Hell's Kitchen, New York.
The low murmur of conversation and the clinking of glasses at Earl's Bar faded into the cool night air of Hell's Kitchen. The streetlights cast long, shifting shadows as Arthur, Matt, and Foggy stepped out onto the sidewalk. The celebratory energy from the bar still lingered, a thin, hopeful bubble in the city's tired rhythm.
Foggy's grin was wide and loose. "Seriously, Mr Steele, thank you. You have no idea what that means."
"Just Arthur," Arthur corrected, a genuine smile on his face. "And the pleasure's all mine. Now, let's go somewhere quieter. This case isn't something to discuss on a street corner."
They found a small, twenty-four-hour diner a few blocks away. The air inside was thick with the smell of old coffee and fried onions. They slid into a worn leather booth, the red plastic seats cracked and patched with faded tape.
"Okay," Foggy said, leaning forward, all of his previous boisterousness replaced with a lawyer's sharp, focused intensity. "Lay it on us. What's the case?"
Arthur slid the manila folder across the sticky tabletop. "It's a pro-bono case. The landlord of a tenement building on 36th Street is trying to evict a dozen families. The landlord is a real estate developer named Joseph Gallo, and he's a notorious slumlord. He's using every legal loophole and every bit of his corporate power to do it."
Matt sat quietly, his head bowed. He reached out and lightly ran his fingers over the cover of the folder. His gaze, behind the dark glasses, seemed to pierce through the paper, seeing something more. Foggy, meanwhile, had already opened the folder and was reading through the contents, his eyebrows furrowed in a professional frown.
"This is good," Foggy said, his voice a low, analytical murmur. "This is really good. The legal precedents are all here. The affidavits from the tenants, the building's inspection reports… you've done all the groundwork." He looked at Arthur, a hint of confusion in his eyes. "But why? Why hand this to us? You could get a firm with fifty lawyers on this and have it wrapped up in a week."
Arthur just took a sip of his coffee. "Because I don't believe in handouts," he said, his voice calm and even. "I believe in giving people a chance to prove themselves. You two have the potential to be great lawyers. You just need the opportunity to show it."
Matt finally spoke, his voice quiet but direct. "You're doing this because of something you saw, aren't you? Not because we're 'good kids.'" He leaned forward, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. "I've heard you. Your voice is completely steady, even when you make an impassioned speech. But when you talk about this case, I hear a different rhythm. It's not about what you think we can do. It's about what you know we can do."
A wave of cold dread washed over Arthur. He had underestimated him. The System's notification of Matt's enhanced senses was one thing, but experiencing it firsthand was another. His mind, trained to process every detail, reeled. He had to be perfect. No, he had to be better than perfect. He had to be honest.
Arthur gave a long, slow breath. He met Matt's gaze, his own unwavering. "You're right," he said, his voice a low, sincere murmur. He put down his coffee cup, the sound a soft clink in the quiet of the diner. "I don't know you. I can't know you. But I can see the kind of lawyers you want to be. The kind of men you are. You believe in justice. You believe in doing what's right. In this city, that's more valuable than gold. And I want to work with people like that."
Foggy's face was a mixture of stunned silence and genuine hope. He looked at Matt, then at Arthur, and back to Matt again. Matt, meanwhile, just gave a slow, deliberate nod. He seemed to have reached his own conclusion.
"It's a gift, Foggy," he said, his voice calm. "And it's a chance. Let's not waste it."
Foggy closed the folder, his hands trembling slightly as he held it to his chest. "Okay. Okay, we'll take it. We'll win. We'll get our name out there. We'll get jobs. We'll get a lot of good press from this."
"That's the plan," Arthur said, a small, genuine smile on his face. "This will be the first step."
________________________________
Greenwich Village, New York.
A week later, Arthur sat in his home office, watching the news. The headline on the screen read: "Two New Lawyers Take On Slumlord, Win Landmark Case."
The report showed Foggy standing on the courthouse steps, his face a mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration. Matt stood beside him, a quiet, reassuring presence. They had won. The families were safe. The legal world of New York was in a quiet buzz. Two unknown lawyers had just taken on a case that the city's top firms had turned down, and they had won.
Arthur just smiled. He had done it. He had planted the first seed. He had given them a chance, and they had taken it.
Meanwhile, in a series of discreet, untraceable locations around the globe, the Aegis Initiative was in motion.
In a small, unassuming office in Virginia, Julian Thorne,sat at a high-end, encrypted computer terminal. He was on the phone, his voice calm and authoritative, but with a palpable undercurrent of empathy. "I understand, Mrs. Evans. You did what you had to do." He listened for a moment, a frown creasing his brow. "Yes, I know what the insurance company is saying. But the policy you signed... it was fraudulent. It doesn't protect them; it protects you. And as long as I have a say, they will not get away with this." He paused. "Yes, I know. But our goal is simple: justice for your husband. We'll get it. I promise."
In a sleek, high-rise office in Geneva, Anya Sharma, was on a secure video call. The screen showed the face of a middle-aged man, a look of utter defeat in his eyes. He had been a victim of corporate greed, his retirement fund decimated by a fraudulent company.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Finch," Anya said, her voice soft but authoritative. "We've reviewed all of your financial records. The company you invested in was a shell corporation, but we've managed to trace their assets. We've established an irrevocable trust in your name, and you will have full access to your funds in one business day."
The man's face went from a mask of despair to one of profound shock. He just nodded, unable to speak, a single tear rolling down his cheek.
"I know it's not the same," Anya continued, a compassionate smile touching her lips. "But it's a new beginning. We'll set you up with a financial advisor to help you navigate your new future. You don't have to worry about that anymore. You're not alone in this."
In a remote cabin in the woods of rural Idaho, Marcus Cole, was on a satellite phone, a map of the Arizona desert spread across his desk. "The cargo, a highly encrypted data drive, is ready for airdrop at the designated rendezvous point. The transport is untraceable. We just have to make sure the receiving party is where they're supposed to be." He paused, listening to the field operative on the other end. "He's a journalist. His name is Daniel West. The corrupt pharmaceutical company he's investigating has their own agents in the area. We have a five-minute window. No more." He paused again.
In a bustling city, Sergeant Major Ben Carter, was in a discreet black sedan. He was on a secure radio frequency. "Asset is in transit. ETA to the drop zone: five minutes." He listened to the frantic voice of his team member on the other end. "I know, she's a nervous wreck. But she did the right thing. The kid just exposed her entire unit's corruption. She doesn't deserve this.We're running a ghost protocol, and the safe house is on lockdown." He paused, his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror. "No one saw a thing. We're good."
The four of them, each in their own way, were building a network. A network of shadows, a web of influence. They were the ghosts, some visible while others invisible. They were the Aegis.
Obadiah Stane's Office, Stark Headquarters
Obadiah Stane stood in his office, his face a mask of pure fury. The injunction against the sale of the Arizona plant was a digital wall he couldn't break through. His top legal team had spent weeks trying to unravel the motion, only to be confounded by its meticulous web of precedent and bureaucratic red tape.
"I don't get it," he snarled to himself, slamming his hand on his desk. "Who is behind this? This isn't just a lawyer. Someone is doing this on purpose ."
He pulled up the public records for the legal filing. It was filed anonymously, and the only contact information was a series of encrypted email addresses. The legal motion was a phantom, a trap that had appeared out of thin air.
His mind, racing with fury and desperation, settled on a new, more drastic plan. He would sell the clean energy division. It was Tony's pet project, the one thing he had been working on before his disappearance. A quiet, venomous smile touched his lips. This would solve two problems at once. It would get him the liquidity he so desperately needed, and it would be a final, symbolic middle finger to the memory of Tony Stark.
He pulled up the digital filing for the sale of the clean energy division, a small, triumphant smile on his lips. This would be his final gambit. This would secure his legacy. He would take back what was his.
As he looked at the legal documents for the injunction, he paused, his eyes narrowing. The language, the use of a specific, obscure precedent, the meticulous way the contract was written—it felt... familiar. He had only seen this level of foresight once before, in the amended Jericho missile contract that a new lawyer named Arthur Steele had insisted on.
He scoffed at the thought, a dry, humorless laugh escaping his lips. "The kid's a clever one, but he's just a lawyer. There's no way he could be behind this."
He dismissed the thought, chalking it up to a coincidence. He had bigger problems to deal with.
A/N. Okay I am done with my Daredevil fan boying.
Anyway, now we are taking the last step of this arc from the first step... so lame, I love it !!
*Author waits around awkwardly*