23

John found himself handling formalities for Ivan, including contract matters. In the world of outlaws, trust is everything, and any contract is only as strong as the credibility behind it. John glanced at the letter Ivan had read and torn to pieces. Oddly, the letter that should have been shredded now lay whole in his hands, as if untouched. Staring at the threat written by his Uncle Andre, John felt confident Ivan's credibility would not be an issue.

But there was a more pressing problem: a police car had pulled them over.

Now, John and Ivan sat together in a police station, Ivan's face a mask of disbelief.

"You never told me you didn't have a driver's license," Ivan muttered, his tone somewhere between exasperation and amusement.

John turned his head away, embarrassed, curling his lips. "If you hadn't given the middle finger to the police, none of this would have happened."

"Don't talk nonsense. Those bastards love to hassle people in luxury cars," Ivan shot back in Russian.

John had managed to drive without a license before without incident, but this time, Ivan's arrogance in the passenger seat seemed to have attracted trouble. Ivan's ability to draw negative attention reminded John of an old friend with platinum hair.

Now, here they were: one man undocumented, the other a wanted criminal presumed dead. If the police did a thorough check, they could both be looking at hefty fines and prison sentences of over twenty years. John had prepared for this possibility, but it was still a headache.

Meanwhile, Matt Murdock returned to the law firm with his first payment as a properly retained attorney. His friend Foggy Nelson was ecstatic, seeing the money as a sign of a brighter future. He was so excited he wanted to take Matt out to celebrate, unaware that they could have charged at least a hundred times more in legal fees.

"I told you that guy had to be rich," Foggy said, grinning as they sat in a bar. "Rich kids are always getting into lawsuits. Their fathers are willing to pay anything to keep them out of trouble."

Both Matt and Foggy were Columbia Law School graduates, and both had interned at major law firms. But they had left that world behind, driven by a sense of justice. Big firms cared only about who paid more, not about right or wrong. Matt remembered a case where the real victim was the defendant, but the firm's only concern was the size of the fee.

That was why they started Nelson & Murdock, combining their names as a symbol of their shared mission: to bring justice to the vulnerable and maybe earn a little commission along the way.

As Foggy talked, Matt's phone buzzed. He answered, his brow furrowing as he listened.

"What's wrong?" Foggy? asked suddenly, anxious. Was it a problem with the firm's qualifications? Taxes? A tough lawsuit?

Matt sighed. "It's the rich kid from last time. He got caught driving without a license."

Foggy's heart skipped a beat. For a moment, he had feared something far worse. "That's it? I thought maybe he'd killed someone."

Matt shook his head, amused. In America, where even high schoolers have licenses, it was almost impressive to get caught driving without one. It was a reminder of just how different the wealthy could be.

Matt had thought the call would be about something serious, maybe another gang, but it was just a traffic violation. He was efficient, as always. Foggy drove him to the NYPD, and as they entered, they heard John and Ivan speaking Russian, their voices dripping with sarcasm.

Matt introduced himself as John's lawyer, and the police let him into the holding cell. Even without reading Matt's mind, John could sense his exasperation.

After paying the fine, John and Ivan prepared to leave, only to be stopped by a man flashing an FBI badge.

"Sorry, you can't leave," the agent said, his gaze lingering on both men. "We meet again, Mr. Wick, and…"

He stared at Ivan, something about his appearance nagging at him, but Ivan's changed hairstyle and altered face kept him from being recognized.

"I don't think you have the right to detain them," Matt said calmly, gripping his guide stick. "They've already paid the fine."

"That's true for the driving without a license," the agent, whose badge read Ray, replied. "But they're also involved in several major cases and need to assist with the investigation."

Matt listened to the agent's heartbeat and detected no lie. He glanced at John, realizing this might be the trouble John had warned him about.

"Fine, but you'll need to talk to my lawyer," John said, patting Foggy on the shoulder. "This is Foggy Nelson, my attorney."

He whispered in Foggy's ear, "I have something important to do today. Please handle this for me. The commission is the same."

Foggy's eyes lit up. He straightened his tie and said, "It is my duty, Mr. Wick."

John looked up at Agent Ray, who looked frustrated, and chuckled. "Then I'll be leaving."

Agent Ray tried to protest, but Foggy blocked him. Even the FBI would have a hard time holding someone without enough evidence.

Matt watched silently. The real trouble, he suspected, was the man standing next to John.

Once outside the police station, John pulled out his new phone and made a call. After several rings, Ferdinand answered, sounding nervous.

"If you want to be a good driver, you shouldn't keep your boss waiting," John said, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Ferdinand was surprised. "I'm not fired?"

He had assumed he was done for after the sports car was wrecked and John had vanished without a word.

"Get your pickup and meet me at the coffee shop in front of the police station," John instructed. He glanced at the impounded Ferrari and muttered, "Do you think Dad's car is cursed?"

He had wrecked three of them now, and none had ended well. If he had not checked for magic, he would have suspected his father had hexed the car.

Ferdinand soon arrived in his battered old pickup, apologizing profusely. "Sorry, boss, I had the car towed. I didn't want to leave it on the street."

John and Ivan climbed in. "Head to Taran Industries," John said calmly.

Ferdinand, expecting a scolding, was startled by John's even tone. Ivan, crammed in the back, grumbled about the cramped space.

Ferdinand eyed Ivan's tattoos and decided not to ask questions. He pressed the accelerator, weaving through Manhattan traffic.

Taran Industries was renowned for its pistols and compact rifles, beloved by mercenaries and criminals alike. Unlike Stark Industries, which specialized in heavy weaponry, Taran focused on small arms.

They parked outside the sleek, black-glass building. John led the way inside, Ivan and Ferdinand trailing behind. The lobby was bustling with sharply dressed employees. Security eyed them warily and soon approached.

"Sir, please show your ID," a guard demanded.

Ivan looked at John, curious how he would handle it.

John reached into his bag and produced a purple card. The head of security's demeanor changed instantly. "Welcome, Mr. Wick."

"Take me to my father's office," John said, spinning the card in his hand. "And call the management for a meeting."

The security chief hesitated. "But Mr. Orlov…"

"Tell him to come too," John replied. "I hope he's not playing golf somewhere."

With John's arrival, the entire company was on edge. Taran Industries had always been run by Orlov, but now the major shareholder's son was here. Rumors of a power struggle swept through the ranks. For the employees, nerves were frayed. For Ferdinand, it was a revelation. He had always known John was wealthy but never imagined he owned a company whose products were essential to street survival.

Ivan lounged in a swivel chair, chewing a toothpick, his slovenly appearance at odds with the corporate setting. John stood at the window, gazing down at a stretch limousine.

A man with a receding hairline stepped out and strode toward the building, followed by a group of anxious managers. John smiled, glancing at the empty conference room.

It seemed everyone was waiting for the storm to break. But in the end, they all worked for his father.

Ivan grinned wickedly. "Looks like your father has some tough partners."

"As long as there's money, no one refuses," John replied, absently rubbing his silver ring.

"Let's see who it is, my dear Wick."

The conference room doors opened, and the man with the high hairline entered with a booming laugh, trailed by the management team.