Working for Union Allied Construction wasn't her dream job, it wasn't even close.

Karen Page wanted to help people but working at some massive corporate company wasn't doing anyone any good. It was helping her pay rent and put food on the table but not much else. Like most people in New York CIty's Hell's Kitchen, she got a decent amount of sleep, but last night had gone rather differently and ended quite horribly. Karen met her co-worker, Daniel Fisher, for drinks and hoped to discuss what she had accidentally uncovered. He grew pretty secretive and they soon parted ways. Karen didn't remember even making it home but when she woke up the next day, she was laying next to him in a pool of his blood with a knife in her head. Karen let a few screams and the next thing she knew, police were breaking down her door and handcuffing her as she looked into Daniel's dead eyes, wondering what the hell happened and why it felt like she hadn't gotten any sleep at all, despite blacking out.

As the police forced her to stand, she found herself still in her clothes from last night. "W-wait, I need to change my clothes, please." She said between sobs. Even though she didn't know Daniel very well, she knew he had a family. That he was a good guy. And even though she didn't remember anything from last night, she knew she didn't kill him. There was a cloud of confusion hanging over her head as one of the officers looked to the others and then back to her, still covered in blood and trying to stand up in heels when her legs were shaking. They allowed her to bring a change of clothes so she could change at the station since to them, her clothes would be needed as evidence from the crime scene. Karen had little energy to complain further as they continued to march her down the four flights of stairs and towards their squad car.

Her rights were read to her as they pushed her into the car and drove down to the station.

"Yes!" She said. "I...I need a lawyer." She couldn't afford one. Even as a secretary for a large company, under a powerful man, her pay was barely enough to have money leftover at the end of the month once bills were paid. The blonde woman finally stopped sobbing as they pulled up to the station but a sense of dread now filled her. She knew how this looked to an outsider. She looked guilty. She could feel the blood under her fingernails already harden and she asked if she could take a shower too. The officer who opened her door said she could as soon as she was booked and examined by the crime scene unit. They led her up the stairs and into the station. Two hours passed before she was allowed to shower and change. "Can I call anyone? What about my lawyer?" She asked as she was led to a locker room, the cuffs still tight around her pale wrists. They said two guys were on their way but didn't elaborate any further before they uncuffed her and let her go into the secured area.

Frantically scrubbing herself, Karen finally gave herself one last chance to cry before she wouldn't allow herself to do so. She had to be strong, not just for herself but for Daniel. Whatever happened last night, Karen would figure out. Someone was framing her his murder and she had a strong sinking feeling that it was the very own company she was working for. She felt sick but since she hadn't eaten anything in the past 12 to 13 hours, she wasn't able to really produce much bile to throw up. When she was done, she pulled on her grey tee shirt and slacks and tried to calm down. Her heart rate was slowly returning to normal as she kept telling herself to be strong and that the truth had to show itself. When she walked back out, the same officer led her into a small room and cuffed her to the table and told her to wait. "For what...?" She asked but he just left. Karen looked around and chewed on her lower lip, wondering if a detective or officer was going to come talk to her, or maybe even a psychiatrist. She wasn't crazy though, nor was she guilty, just desperate for the truth.

When two guys walked in accompanied by a guard, Karen looked up, "Who are you guys?" She asked, trying not to be too apprehensive.

- - -

Wilson Fisk was a man fond of the familiar.

He woke up, prepared the same meal, wore the same sort of attire and when the day was over, he would return to his apartment to have the same few dreams and nightmares all over again. His childhood however, was a different story. His family was on the cusp of poverty and his father did all he could to put food on the table, even when it required acts his mother disapproved off. The strife in the Fisk household was always apparent and always agonizing. His father ran for city council and Wilson did his best to support his father because even though the man belittled him and his own wife, Wilson did look up to the angry man. Bill was a man of action, able to visualize, make a plan and then attack. Wilson was the opposite of his father, the lack of will he got from his mother it seemed, and preferred to stand on the sidelines and just watch. His father was a dominating man however, and Wilson's desire to be more like him morphed into something else when he forced his son to confront a bully.

After Wilson beat up his bully at his father's forceful request, the boy inside himself began to erode, allowing for the child to finally become a man. One night when his father was beating his mother, a ritual not uncommon in their home, Wilson snapped. While his father had his back to him, Wilson grabbed a hammer and beat his father over the head, screaming at him the same way his father had done to them for years. He and his mother then hid the body and cut it up. For the next seven days the disposed of it discretely while his mother made plans for Wilson to be sent away to live with relatives. Wilson didn't want to leave his mother alone but she insisted this was the only way he would be safe, and in turn, she'd be truly happy.

He promised to return to her soon and then left Hell's Kitchen for the next decade.

While he was away, he spent time on a farm, then he traveled to Asia and the Middle East. He also traveled to Europe and then back to Asia once again. He was able to learn about the world, the vast cultures it held, as well as the kind of man he wished to be. After ten years of looking at himself in the mirror and seeing how change could be so welcoming, he decided to return to New York. He decided he would rebuild himself as well as the home he loved. There had been no incidents in the city but he felt as though it meant that he could do something better for it, put it on the map and make people see that Hell's Kitchen had all kinds of immense potential. Wilson used his travels to make contacts and he began to reach out to those he had come across who also knew how to get things done. He first contacted Madame Gao and began to discuss the kind of partnership they could provide one another.

And now his next target was the Italians of Hell's Kitchen. Fisk was in the process of gluing companies together to fund his project and in order to do a proficient job, he would need more help which meant hiring a personal assistant. He had been personally interviewing candidates for the past two weeks but he was most interested in that of James Wesley, a young man with a good deal of potential. The two of them were to meet at his office after lunch but before then, Wilson had a meeting with the Italians and was heading over to discuss some matters with them. His two body guards with him but as his car pulled up, he said he'd wait outside the car wash, as he had personal affairs to deal with. Wilson shut the car door behind him and thought back to his new apartment and how it gave him a beautiful view of the city he wished to save. He was doing all of this, not just for himself, but for everyone who struggled to see such beauty. And if working with outside sources like the Chinese or Italians was necessary, so be it.

The man headed down into the car wash, his own personal handgun tucked in the side of his blazer.

Neither Matthew Murdock nor Foggy Nelson expected their first day to be overly promising. In fact, they had spent the majority of their day moving into their newly-acquired office space and unpacking boxes. Honestly, they were fortunate to have the space at all, and while Matt was glad of the opportunity, he knew that unless they started lining up clientele, he and Foggy would be struggling to keep the lights on. The situation wasn't unexpected, though, and time, coupled with successful cases, would surely see their circumstances improved. Given, had they taken the placement and Landman and Zack, the two of them would have this kind of concern, but Matt wasn't willing to make moral sacrifices just to pad his own wallet. And admittedly, neither was Foggy. Of course, that didn't prevent the man from slipping bribes to officer Mahoney in hopes of expanding their client base. Or, rather, starting one. But not even Foggy had thought a call would come in so quickly.

Homicide. And according to officer Mahoney, it was something "interesting."

When he and Foggy arrived at the station, they had been given a brief summary of what was known, and Matt had an immediate feeling of unease. While signs were pointing to a clean case-- obvious murder with only one suspect-- he couldn't help but think that something was off about the circumstances. In the very least, they would need to collect more information from the suspect, who may quite possibly be their first client. As they moved toward the interrogation room, Matt continued sweeping the floor with his cane, an officer stepping aside to give him space to pass. It was an unnecessary gesture, but would always remain unspoken from the vigilante. No one needed to be aware of his abilities-- and especially not after his recent moonlighting in a mask. Those same excursions had left him considerably sore and tired, and he had hoped for an opportunity to rest before going back out this evening, but it was looking as though that would have to wait.

The officer accompanying them pushed the door open and stepped into the room, allowing Matt and Foggy to follow. Before he was even in the room, Matt was aware of several emotions emanating from the young woman-- and he knew his decision had already been made. The woman in question was seated at the table, one thin wrist secured in place by a cuff, and she was terrified. He could hear her heart racing, her breathing uneven-- and her pulse spiked as she spoke.

"That's what I want to know," the officer said bitterly. Obviously, he wasn't pleased with the sudden appearance of two defense attorneys in a homicide case.

"Can we get the cuffs off?" Foggy asked, his tone clearly indicating how unnecessary he found the "precautions" the officers had taken with the young woman.

"Who are you?" the officer repeated.

"We," Matt said simply, "are her lawyers, and we'd appreciate it if you would uncuff our client and give us the room, Detective." His words were firm, and he turned in the general direction of the officer.

Reluctantly, the man stepped forward and unlocked the cuff from the blondes' wrist before exiting the room and pulling the door closed behind him, still obviously displeased.

When then had been left alone, Matt turned back toward the table, reaching a hand out to rest on the back of the empty chair in front of him."Miss Page," he said calmly, "My name is Matt Murdock, and this is my associate, Foggy Nelson. We're defense attorneys." He paused and regarded for a moment. Her heart was still racing, but a sense of confusing seemed to have momentarily replaced the pressing fear and anxiety she'd been previously exuding. "Do you mind if we sit down?"

Foggy leaned over toward him, murmuring. "She gave a vague shrug. I say we go for it."

The two of them took a seat and Matt folded his arms on the table. "We understand you're in some trouble," he remarked, softly. "We may be able to help." The longer he was in the room with her, the more he was convinced of the woman's innocence. Whatever the story, however, he had a hunch that this wasn't going to be a simple matter-- especially not for a first case.

"Can you tell us what happened?" Foggy asked as the two men settled their attention on Karen.
---
It was a factual and fair statement to say that James Wesley was good at his job.

As an executive assistant for a rather large brokerage and investing firm, he made a fair salary. He was fond of maintaining schedules and micromanaging, and had the skill to accomplish any task given to him. He was intelligent, a quick thinker, and a problem-solver-- and he practically ran the firm, never mind that he was only, technically, an assistant.

It was also factual to say that he was, currently, an unhappy individual.

He'd been at the company for just over four years-- and each of those years he thought would be his last, as he wanted little more than to leave the shithole that was Hell's Kitchen. And yet, something always seemed to go wrong-- some hindrance always preventing him from carrying out his plans of leaving the city and settling elsewhere. It seemed that circumstances often worked against him, and each continued year spent in Hell's Kitchen served to weigh him down just a little bit more than the last. This year had been the worst. It was as though all his expectations of himself had collapsed in on him, that he was never going to amount to anything more than a glorified secretary, living out his days in Hell's Kitchen. It was a disappointing notion, especially since the mad had always held himself to stringent standards, but it was becoming more and more difficult to find the motivation to care.

And then he'd gotten a most unusual offer from a very unusual man.

Wesley had encountered Mr. Fisk few enough times that he could count their meetings on one hand; but even in brief exposure, he had found him intriguing. What about him was as such, Wesley couldn't quite pin down. By all accounts, he likely should have found the man intimidating both in a physical and authoritative sense, but his calm demeanor was a counterpoint to his stature. The few times he had interacted with Mr. Fisk, the man had been exceedingly polite, often asking for advice on places to dine and once whether or not Wesley had grown up in Hell's Kitchen. Wesley also knew very little about the rather elusive man; he appeared once every few weeks, supposedly to check in on the company's holdings-- so Wesley could only assume there had been a trading of hands that was being kept quiet for whatever reason. It wasn't really that unusual for a change of higher management to be kept quiet at first, but he couldn't help but suspect something else was at play. The next time he had spoken to Mr. Fisk had been earlier in the day, when the man had discreetly asked for a moment of his time. Wesley was happy to oblige, but was surprised by the absence of the usual and seemingly innocent questions. No, this time was different, and he had been invited to meet with Mr. Fisk following lunch-- to discuss a potential career change. There had been reassurances that he was in no form of trouble, but that his performance had merited what could be a very lucrative opportunity.

Surprised and not entirely sure what to say, Wesley had agreed, and now sat in the lobby of a private office, wondering if this had all been some sort of joke. It was fifteen minutes past the time he was supposed to meet Mr. Fisk, and he hadn't struck Wesley as the type of man to be tardy to any sort of meeting. Why had he even agreed to this? Perhaps he'd agreed because the situation seemed so unusual? Perhaps because he was intrigued by the enigmatic stranger-- or perhaps because he was so desperate for a change, he was willing to take a risk such as this.

He checked his watch then sighed.

Just beginning to contemplate leaving, feeling somewhat foolish and vaguely irritated for having come here at all, Wesley's thoughts were disturbed by the door opening. He was not, however, greeted by Mr. Fisk. Instead, a tall man wearing a black suit and dark glasses stared at him from his place at the door.

"James Wesley?"

"Yes?" he asked, one eyebrow arching in question. What was going on?

"Mr. Fisk apologizes for the delay . We are to escort you to the arranged location. Please follow me."

He should have been concerned at this, should have asked what was happening-- what had cause the delay-- and what other location they were talking about. For all he knew this was some setup that would end with him dead-- or worse. And yet, he followed without question, silently accompanying the man down and into an awaiting car.

One of the men who entered, Karen noticed, appeared to be blind.

Was this a joke? A cruel joke?

The blond male asked if she could be uncuffed from the desk and the officer seemed dubious of complying with his request. Karen didn't think she'd be able to overpower anyone and make an escape, so she didn't see what the problem was, unless the officers were under some kind of outside order from someone, someone she worked for. Karen felt even more uneasy and wished she had water or something to settle herself. Of course a stiff drink would have been more effective but right now, she would have settled for a cup of water. The officer asked what Karen was still thinking and this time, the dark haired man responded by saying they were her lawyers, an answer neither her nor the dick of a cop, was expecting. She looked from him to the pair of so-called lawyers, wondering who sent them and if she could even trust them. For all she knew, they were lying.

Thankfully however, the man uncuffed her and left them alone, making Karen believe that maybe the two guys might actually be trying to help her. The blind man introduced himself and as well as his friend as two D.A's and she swallowed. Even though she could be appointed one, as her right, she also knew it wouldn't be free, despite what people assumed. Karen didn't have money to pay for any legal services, even if she needed them desperately. When he asked if they could sit, she gave a bit of a shrug but found it a little futile, giving the mess she was in. They didn't look real experienced so she wasn't easily calming down, even if these two claimed that they could help her. Foggy told Matt they could sit and she sighed softly, trying not to get a little frustrated but given her terrible day, it wasn't easy.

Matt said he thought they could help and then Foggy asked her to recap what had happened. Karen looked at them, still feeling a little bewildered. How was a blind lawyer going to help her out of this mess? Wouldn't he need to look at evidence or something? "I don't...I have any money to be paying for this..." She slowly explained, not sure why she wanted to shoot herself in the foot. Foggy looked to Matt and began to stand up, not wanting their first case to be out of charity, not when they had just gotten an office and would have bills to pay. Sure, Matt didn't need lights be Foggy sure did. Before Foggy could hurry out the door however, his friend stopped him and pointed out they needed clients and that the woman needed help. Foggy refrained from rolling his eyes, not surprised that Matt would want to help such a pretty lady, even if he couldn't see her. "Fine fine." He sat back down and waited, pen ready to take notes.

"I went out last night to have drinks with..." Karen just saw his face, the way it was back in her apartment. "Daniel Fisher. He worked in the um...legal department of um Union Allied. He was a nice guy, I thought he could help me." She said and paused. "I'm a secretary there and I got this weird email with an attachment that outlined a bunch of money in this account. It was clearly an accident so I went to my boss and he just brushed it aside. Something in my gut told me it wasn't...so I thought meeting with Daniel would help shed some light." Karen didn't want to be working for crooks or criminals. "We had some drinks and then I brought it up...he got really spooked and insisted we call it a night. We both went out ans caught different cabs...I don't really remember what happened next but when I woke up, he was in my apartment, dead. I wouldn't have invited him. He has a family." She insisted. "I wouldn't have killed it, he was a nice guy. Someone had to have set me up, you've got to believe me." She begged.

Foggy glanced to Matt, not sure. The story sounded pretty wild, like something out of a movie.

"You think you blacked out?"

"I didn't drink that much, I didn't feel drunk. You have to believe me, I didn't do this. Please."

- - -

Upon entering the so-call establishment, Wilson was met with three men, off to the side, he saw some Russian men and made a mental note to next expand there, for now he had enough on his plate. The three men waved their friends off and Wilson began to discuss the things he needed from them. One thing was physical labor, as well as ensuring that Wilson's orders were distributed properly. As he was beginning to go into the drug business, he wanted to ensure those he relied on were in fact trustworthy and discrete. One thing he learned from his father, was that his name shouldn't be known. The name Wilson Fisk was to remain in the shadows and should anyone utter it, he wanted to make sure fear and according consequences would follow, that's where the muscle of the Italians would also come into play. The three Italians boasted of their services and how they could be very cold blooded if they had the right price on the negotiation table.

For most the informal meeting, Fisk had been giving the men respect but it wasn't being given back and this was becoming very problematic for the large man. He was already considering shifting his view to the Russians. As unruly as they could be, he was sure their mouths wouldn't get them into nearly as much trouble. As Fisk began to say this partnership may not work out as both parties intended, two of the men pulled out guns and Fisk had quick drawn his as well. The two men fired and he returned the fire, shooting one of the armed men in the thigh. He didn't shoot the one without a weapon, that would have been in poor taste. The other man fired and managed to get Fisk as his bodyguards rushed in. It was only a graze along his shoulder but enough to set him off. The man charged at the foolish Italian and landed several punches to the man's head, refusing to let him drop to the floor until he was done with him, keeping a fist tight around the man's collared shirt.

Finally his bodyguards got him away from the man and back in the car.

Fisk began to calm down as one of them looked over his wound.

It was bleeding but it wasn't bad. "My meeting." He said but his men said that they needed to get him to a safe house, as a precaution. Wilson shook his head and asked that James Wesley be taken there as well. Wilson didn't like being rude and he had already shown tardiness, something he was quite against. By the time the car pulled up, the wound had been bandaged but he still needed a change of clothes. Working in a tattered shirt and blazer was unprofessional and Fisk being the man of habit and presentation, hated the idea of meeting with someone when he wasn't as his best. He got out of the car and the man said they'd bring by a fresh suit soon and that the Italians would be dealt with. "Thank you." He said and headed for the safe house. The man could spot guards around the perimeter and moved his hand around to his lower back to make sure his gun was still there. Only a few bullets had been expended, he would be fine if it was needed again.

He entered and looked the door behind him.

"I apologize for the delay and then the...relocation." Wilson said as he saw the man sitting in the living room. The safe house was furnished with modern items, much like how his new apartment had been put together. It made the man feel somewhat at ease. The walls of course, all white and barren. "I had a little altercation with some potential clients and we did not...part of friendly terms." He said as he sat down, still wiping some of the blood from his knuckles. Setting the cloth down on the polished round black table, he looked to the younger man, studying his face to see if any of this had put him off. While he was in charge and didn't mind a mess, he knew many of those he worked with wouldn't feel the same way. "I know we haven't been formally introduced despite our handful of previous interactions. I should formally introduce myself as Wilson Fisk, my need for a personal assistant is rather pressing." He then listed the companies he had purchased and that he needed someone to help keep things organized and functioning. "I have plans for this city, I can't make change on my own." He told Wesley.

"I'd like us to talk and see whether or not this would be a promising partnership."