Spoilers: Daredevil Volume 4, #4, #15

Timeline: Daredevil Volume 4, #15

A/N: I've lifted some of the original dialogue (written by Mark Waid) for insertion.

Alternative Dispute Resolution

It's been decades since I've seen a sunset, but I remember enough of them to picture the view outside the boat. The daylight fades. There's a brief moment when it reminds you of a sunrise, new hopes, new possibilities. And then the shadows close in. It's an apt metaphor for what lies ahead, I suppose.

It's the only way. That's what I tell Kirsten and Foggy. For weeks, months, the Shroud has been using Leland Owlsley to spy on me and record my activities. This afternoon, he dropped the bomb. The world now knows that we faked Foggy's death; that he's been here, living in hiding all this time, but that might be the least of my problems.

I always record my meetings with clients. I miss too much otherwise. It's hard to focus on what somebody's saying to me when I'm also cross-checking their heart rates to tell whether they're lying; analyzing the smells that cling to them, getting distracted by noises from outside the window and wondering whether I need to excuse myself to deal with something more pressing (Kirsten's read me the riot act on that one more than once). With so much to distract me, having a voice recording for each session is essential. And, with smart phone apps, it's never been easier.

Kirsten tells me there's no way I could have predicted this, but I've rubbed shoulders with some of the greatest scientific minds alive today. A list that includes the likes of Reed Richards, Bruce Banner, Hank Pym, and Tony Stark. I should have touched base with them months ago, when Owlsley—literally—got himself tangled up in some kind of new surveillance technology. I should have been more curious about its capabilities then. If I had been, I might have taken better precautions, taken better notes, invested in an old-fashioned reel-to-reel tape recorder, hell, made sure to have turned off the damned screen on my smart phone.

How long were they watching me? How many private conversations did they monitor? Things I was told in confidence under attorney-client privilege, things that should never have been mentioned outside the office of Murdock and McDuffie (it doesn't matter what Kirsten puts on the sign; that's the directory listing)... less than two hours ago, the Shroud broadcast them on every electronic screen in San Francisco—if not farther afield. My clients' secrets have been publicly aired for the entire world to see. I've been there. I know just how bad that can be. How bad it's going to be.

My mind is running through worst-case scenarios, all of which feel highly likely at the moment: disbarment, prison, civil suits, bankruptcy, ruin... I could deal with all of that. As much as I'm dreading it, I actually think I could. But... there's Calvin Russell, witness to a murder, who pleaded with me not to make him disclose on the stand that he'd been with his mistress at the time and seen the crime unfold outside his motel window. Hank Kowalski, ready to turn state's evidence if I could just keep his name out of it. The client with the drug problem her employer now knows about; the woman whose husband promised to kill her if he found out she'd told anyone that he was abusing her... When the broadcasts started, when I heard those voices, one after the other, from all directions, relentless, continuous, all I could think was, 'Make this stop. Make it all go away.'

And then, Jubula gave me the name of someone who can do that. Even as I recoiled at the suggestion, I knew. If there's anybody who has that kind of power, he does. I don't care what the cost is. I don't care what he does to me. I need to protect my friends. I need to protect my clients. This is the only way.

I swing by the office to tell Kirsten to meet us on her dad's boat. She says he's already stopped by. I can tell that she's finally starting to understand exactly how dangerous it can be to know me and I'm grateful that she's still talking to me after all of this. Then I head to the safe house to get Foggy. We manage to slip out through a second-floor window. We head for the harbor. Foggy tells me I'm lucky I can't see how conspicuous the new costume looks.

I think that's the first time I've smiled since the broadcast's aired. I think it might be the last time I smile for a long time.

I tell them everything. How first the Shroud and, later, Jubula played me. How Charlie now believes that I organized her daughter's kidnapping in order to play the hero and rescue her. I feel so drained right now I can't even work up the energy to bristle at the accusation. She's based it on the fact that I showed up at her window with Jubula—and Jubula was wearing a suit identical to those of the goons who actually did the kidnapping. That was months ago. I'm not sure I would have recognized Jubula's costume as one I'd seen before, even if I could see. Of course, it helped that Shroud had brought up a video of Jubula hiring the kidnappers at the precise moment when I was trying to tell Charlie what was going on.

When I'm done, Kirsten hugs me. When I tell her what I'm going to do next, I feel her stiffen. She doesn't try to talk me out of it, though. That falls to Foggy.

"This isn't the way, Matty," he says. "This is nuts. Don't give him an audience. He's a monster."

This is true. Very true. But he also might be the only person who can help me now. There are others I could call on, but they're in New York and he's here. And this has to be contained now. Before someone firebombs Kirsten's apartment. Before my clients' have to deal with the fallout from those broadcasts. Before things really hit the fan. It can't wait. I can't wait. If I wait, I'll start imagining everything that's going on while I'm sitting here. I'll keep replaying those voices in my head, those lives my carelessness has just wrecked, over and over. I'll keep thinking about how badly I've let everyone down and, if I let them, those thoughts will paralyze me into inaction. I can't rest, I can't wait, I have to keep swimming so I don't sink. So... I do something I've been trying to avoid since I came clean in court all those months ago.

I walk over to the wall, next to where Foggy's standing. I put my hand on his shoulder. And I lie. "I don't have to let myself be beguiled, Foggy. If I don't like anything he says, I can simply turn and walk."

Foggy's breath hitches. When he speaks again, it's in a tone I haven't heard since... since the last time I made a deal with the man I'm about to go see. "Who are you trying to convince, Matt?" he demands. "Because it's sure as hell not working on me."

"It's the only way," I say.

"Yeah?" Foggy asks. "Has he got a time machine, now? Some kind of amnesia ray? How exactly do you think he can fix this?"

"I don't know," I admit. "That's why I'm not going to commit to anything until I hear what he has to say."

Kirsten's squeezing my arm as Foggy throws up his hands and starts pacing. "Until you... Matt, he's never going to tell you anything until he's got you totally backed into a corner. This is Kingpin, for crying out loud!"

Just hearing someone else say his name makes it all seem that much more real. Not that I thought this was a dream. Wished, yes. Hoped, yes. Thought? No.

"He's already got me there," I point out. I will not give in to self-pity. I will not break down. I will not flake out. "I'm holed up on a boat. We can't even turn on a computer to find out what's going on out there. The police, my clients, and the California Bar Association are probably conducting a house-to-house search!" So much for not flaking out, I think, as I jerk my arm out of Kirsten's grasp and draw closer to him. "What else do you think he can do to me?" By now, I should know better than to ask that question.

Foggy takes a deep breath. "If I were him? Let's keep in mind that I'd probably want two things most of all: to neutralize you as a threat and... to make you squirm. So. First off? I—Kingpin—would promise to keep Kirsten and me—me—safe. And naturally, the best way to do that would be to have us taken to a different safe-house; one you don't know about. And now, I—Kingpin—have two hostages to ensure that you'll stay in line. Second? Well, if I'm just going for run-of-the-mill knife-twisting... that tech Owlsley got into... it's out there, right? I mean, it's experimental, but the company developing it is on record. It shouldn't be too hard to get my hands on the specs. And how do I shove your latest genie back in the bottle? Well, I start broadcasting other attorneys' private conversations. I do enough of those to take some of the heat off you; maybe frame Shroud and Owlsley. Now, everyone's out for their blood. You might still catch some fallout, but it's going to be more evenly distributed and, yes, being under my protection is going to count for something. But if I'm the Kingpin... I'm not going to stop there. No, the next thing I'm going to do is reach out to some of the lawyers I haven't exposed yet and ask them how much it's worth to them to keep their files confidential. I'll contact their clients—those with skills I can use in my organization—and make them offers. 'Come work for me... or else'. Oh, and Matt? That initial conversation you and I have, where I tell you what I'm going to do? I'll have that recorded, too. Edited to make sure you're portrayed in the worst possible light. Because if the law should catch up with me and I end up going down... rest assured I'm taking you with me."

He came up with that on the spur of the moment. I'm not sure whether I find that more impressive or more terrifying. He's right, though. That's exactly the kind of thing Fisk would do. Which leaves me with one other option.

"Then," I say slowly, "I guess the only other way out of this is to find Julia Carpenter. I do that, the Shroud stops targeting me. That eases enough of the pressure that I can... try to address the rest of it."

I turn back to Kirsten. "Does your father want the advance back for the book?"

"No," she says, with a note of bitter humor. "He thinks it might even sell more copies now."

Of course. Scandal sells almost as well as sex, these days. "Okay," I take a deep breath. "I use the proceeds from the advance and any future sales to set up a compensatory fund for my—our—clients. Maybe enough of them will settle out of court; I don't know. I can try to talk to Charlie after she's calmed down enough not to shoot me on sight. And..."

Kirsten's breath catches. "Oh, my gosh," she says. "What if... What if Kingpin's already found Julia?"

I feel like I've just been sucker-punched. It's like waking up in an unfamiliar environment and not being entirely sure where I am, sifting through the sounds and smells, trying to figure out what shapes my radar sense is describing to me... and then everything comes into sharp focus. What is Fisk doing here in San Francisco? How does Jubula know he's here? And if...

"If he has Julia," I say slowly, "then..." Kingpin is a master manipulator. This is not news. There's no love lost between him and Owlsley either—when he lost control of the New York underworld, the Owl tried to take over from him. How far back does this go? How long has he been involved? I turn to Foggy and discover that I was wrong before. I'm smiling. A little. "Take that theory of yours and change one of the players. Suppose that Kingpin is using Julia to ensure that the Shroud stays in his employ? He has Shroud break Owl out of prison, uses him to keep tabs on me and," I nod toward him again, "maybe some other lawyers, as you mentioned before; I'd believe that of Fisk easily. Meanwhile, Jubula turns up looking for her father. Kingpin makes some deal with her; maybe something as simple as direct me to him when the right moment comes..."

"Then everything hits the fan," Kirsten says.

"And when you're desperate enough to be grasping at straws," Foggy's hand comes down on my shoulder and some of my tension drains away, "she gives you his name."

Now I'm wondering whether he was behind Charlie's daughter's abduction, too—or whether he saw an opportunity and took advantage.

"If I approach him..." I'm thinking out loud, now, "Owlsley as his slave, not to mention a hostage to ensure Jubula's loyalty. Jubula designing weapons and equipment for him. The Shroud working for him, believing his promise that he's looking for Julia..."

"You under his thumb," Kirsten interjects.

I nod. I'd been prepared for that, but Foggy's right. I wouldn't be keeping them safe; I'd be handing them over to Kingpin as leverage. Plus, if he already has Julia...

"Okay," I breathe. "Okay. If I don't show up to meet with him, he'll know something's up, so I think I have to." I hold up my hand to stave off both protests. "That doesn't mean I'm going to ask for his help." Colluding with a known criminal to—among other things—get myself cleared of any association with a gang of hitherto unknown criminals... Forget Shroud and Owl. If Kingpin has me on record agreeing to that proposal, I might finally learn to stop asking how things could possibly get any worse. Because they always can. But they don't necessarily have to.

An idea comes to me then. It's not a real plan, not yet. And planning isn't my strongest point in the first place. But I'm not alone. And at least one of the people with me has just demonstrated that, when he has to, he can think like the Kingpin. Maybe, just maybe, the three of us can manage to outthink him.

I take another breath. "I've got an idea. If it works, I believe it's going to dismantle whatever Kingpin's trying to accomplish here." As I start to explain, fleshing out the bare bones as I go, they start nodding. At various points, they argue with me, but they don't shoot down the main idea, so much as point out places where things might not go the way I want them to. In the end, when we've got the details hammered out... it's not perfect. I'm not going to get out of this unscathed. At the end of the day, I'll probably be lucky if I ever set foot in a courtroom again as something other than the defendant. I'll deal with that somehow.

First things first, though. "Give me an hour's head start before you call Charlie," I tell Kirsten.

"If the Shroud tries jamming her..."

I shake my head. "He won't," I say. I'm pretty sure I'm right, too. "Not if she leads with what we've decided."

"I just hope she takes the call," Kirsten says.

"She will." I hope.

It's time. I climb above deck and approach the rail. From the cabin doorway, Kirsten calls "Just... stay off the radar, Baby."

I don't turn around. I don't have to. Radar sense is 360 degrees; I can 'see' her stance just as well from behind. But when I tell her, "You too," there's a catch in my voice.

Today, I discovered how many mistakes I've made since moving to this city. As I swim toward the Kingpin's San Francisco office, I hope it's not my biggest one, yet.