The Devil You Know ━━ Daredevil

2.

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two:
the trap
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Molly hated the Financial District. Mostly because every time she ventured into that part of the city, she felt like she was crossing the threshold into some sort of a demonic lair where every cocaine-sniffing broker had long squandered their soul for an insider tip. Also because she had written crap about half of the people who ran the place and was well on her way to catching her White Whale. The man who carried the weight of all corruption in the city on his shoulders, like a more wrinkly, more misguided version of Atlas.

But she needed a sizeable harpoon to take on that beast and so into the Financial District she went. Molly wound her way through the jungle of skyscrapers and white collars with two cups of hot coffee — though, not steaming hot anymore, since she'd had to catch a ride from Midtown — from her favourite coffeeshop in Hell's Kitchen. It was a rather cheap bribe for her best friend Armand, who, like millions of others, found himself caged within one of those glass corporate prisons. Molly hurried towards his office building, balancing the cups with the dexterity of someone who'd known the strife of drinking coffee on the morning train. She checked her phone — Armand's break had started five minutes ago, which was when they'd agreed to meet up. Naturally, he wasn't there.

Just then an unknown number popped up on the screen. Frowning, Molly answered, "Hello?"

"Margaret Hendrickson?"

She almost winced at her full name, "Uh, yeah. This is she."

"This is Jonathan Boulder, H&L's press liaison."

Molly almost dropped the coffee holder. Luckily, she got off with just a slight spill. "Shit," she whispered. There was a nasty stain on her jacket — now she'd have to pay for the dry cleaning too. Splendid.

"Miss Hendrickson?"

"Uh, yes. Yes, sorry. Hi, Jonathan. " Molly made a herculean effort to compose herself, "It's a real pleasure to hear from you. A real surprise, too. I thought your employer had a pretty strict no comment policy."

"And yet you reached out," Jonathan reminded her.

"Could you blame a girl for trying?"

"Certainly not," You could hear the cockiness from the phone. What an asshole, "So, does next Monday work for you?"

Well, that was pretty quick. Of all the ways Molly expected this conversation to go, this was the unlikeliest. Those Wall Street guys sure moved fast, cause, well — cocaine, "Monday sounds great, Jonathan."

"Perfect. I'll have my assistant forward you the address."

Her smile was perfectly passive-aggressive, "I'll find my way around."

"I'm sure you will, Miss Hendrickson," Jonathan patronised, "I'll see you Monday."

"Looking forward to it." A strange knot coiled tightly in her stomach as soon as the line went dead. Molly remembered her dad always saying that nothing worthy came easily. "And if it feels easy, kid, you'd better take a closer look. 'Cause chances are, someone's screwing you over big time". Well, if the Wall Street crackheads wanted to play, she'll gladly oblige.

Before Molly could stick her phone back into the pocket of her ridiculously tight jeans, it blipped again with a notification. A message from an unknown number with the address she already knew — it was hard to forget since the blasted skyscraper was almost as grand as the freaking Avengers tower.

"Pompous dickwad," Molly muttered and took an angry sip of her coffee.

She'd already finished it by the time Armand deigned to show up. It was very easy to spot him in the crowd since he looked like an Armani model walking the catwalk like he'd been born for it. Clad in a perfectly tailored designer suit and with his beard trimmed just so — it seemed every guy these days fancied himself a Tony Stark — Armand looked every bit the soulless shark his clients sought to hire. If only they knew that behind that finely-crafted facade of a ruthless lawyer hid a man that had a Hawkeye poster in the bedroom of his luxurious Manhattan condo.