18

"Is it true that no one complained about you breaking into a private house?"

John was speechless. Couldn't Nick Fury ever appear in a normal way? The man seemed to materialize out of thin air, his presence as imposing as ever.

Fury turned around, his single eye settling first on John and then on Matt. The air in the room seemed to shift, tension rising as the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. sized up the two men before him.

"Are these the friends you managed to make after just one day out?" Fury asked, his tone dry.

"To be precise, he's the lawyer I hired," John replied without missing a beat. "Specifically to deal with thieves who break into private homes."

Matt had already changed out of his Daredevil attire. Now he wore a suit and tie, his guide stick in hand, looking every bit the harmless, respectable attorney.

"Lawyer?" Fury's lips curled into an amused, knowing smile. He turned back to John. "Hell's Kitchen is certainly lively today."

"Is that so?" John strolled into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and glanced inside with practiced nonchalance. "Maybe they're having a banquet."

"I heard you went to Hell's Kitchen?" Fury pressed, following John with his gaze.

John did not answer directly. Instead, he pulled out a bottle of milk, sniffed it, and wrinkled his nose.

"Maybe you can tell me some of your troubles, Director. Treat me like an enthusiastic Uncle Jack."

Fury smirked. "First, I do not have an uncle."

John grinned and leaned against the counter, still holding the milk. "Second, no normal person would confide in a bald guy in a leather jacket who looks like a hard-boiled egg."

"Boiled egg?" Fury repeated, momentarily thrown off. He touched his head, then turned to Matt. "What about you? Want to tell me your troubles?"

"Maybe it's a good idea," John said, opening the milk and giving it another sniff. "But please, show some respect to my lawyer, Mr. Director."

Fury nodded, turning to Matt. "Nice to meet you…"

"Matt. Matt Murdock." Matt's voice was calm and composed, his demeanor as professional as ever. He did not extend his hand. "That bottle of milk has gone bad, by the way."

"You have a good nose," John remarked, pouring the milk into a cup and sliding it toward Fury.

Fury looked at the cup, unimpressed. "Do you think I'm a fool?"

John grinned. "Would you like me to whiten it for you?"

Fury raised an eyebrow. "You're asking a Black man if he wants his milk whitened?"

The provocation was clear, but Fury, ever the consummate agent, did not rise to the bait. He picked up the cup, set it aside, and looked John straight in the eye.

"I hope you'll stay put for a while. If anything happens to you, your father will drag all of New York down with him."

John's grin widened, his white teeth flashing. "Then you should protect my father even more. If something happens to him, I'll drag this whole country down with me."

Fury's gaze grew more intense. "The Ten Rings Gang is more dangerous than you think."

"And I," John said, tossing the cup into the trash, "am more dangerous than you think."

He turned and walked toward the staircase.

"If you have any questions, you can talk to my lawyer. I think the Strategic Homeland Defense Attack and Logistics Support Bureau should be returned to the jurisdiction of the law."

Fury watched John ascend the stairs, then turned his attention back to Matt, surprise flickering in his eye. "He actually remembered the full name? To be honest, even the people at S.H.I.E.L.D. don't like it."

Matt smiled slightly, the red tint of his sunglasses catching the light. "Is there anything I can do to help you, Director?"

There was something about Fury that Matt did not like. The man's heartbeat was steady, never changing no matter what was said. That kind of control only came from years of practice and a lifetime of secrets.

Fury realized he was not going to get anything from either man tonight. He pulled a card from his pocket, placed it on the table, and called out to the second floor, "Call me if you need anything."

There was no response. Fury slipped out, closing the door behind him.

Once the house was quiet, Matt wandered around the living room. John soon came back down, carrying a heavy bag. He set it on the table with a dull thud.

Matt listened, then asked quietly, "I heard the sound of a safe opening just now."

"Oh, I opened my father's safe," John replied honestly. "There's no password when you know the unlocking spell."

He pushed the bag toward Matt. "The money here is legal and compliant. How about becoming the Wick family's lawyer?"

Matt tapped the bag with his guide stick, then pushed it back. "I don't want it."

John raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

Matt's answer was simple. "Wick."

"You're Watson Wick's son," Matt said, settling onto the sofa. "Your father is the most powerful underground leader in the world. Isn't that reason enough?"

As the hero of Hell's Kitchen, Matt was no stranger to the name Watson Wick. Entrepreneur, investor, hotel tycoon—those labels all fit, but he was also the master of the Continental Hotel, the man who sat at the head of twelve high tables. Matt would not accept this recruitment, not even for a fortune.

John was not offended. "What if you were just John Wick's lawyer?"

"Serving you?" Matt's lips curled in a wry smile.

"This isn't charity, nor is it pity," John said seriously. "I need someone to do something for me. We're not friends yet, Matt. I prefer an exchange of equal value."

Matt studied John. "You're honest, almost as if you're not Watson Wick's child. Since you appeared, you've been full of mystery. Learning you're Watson's son only makes you more mysterious."

"If I don't agree, will you threaten me with my identity?" Matt asked.

John shook his head. "No, but you won't get my help either. This is mutual aid, an exchange of equal value."

Matt thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Take the money back."

John looked at him in silence. Matt continued, "This is too much money. It doesn't meet the standards for what we charge."

John smiled, extending his hand. "Don't let Foggy hear that. He'd kill you."

Matt took the hand, a knowing smile on his lips. "He really would."

The two men shook hands, sealing their partnership. Matt was now John's attorney—and, if needed, his assistant.

Matt took a modest wad of cash from the bag and slipped it into his pocket. "I'll ask Ferdinand to take you back," John joked. "If I get into trouble, I'll call you."

Matt shrugged. "That's not unlikely. The FBI is watching everyone in the Wick family."

He left the house and walked toward the car. Ferdinand, now a changed man, tucked his gold reward into his back pocket. Driving like this was uncomfortable, but safety was more important.

John knocked on the car window. Ferdinand rolled it down, eager to please. "How can I help you, sir?"

"Meet me here tomorrow night," John said. He glanced at the pickup truck. "But don't drive."

Ferdinand did not understand, but for the sake of gold, he would do anything for John.

As the car pulled away, John looked up at the security camera and snapped his fingers. The camera went dark.

At Stark Industries, Natasha Romanoff watched the blacked-out screen, a strange glint in her eyes.

In his lab, Tony Stark stared at the new element data from his father's model. Blue light spheres floated around him, casting a glow on his face. His expression was a mix of emotion and awe as he spun in his chair.

"You've been dead for twenty years, and you still want to teach me?" Tony muttered, a hint of a smile on his lips.

Howard Stark's wisdom had solved the problems that had haunted Tony's life, even from beyond the grave.

A new element appeared, one that could replace the palladium in Tony's arc reactor. He clapped his hands, and the blue spheres shrank into his palms. The new element's light reflected in his eyes, and for a moment, Tony was lost in it.

"The new element you discovered should be able to replace the palladium you're using," Jarvis, his AI butler, said. "Congratulations."

"Thanks, Dad," Tony whispered.

He glanced at the purple crystal chip being analyzed by the machine and muttered, "Magic."

The palladium that had nearly killed him now had two alternatives—one born of science, the other of magic.

Tony picked up a sledgehammer and began demolishing the lab. He wanted a complete renovation.

As he finished, a somewhat balding S.H.I.E.L.D. agent walked in—Agent Coulson, here to say goodbye.

Back at the Wick home, the night was quiet, but the storm was only beginning.