Together," she agreed.
"About Healy's case..." Rose said after a moment. "Why did you decide to take it?"
Matt's expression grew serious. "The way he moves, his heart rate, his breathing… he's trained. A professional. And whoever sent that man to our office..." He shook his head. "The timing's too convenient. I think they're connected to Union Allied."
"You think defending him might lead us to whoever's behind all this?"
"He's too confident. Refused to waive the 180.80, wants to go straight to trial." Matt's jaw tightened. "Either they've already gotten to the jury, or they're planning to. Either way, he knows something. And I want to find out what."
"Foggy can't be happy about this."
A rueful smile crossed Matt's face. "No, he's not."
Matt stood, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at his fresh stitches. He retrieved his mask from where he'd left it on the coffee table before pulling it back on.
He moved toward the window. Pausing at the sill, he turned back toward her. "Rose?"
"Yeah?"
"Try to get some sleep," he suggested quietly. "You sound tired."
"I will," Rose replied softly. "Promise."
Matt nodded and then he was gone, disappearing into the darkness like a shadow.
She stared at the empty window for a long moment before reaching for her abandoned wine glass.