Dedicated to Glindathegood2025

     Though waking up beside a dead body had not been on Karen Page's bingo card, she nevertheless found herself kneeling next to the battered corpse of her friend and coworker, Daniel Fisher.

     Her breath rasping in her throat, Karen followed the trail of red droplets that were strewn across the carpet and discovered she was not only holding a bloodied chef's knife, but that her hand was also stained with the same crimson substance. Startling as her door was kicked inward, Karen whipped around and found herself starting at the barrel of a police officer's firearm.

     "Drop the knife!" the officer ordered.

     "No, no, I didn't—"

     "Drop it!"

     "I didn't do this!" Karen sobbed as she tossed the knife aside. "I didn't—I didn't do this!"

     "Get on the ground!"

     "I didn't do this!"

     "Now!"

     "Oh, God! Oh, God! No, I didn't do this!" she insisted, though she obeyed and laid on her stomach, her eyes meeting the lifeless gaze of Daniel Fisher. "Oh, God! I didn't do this!"

     The officer handcuffed Karen, who cried, "Oh, no! I didn't do this!"

     As I watched the officers lead Karen away, a twinge of guilt twisted my stomach into a knot, for I knew I could prevent her arrest with a flick of my wrist. There had been a time when I was closer to Karen than I had been with my own sister. But, given recent developments, I knew maintaining my relationship with Karen would only endanger us both and put me at risk of blowing my cover.

     This being the case, I forced myself to step away. I sighed, wishing there had been another way besides severing the tie between us. Unfortunately, if I wanted to protect my friend and her innocence from the Devil's Shadow, I knew this was my only option.

     That night, as Matt and Foggy unpacked their belongings and settled into their new office, Nelson's phone rang.

     Glancing at the screen, Foggy chuckled and swiped to answer, though his smile faded as Brett said, "Homicide. Female suspect found at the scene. Definitely qualifies as interesting."

     "She been charged yet?"

     "Assistant DA hasn't made the call yet," Brett replied, and Matt cocked his head to the side as he took advantage of his enhanced hearing, allowing him to listen in on their conversation from the other room.

     "Do you have a name on the suspect?"

     "Yeah. Page."

...

     "Karen Page?"

     The young woman – who had strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes, which were currently bloodshot – looked up as Homicide Detectives Christian Blake and Carl Hoffman stepped into the interrogation room, where she was being held within the 15th Police Precinct.

     When Nelson and Murdock entered behind the detectives, the former said, "Okay, can we please take the handcuffs off the hundred-and-ten-pound woman?"

     "Miss Page, can you tell me who these men are?" Detective Blake asked with suspicious eyes the same color as his jet-black hair.

     "We're her lawyers," Matt answered. "Uncuff our client and give us the room, please."

     Blake glanced between Nelson and Murdock, then reluctantly unlocked Karen's handcuffs. Karen sighed with relief as she pulled her hand away and rubbed her wrist, grateful to be free from her restraints.

     "Thank you, Detective," Matt said, and the partners shared one last look before leaving the room and locking the door behind them.

     After a moment, Matt stated, "Miss Page, my name is Matt Murdock. This is my associate, Foggy Nelson. Do you mind if we sit down?"

     When Karen hunched her shoulders, Foggy turned to his partner, "She gave a vague shrug. I say we go with it."

     As the duo sat across from Karen, Matt continued, "We understand you're in some trouble. We, uh, may be able to help."

     "Can you tell us what happened?" Foggy asked.

     Karen, who was clearly terrified and wearing a borrowed New York Police Department T-shirt because her blouse had been stained with blood, remained silent.

     "Why don't we start with what we know, then?" Foggy suggested before flipping his notepad open. "You were found in your apartment with one Daniel Fisher."

     "Who appears to be the victim of a homicide," Matt added, "and currently, you're the only suspect, Miss Page."

     "Who the hell are you guys?" Karen finally asked.

     "I'm Matt. He's Foggy."

     "Who sent you?"

     "No one sent us."

     "So, what? You're just a couple of Good Samaritans? Today's just my lucky day?"

     "I bribed the desk sergeant with a box of cigars for his mom," Foggy explained, his cheerful grin in stark contrast with their situation.

     "Our practice is relatively young, Miss Page, and we are aggressively pursuing new clientele," Matt said before leaning closer to Foggy. "You gotta stop giving Bess cigars."

     "She likes to smoke, Matt. It's a free country."

     "So how long have you been practicing law?" Karen interjected; skepticism written into every line of her face.

     Matt thought for a moment, then motioned to his wrist, "What time is it?"

     "It's 12:22 AM," Foggy answered.

     Matt nodded, then turned back to Karen, "About seven hours."

     Page scoffed in disbelief as Foggy countered, "Well, if you go from when we passed the bar—"

     "I was going from when we got our own desks," Matt clarified.

     "Oh, then, yeah. Seven hours," Foggy agreed.

     "You've never done this before?" Karen asked with wide eyes as her jaw dropped.

     "If you were to hire us, then, yes, you would be our first client," Matt replied.

     Foggy nodded, "Technically. Yeah."

     "Well, I don't...I don't have any money."

     "Well, it was lovely to meet you, Miss Page," Foggy said, but when he started to rise, Matt cleared his throat to stop him.

     "You don't have any money and we don't have any clients. Maybe we can help each other. Tell me, how did you know Mr. Fisher?"

     "We worked together," Karen answered, her voice trembling.

     Matt gestured for Foggy to start writing, and Nelson reluctantly returned to his seat with a sigh.

     Opening his notepad once more, Foggy glanced at Karen, "And your place of employment?"

     "Union Allied Construction. I'm a secretary. Daniel worked downstairs in Legal. I-I didn't know him very well. But he was always nice, you know? But it's hard to meet people in the city, so I asked him if he would have a drink with me."

     "You asked him?" Matt reiterated.

     "Like I said, he was a nice guy," she replied, her voice breaking. "We met at the Three Roads Bar, on Forty-ninth Street. We had a few drinks, and the next thing that I remember is waking up on the floor of my apartment covered in blood. His blood."

     When Foggy sighed, Karen leaned forward and forced him to meet her eyes, "No, I'm not stupid. I know how that sounds. But I am telling you we met at the bar. We had a few drinks. And I don't know what happened after that. It wasn't me. Please."

     As Karen pleaded her case, Matt brought his heightened hearing to the forefront, allowing him to listen to Page's heartbeat.

     "Please, you have to believe me," she sniffled, and when her heart rate remained steady, Matt knew she was not lying. "I didn't kill him."

     "I believe you, Miss Page," Matt quietly stated.

...

     Officer Clyde Farnum of the NYPD – currently off-duty – sat on a park bench enjoying his pastrami sandwich. Unfortunately, his lunch was interrupted when another man sat beside him, his blue suit pristine and his dark hair set just so. Farnum sighed, annoyed at the interruption. He stared at the man for a moment, then gestured vaguely to the park around them.

     "There's plenty of room over there. Do you mind?"

     "Twenty-eight thousand nine hundred and fifty-seven."

     Farnum paled, then swallowed and said, "Tell Rigoletto he'll get his money."

     "Mr. Rigoletto has retired," the man, James Wesley, drawled. "His books have been acquired by my employer."

     "Ah. Well, you tell him the same thing."

     When Farnum gathered his lunch and stood to leave, Wesley said, "I'd like to show you something. Do you have a moment?"

     Farnum hesitated, then reluctantly obliged as Wesley unfolded a portable laptop. The screen brightened a moment later, revealing Farnum's daughter, Tracy, who was unaware that she was being surveilled.

     As the camera zoomed in on Tracy and her friend, Wesley wondered, "What is it about college girls and Monet T-shirts? Open composition and the spontaneity reflecting this transformative time in their lives, perhaps? Or maybe they just like the color blue. Call her."

     Farnum held Wesley's gaze for a moment, then fumbled for his phone and dialed Tracy's number, his eyes never leaving the screen as he watched her answer his call.

     "Hey, Dad, what's up?"

     "Hi, baby, I'm just checking in. You need anything?"

     "Uh, yeah, I actually have a ton of laundry. I was gonna swing by this weekend and use the machine. And then, maybe we could catch a movie after your shift?"

     "Yeah, yeah. That'd be great. Uh, look—Baby, I got—I gotta go. I love you, baby."

     "I love you, too. Bye, Dad."

     As Tracy ended the call, the camera shifted, and Wesley pointed to a man who appeared to be studying on one of the benches near Clyde's daughter.

     "Now, you see this man here? If we're being honest with each other, Mr. Farnum, I find his methods...unpleasant. But such are the times we live in."

     Pressing a command on the laptop, Wesley said, "Give us a wave, Mr. Rance."

     Rance turned toward the camera and waved with a smirk.

     "I told you that I will get you the money," Farnum insisted.

     "Such a small sum is of little interest to my employer. Your position, however, that's something we can work with."

     Farnum watched his daughter in silence for several moments, then sighed, "What do you want me to do?"

     As the sun set behind New York's skyscrapers, Foggy paced back and forth in his and Matt's new office, tossing a softball up and down.

     "I'm friends with Gary Feinstein in the DA's office," he said. "I'll give him a call first thing in the morning, see where their heads are at. I'm guessing they're gonna puff their chests, but they have to know murder two's a risk. We end up at manslaughter, we get the right judge, maybe she's out in five-to-ten—"

     "We're not taking a deal," Matt interrupted as he loosened his tie.

     "No, this is why they have deals, Matt. So the straightforward cases don't waste everybody's time."

     "I don't think she did it."

     "She's the sole suspect, found at the scene, covered in blood, with the murder weapon and no defensive wounds. If they offer anything it'll be a gift, and we will take that gift. We do not want this to go to trial."

     "They don't want this to go to trial, either. Why hasn't she been charged yet?"

     Foggy shrugged, "They have twenty-four hours. And it's the weekend. They're gonna take every last second to collect the evidence before they move."

     "They've got the evidence. You just laid it out for yourself. This is a good arrest, Foggy. We should already be reading about it in the papers. There's something not right about this case. I can feel it."

     Catching the softball, Foggy turned and favored Matt with an incredulous expression.

     "You can feel it? Alright, I'm just gonna say this once, and we can move on. You don't necessarily show the best judgement when beautiful women are involved, Matt."

     "How would I even know if she's a beautiful woman?"

     "I don't know. It's kinda spooky, actually. But if there's a stunning woman with questionable character in the room, Matt Murdock's gonna find her, and Foggy Nelson is gonna suffer."

     Matt chuckled, "Alright, I don't disagree with anything you're saying—"

     "Thank you."

     "—but I need you to back me, anyway."

     Foggy groaned and fisted his hands around the softball.

     Taking a deep breath, he finally said, "Alright. Fine. Let's start with the obvious, then. If she didn't do it, who did? We're dead in the water if we don't give them an alternative."

     "Agreed. We need to take another run at our client."

     Foggy suddenly stopped pacing, "She may not be guilty, Matt, but that doesn't mean Miss Page is telling the truth."

...

     Karen slept fitfully in her prison cell, though her lack of sleep likely saved her life. Sensing she was not alone in her cell, Karen opened her eyes and rolled onto her back. Even as she started to scream, Officer Farnum clamped his hand over her mouth and muffled her cry for help. Karen thrashed and writhed beneath Farnum's grip, trying to break free, but Clyde quickly overpowered her.

     Planting her feet against the wall, Karen shrieked and pushed back against Farnum, who ripped the sheet from off the bed and wrapped it around her throat. Struggling to breathe, Karen frantically clawed at the fabric as it dug into her skin and narrowed her airway, but her hands eventually fell to her sides.

     "I'm sorry," Farnum panted, regretting what he had to do but knowing his daughter would die if he failed. "I'm—I'm sorry."

     Taking advantage of the officer's hesitation, Karen reached up with her last burst of energy and gouged Farnum's eye with her nails. Farnum cried out in pain and released Karen, who scrambled toward the edge of her cell and screamed at the top of her lungs in hopes that someone would hear.