CHAPTER 7: THE PAGE CASE
My phone screamed at 2:14 AM.
I grabbed it off the nightstand, squinting at the screen. Foggy Nelson. At two in the morning.
"Roy?" His voice was tight. "Sorry to wake you. We have a situation."
I sat up, reaching for the lamp. "What kind of situation?"
"The kind that walks into police stations covered in blood." A pause. "A woman named Karen Page. She was arrested for murder—her coworker at Union Allied Construction. She says she didn't do it, and Matt believes her."
Union Allied. The name hit me like ice water.
This is it. The beginning of everything.
"Tell me more."
Foggy explained: Karen had found evidence of massive financial fraud at her company. Pension funds being siphoned, money laundering, the works. She'd tried to report it internally. That night, she'd gone to dinner with her coworker Daniel Fisher—the one person who'd agreed to help her. She'd blacked out after one drink. Woke up in her apartment with Fisher dead beside her and a knife in her hand.
"The police think she did it," Foggy said. "But Matt... you know how he gets. He's convinced she's innocent. He wants to take the case."
"So take it."
"Roy, this is Union Allied. They have money. They have lawyers. They have—" He stopped himself. "This could drain everything we have. Everything you just invested."
I was already out of bed, pulling on clothes. "Then it's a good thing I invested more than twelve thousand. Take the case, Foggy. I'll cover any shortfall."
Silence. Then: "You sure?"
"I'm on my way to the office. Start the coffee machine."
The office at 3 AM was a different animal.
Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Files were spread across Matt's desk—Karen's arrest report, Union Allied corporate filings, everything Foggy had managed to pull together. The new coffee machine—my coffee machine—gurgled in the corner, filling the room with the smell of actual coffee instead of the instant garbage they'd been drinking.
Karen Page sat in the client chair.
She looked exactly like I'd expected and nothing like I'd imagined. Blonde hair tangled, mascara smudged beneath eyes that were red from crying but sharp with conviction. She wore clothes that had probably been professional twelve hours ago—now wrinkled, stained, touched by a nightmare.
"Mr. Smith." Her voice was hoarse. "Foggy said you're the one funding this."
"Roy. And I'm just helping."
"Why?"
A fair question. I pulled up a chair across from her.
"Because innocent people shouldn't go to prison. And because I've read about Union Allied." I leaned forward. "Companies don't hire lawyers that expensive unless they have something to hide."
Karen's eyes searched my face. Looking for the angle. Everyone had an angle.
"I didn't kill Daniel," she said. "I know how it looks. I know what the evidence says. But I didn't do it."
"I believe you."
Something cracked in her expression. Not tears—she was past tears. Relief, maybe. The exhausted relief of someone who'd been screaming the truth into a void and finally had someone listen.
Matt spoke from behind his desk. "Karen, we're going to need you to tell us everything. From the beginning."
She told us.
The pension fraud. The shell companies. The money flowing to places it shouldn't go. Daniel Fisher, the accountant who'd agreed to help her document it. The dinner that ended in darkness. Waking up to blood and sirens.
By the time she finished, the coffee machine had cycled twice and the sky outside was shifting from black to gray.
"Union Allied is going to come after you," I said. "Not just legally. If they killed Fisher to shut him up—"
"They'll try to shut me up too." Karen's jaw set. "I know."
I looked at Matt. His head was tilted in that way I'd learned to recognize—listening to Karen's heartbeat, checking for lies. Finding none.
"She needs protection," I said. "Real protection. Not just locks on her door."
"I can't afford—" Karen started.
"I can." I pulled out my phone. "I know a security firm. Former military, discreet, reliable. Twenty-four-seven coverage until this is resolved."
Matt's eyebrow rose. "You know a lot of useful people, Mr. Smith."
"Roy. And yes." I met his glasses. "I told you I wanted to help. This is me helping."
Foggy appeared with fresh coffee, pressing a mug into Karen's hands. She took it automatically, wrapping her fingers around the warmth like it was the only solid thing in the universe.
"What about the investigation?" Matt asked. "We need to prove Union Allied is dirty."
"Forensic accountant. Someone who can trace the money." I was already texting. "I'll have a name by tomorrow. Today. Whatever."
"And the cost?"
"Not your concern."
Matt's jaw tightened. I could feel his suspicion prickling—who throws money around like this without expecting something in return? But Karen was watching us, hope blooming in her eyes for the first time since she'd walked into that police station.
He couldn't say no. Not to that.
"Okay," he said finally. "We take the case. All of us."
Karen made a sound that might have been a sob or a laugh. "Thank you. I don't—thank you."
Foggy squeezed her shoulder. "That's what we're here for. Well, that and arguing about baseball."
She almost smiled. Almost.
Dawn crept through the patched window, painting the office in shades of gold and gray.
Karen had fallen asleep in her chair, exhaustion finally winning. Foggy had draped his jacket over her shoulders and retreated to his desk to start the paperwork. Matt stood by the window, head tilted toward the city.
I joined him.
"You know this is dangerous," he said quietly. "Union Allied isn't going to take this lying down."
"I know."
"They'll come after us. All of us. They have resources we can't match."
"We have something they don't." I watched the sun climb. "We have someone willing to tell the truth. And three people willing to protect her while she does."
Matt was silent for a long moment. Then: "Why do you care so much about Hell's Kitchen?"
I thought about the first day I'd walked these streets—the woman in the park feeding pigeons, the Russian lookouts who'd watched me pass, the diner where Linda had served me mediocre eggs and called me "hon."
"Because someone has to," I said. "And I have the resources to make a difference."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
His head tilted. Listening. Checking.
Whatever he heard, he didn't challenge it.
"Get some sleep," he said. "It's going to be a long week."
I grabbed my jacket and headed for the door. Behind me, Karen slept on, clutching her coffee cup like a lifeline.
And somewhere across the city, a man in a suit read a memo about Nelson & Murdock's newest client and reached for his phone.
"We have a problem."
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