Chapter 6

12th January 2015, Nelson & Murdock Law Office - Hell's Kitchen, NYC

Matt arrived at the office earlier than usual, needing the quiet to center himself before Rose's first day. He'd spent most of the night wrestling with his decision to maintain emotional distance from her. It was the right call. The smart call. But that didn't make it any easier.

When he'd suggested hiring her as their investigator, he hadn't fully thought through what it would mean to have her in the office every day. To have a living, breathing connection between his two carefully separated lives. Someone who knew both sides of himself.

It was dangerous. The walls he'd built between his dual identities were there for a reason. Rose's presence threatened to blur those lines, creating a vulnerability he couldn't afford—for his sake and for everyone around him.

He ran his fingers over the braille document on his desk but his mind kept circling back to the same thoughts. Keep it professional. Don't get attached. Don't put her in danger.

The door to the office opened, and Foggy's familiar footsteps entered, accompanied by his cheerful whistling.

"Morning, sunshine," Foggy called out. "Ready for our new employee's first day?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Matt replied, forcing a light tone.

Foggy stopped at Matt's doorway. "You know, it's not too late to get a sign. A real one. New employee, new sign. Makes sense."

Matt managed a small smile. "We should probably get clients first."

"That's the spirit," Foggy said, his tone suggesting he'd missed—or chosen to ignore—Matt's lack of enthusiasm. "Hey, did you talk to Brett about that missing person's case?"

Matt was about to respond when his senses caught it—that distinctive scent of honey, lemon, and lilies. She was still half a block away, but the morning breeze carried her fragrance through the partially open window.

His heart rate quickened involuntarily, and he drew a slow, steadying breath. Professional distance, he reminded himself. It's better this way.

Five minutes later, her footsteps approached the door. Light, yet purposeful. She hesitated for just a moment before knocking.

"Come in," Foggy called out.

The door opened, and Rose's presence filled the small office in a way that had nothing to do with physical space. Matt didn't need sight to know she had dressed professionally for her first day—he could hear the structured fabric of a blazer shifting as she moved, the subtle whisper of a skirt against her legs, and the distinctive click of heels against the floor. Her hair brushed against the collar of her blazer when she turned her head, suggesting she'd styled it more formally than during their previous encounters.

"Good morning," she said, her voice warm but with an undertone of nervousness. Her heartbeat was slightly elevated—first-day jitters, perhaps.

"Rose!" Foggy crossed the room to greet her. "Welcome to the big leagues. And by big leagues, I mean small, financially precarious leagues."

Rose laughed, the sound sending an involuntary shiver down Matt's spine. He composed himself and rose from his chair, cane in hand, making his way to his office door with measured steps.

"Good morning, Rose," he said, his tone polite but reserved. A professional smile curved his lips—the kind he used with clients. "Welcome to Nelson and Murdock."

"Thank you, Matt," she replied, her voice warm. "I brought those reference books you mentioned might be helpful." She took a few steps toward him, her heels clicking against the floor.

"That's very thoughtful," Matt said, genuinely appreciative but maintaining his professional demeanor. "Why don't you set up at your desk first, and we can go over those materials later? I've prepared some administrative paperwork you'll need to review—standard protocols and forms for the firm."

"Of course," Rose replied, a slight pause in her response suggesting she'd noticed the shift in his manner compared to their previous interactions. Not cold, but definitely more formal than the easy camaraderie they'd shared at his apartment.

"The administrative paperwork is on your desk," Matt added, maintaining his professional tone. "We should review your role and responsibilities once you've had a chance to go through it."

"I'll get started right way," Rose replied, her voice cooling slightly in response to his formality.

As Rose began setting up her desk, Matt retreated to his office, firmly closing the door behind him. But closing the door did little to help. His enhanced senses meant that walls offered minimal privacy. He could hear everything—the soft rustle of her clothing as she moved, the subtle sounds of her breathing, her heartbeat that had now steadied into its familiar rhythm.

He tried to focus on his work, but his senses kept betraying him, gravitating toward Rose like a compass needle to north. The gentle tap of her fingers on the keyboard. The subtle shift as she crossed her legs beneath her desk. The way she played with her hair. The almost imperceptible sigh that escaped her lips when she thought no one was paying attention.

Having her this close was more distracting than he'd anticipated. Her scent permeated the office, making it impossible to think of anything else. And beneath all that was the knowledge that she knew—she knew who he really was, what he did at night. She'd seen him at his most vulnerable and his most violent.

No one else in his life, not even Foggy, held that knowledge.

An hour passed in this state of hyperawareness. Matt had read the same paragraph at least six times without absorbing any of its content. He heard Rose answer the phone—their first call of the day—her voice shifting into a professional, polished tone he hadn't heard from her before. She was good at this, adapting to whatever role was needed.

Foggy popped his head into Matt's office. "I'm going on a coffee run. Want anything?"

"The usual," Matt replied, grateful for the distraction.

"Rose?" Foggy called out. "Coffee? Fair warning, it's from the cart down the street, not that fancy place with the supposedly ethically sourced beans."

"Black is fine," she answered. "Thanks, Foggy."

After Foggy left, the office fell into silence. Matt could feel Rose's attention shift toward his office. Her heartbeat changed subtly and he noticed her biting her lower lip, suggesting she was deliberating whether to speak to him.

The quiet stretched between them, taut with unspoken words.

Finally, her chair creaked as she stood and approached his office. A soft knock on his half-open door.

"Do you have a moment?" she asked, her tone carefully neutral.

"Of course," Matt said, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. "Come in."

Rose entered and closed the door behind her. Matt's grip tightened imperceptibly on the edge of his desk.The enclosed space immediately filled with her scent, making it harder for Matt to maintain his composure.He was acutely aware of the slight increase in temperature between them, the air seeming to grow warmer and heavier with each passing second.

"I get the feeling something's changed," she said directly, her voice low but not accusatory. "If I've overstepped in some way..."

Matt sighed, removing his glasses and setting them on the desk. The gesture was surprisingly vulnerable—an acknowledgment that with her, at least, he didn't need to maintain all his usual walls.

"You haven't done anything wrong," he said, his tone genuine. "This is... a complicated situation for me. Having someone who knows both sides of my life."

"I've kept your secret, Matt. I will continue to keep it."

"I know," Matt replied, and he did know—her heartbeat was steady, honest. "It's not about trust. It's about keeping clear boundaries. For both our sakes."

"Professional boundaries," she said, understanding in her voice.

"Yes," Matt confirmed, his tone gentle but firm. "What I do at night... it's dangerous. The fewer connections between that world and this one, the safer everyone is. Including you."

"I can take care of myself," Rose reminded him.

"I know you can," Matt said, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself. "But that doesn't change the fact that this firm—what Foggy and I are trying to build here—needs to remain separate from... my other activities."

"And me being here... makes it difficult for things to remain separate." Rose sighed. "I understand that. But you were the one who offered me this job, remember?"

"And I don't regret that," Matt replied immediately, leaning forward slightly. "Your skills are valuable to us. But..." He paused, his expression growing more serious. "While we're in this office, we need to keep a professional distance. I can't blur those lines, Rose. Not here."

Rose was quiet for a moment, absorbing his words. Her heartbeat remained steady, suggesting she was processing rather than reacting emotionally.

"I understand," she finally said, her voice composed. "And I respect that."

Matt nodded, relieved. "You're valuable to this firm, Rose. You're good at what you do, and we need someone with your skills."

"I appreciate that," Rose said, her tone shifting to something more businesslike as she rose from her chair. "I should get back to those administrative forms."

As she moved to the door, Matt found himself speaking again. "Rose?" When she paused, he continued. "Thank you. For understanding."

She nodded and left his office.

After she returned to her desk, the silence between them felt less strained. Matt could hear her resume her work, the soft sounds of paper and keyboard a comforting rhythm. He turned his attention back to his own files, finally able to focus on the words beneath his fingertips.

They could make this work, he decided. They could find a balance between their professional roles and the secret they shared.

"Caffeine delivery service!" Foggy announced as he bustled in, balancing three coffee cups in a cardboard tray. "I got you black, Rose, as requested. And Matt, your usual boring order."

"Thanks, Foggy," Rose said.

Matt emerged from his office to retrieve his coffee. "Thanks."

"You know what would make this office complete?" Foggy asked. "A sign. A real sign."

"Not this again," Matt murmured, but he couldn't help the small smile tugging at his lips. Foggy's enthusiasm was always infectious.

"Just a little one," Foggy continued. "Nothing fancy. 'Nelson and Murdock, Attorneys at Law.' Simple, elegant, professional."

"And expensive," Matt pointed out.

"Details," Foggy waved dismissively. "Minor details."

Their banter was interrupted when Matt heard footsteps approaching their door. They were measured, deliberate—expensive shoes on the worn hallway floor. Not the hesitant steps of someone unsure if they had the right address. This person knew exactly where they were going.

A knock sounded at the door.

"Was that a knock?" Rose asked.

"Our door?" Foggy's heartbeat quickened with excitement.

"Uh, Rose?" Matt gestured toward the door, tracking the visitor's breathing and heartbeat through the thin wall. Calm. Controlled. Whoever was out there wasn't nervous about meeting with lawyers—unusual for most potential clients.

Matt heard Rose cross the room and open the door.

"Hi. Do you do walk-ins?" The man's voice was cultured, smooth—the kind that came from expensive education and comfort with authority. His cologne was subtle but distinctive, likely custom-made. The fabric of his suit whispered of quality as he moved into the office.

Minutes later, they were seated around the conference table. Matt focused his senses on their visitor, building a picture of him. Slim but not unfit. His posture was perfect, back straight, hands resting easily on the table. No nervous fidgeting. No excessive sweating. The subtle tang of gun oil lingered beneath his expensive cologne—he was armed, likely with a sleek pistol in a hidden waistband holster based on the slight weight distribution in his gait. His watch ticked with Swiss precision—a Patek Philippe if Matt had to guess, from the distinctive movement of its gears. Not just wealthy, but someone who appreciated the craftsmanship that came with it.

"I represent a consortium with diversified interests in the private sector, both domestic and international," the man explained, his words practiced and precise. "From time to time, we scout the landscape for promising talent to put on retainer."

"Retainer?" Foggy's excitement was almost palpable.

"Why are you approaching us? Why not a larger firm, Mr...?" Matt pressed, already suspecting he'd get no real name.

"Confederated Global Investments is my employer," the man replied smoothly.

"That's not what I was asking," Matt pressed.

Matt could hear the man's lips forming a smile. "It's the only name relevant to this discussion, Mr. Murdock."

"Oh. So, why us?" Matt wasn't backing down.

Foggy jumped in, clearly anxious to smooth things over. "Obviously, the larger firms aren't able to provide the same hands-on attention that we pride ourselves on at Nelson and Murdock."

"It's a fair question," the visitor acknowledged with a nod. The metallic click of platinum cufflinks punctuated his gesture as he adjusted his position. "I'm here because my employer does extensive business in Hell's Kitchen, and who knows it better than two local boys who graduated from Columbia Law, cum laude and summa cum laude?"

Matt noticed how the man's heartbeat remained remarkably steady throughout their exchange—unnaturally controlled, suggesting someone trained to maintain composure under pressure. His body temperature didn't fluctuate either, no flush of nervousness or anxiety that most clients exhibited when meeting with lawyers.

"Uh, the 'summa' part is politics," Foggy said with a self-deprecating chuckle.

The man laughed lightly. "You set up shop right here in your backyard despite the fact that both of you were made a very lucrative offer from Landman and Zack in Manhattan where you interned."

"You've done your homework," Matt observed, his voice neutral but his wariness increasing with each detail this stranger knew about them.

"My employer expects no less."

"Then forgive me for being blunt," Matt said.

"'Blunt' is a strong word," Foggy tried to interject.

The visitor waved it away. "In my line of work, I find it refreshing."

"What is that line of work exactly?" Matt asked.

Foggy stepped in again. "What my partner is trying to say is we're still building a practice, so we're very particular about our clientele."

"I assure you, all my employer wants is for you to continue to be ethical, decent men—good lawyers," the visitor said, his tone reassuring. "And for that, for nothing more than your exceptional skills and your discretion, you'll be fairly compensated."

Matt heard the soft slide of paper across the table as the man pushed something toward Foggy. From Foggy's sudden intake of breath and the change in his heart rate, Matt deduced it was a check with a substantial amount.

"Uh-huh. It's... it's fair," Foggy managed, clearly impressed. "That's... that's fair."

"Your partner doesn't seem convinced," the visitor noted, glancing at Matt.

"Like Foggy said, we're particular about our clientele," Matt replied evenly.

Matt's suspicions grew when the man suddenly turned his attention to Rose.

"I'm curious about your clientele," he said, his voice deceptively casual, though Matt detected the subtle shift in his breathing—a micro-hesitation before he spoke. The almost imperceptible sound of his finger tracing the edge of his watch as he glanced at Rose betrayed a calculated interest. "Do they all end up working for you after you get them off for murder, or just the pretty ones?"

Rose's heartbeat spiked, her breathing shortened. Matt could sense the sudden tension radiating from her."Just the pretty ones," she answered flippantly. "It's a requisite of the job."

Matt usually loved her wit, but not right now. Not in front of this guy. He didn't want her to attract more attention than necessary and put more of a target on her back. A sudden protective instinct surged through him, muscles tensing as he fought the urge to physically place himself between Wesley and Rose. His fingers pressed harder into his thigh under the table. The man's interest in Rose felt predatory, calculated—he'd come prepared with this information for a reason.

"Rose? You, uh, give us a minute, please?" Matt said, keeping his tone gentle.

After Rose left the room—not before sending him what he thought was a death glare—Matt focused entirely on their visitor.

"How did you know about Miss Evans's situation?" Matt asked. "She was never charged. There was nothing in the papers."

"I have friends on the force," the man replied smoothly. The first hint of satisfaction colored his voice. "I hear I'm not the only one."

The implied knowledge about Matt's own police connections—specifically Brett Mahoney—was pointed.

"I think we might be veering off the subject," Foggy tried to redirect the conversation.

"I understand your concerns, Mr. Murdock," the visitor said. "Perhaps you should review one of our cases before you make a decision? Peace of mind and whatnot."

"That's a fantastic idea," Foggy jumped in eagerly. "Matthew?"

Matt hesitated before nodding reluctantly. "Yeah, what harm could it do?"

"Excellent." The man rose from his chair and started to pack his things in his briefcase. "You have 38 minutes to get to Precinct 15."

"What? Now?" Foggy asked. "What's the case?"

"Everything you need is in this file." The visitor slid a folder across the table. "Thank you for your time."

"No, thank you," Foggy called after the man as he headed for the door. "Thank you very—" The door closed behind him, cutting Foggy off mid-sentence.

Foggy turned to Matt, exasperated. "What is your problem?"

"He wouldn't even give us his name, Foggy."

"You wouldn't care if you could see the zeroes on this check!"

"Yeah, maybe you would if you couldn't." Matt left the conference room, already putting on his coat.

"We're running out of time!" Foggy exclaimed as Matt started walking toward the door.

"I'll meet you there."

"Meet me? The hell are you going?!" Foggy called after him. "Matt!"

Matt was almost out the door when he heard Rose's voice. "Be careful," she whispered, so softly that only his enhanced hearing could catch it. The genuine worry in her voice sent warmth through him.

He gave the barest nod in acknowledgment before continuing out the door, the sensation of her attention following him like a physical touch until he turned the corner and disappeared from her sight.

Once outside, Matt focused his senses on the distinctive sound of the man's watch and the scent of his cologne. He followed him through the streets of Hell's Kitchen, staying half a block behind, using his enhanced senses to track him. The man moved with purpose, not checking behind him—either supremely confident or unaware he was being followed.

Matt heard the electronic chirp of a car unlocking. The heavy thunk of an expensive car door opening and closing. A Cadillac Escalade, by the sound of the engine and the distinctive hydraulic hiss of its suspension adjusting to the man's weight as he settled into the leather seat.

Matt quickened his pace, moving closer as the vehicle idled. Through the partially open window, he could hear the man on the phone, the watch on his wrist making that distinctive tick as he raised his arm to check the time before speaking.

"It's been taken care of, sir," the man said, voice deferential now. Different from how he'd spoken at the office. Whoever he was speaking to commanded his respect.

Matt stopped, a hand going instinctively to his side where a sharp pain suddenly bloomed. The wound from his nighttime activities had reopened, warm blood dampening his shirt. He'd been pushing himself too hard.

The SUV pulled away from the curb, and Matt was forced to let it go. He had a case to prepare for, and Foggy would be waiting.

But he had gleaned something useful—their visitor answered to someone important. Someone who might be connected to Union Allied and to what had happened to Rose. And if they were interested in Nelson and Murdock, there had to be a reason.

Matt turned and started back toward the office, his mind working through the possibilities. Something was happening in Hell's Kitchen, something big enough that powerful people were taking notice of a tiny law firm that had barely opened its doors.