“…The Hand?” Richard didn’t even hesitate.
“What kind of bargain-bin organization is that?” He meant it.
In a world where gods walked among mortals, aliens invaded Earth, and people in colorful suits routinely saved the planet before breakfast, a secret ninja cult hardly ranked as impressive.
Wilson Fisk, however, didn’t share that perspective.
The Hand wasn’t just another gang.
It was ancient, wealthy, and deeply entrenched across the globe.
Even powerful crime syndicates gave it a wide berth.
Fisk had spent years building influence in New York, yet he knew better than to provoke them.
So when Richard dismissed the organization with casual contempt, Fisk reached only one conclusion.
Whatever stood behind Richard had to be even more powerful.
People didn’t mock monsters unless they had something bigger watching their backs.
“I know this city well, Mr.
Carter,” Fisk said evenly.
“I’ve investigated you and the Daily Planet as thoroughly as anyone could.” “And?” “I found nothing.” “No political connections.
No corporate backers.
No intelligence ties.” He smiled faintly.
“Everyone else reached the same dead end.” He leaned forward.
“I didn’t invite you here hoping you’d reveal your secrets.” “I only need the answer to one question.” “What is your patron’s position?” Richard nearly sighed.
Why does everyone insist on inventing conspiracies?
He had built the Daily Planet from scratch.
Every problem the newspaper had encountered had been solved because he dealt with it.
There was no hidden benefactor.
No secret organization.
No shadow government.
If anyone counted as the power behind the newspaper…
…he was sitting across the table from Fisk’s imagination.
Then something clicked.
Wait…
He keeps calling this mysterious figure “the Big Man.” Richard’s lips twitched.
An idea took shape almost instantly.
If Fisk had already convinced himself…
…why not give him exactly what he wanted?
Richard nodded slowly.
“Since you’ve figured out that much, Mr.
Fisk…
I suppose there’s no point pretending otherwise.” Fisk’s expression sharpened.
“I can’t tell you very much.” Richard deliberately glanced around the private room before lowering his voice.
“But I can tell you one thing.” “The name.” He leaned across the table until only the two of them could hear.
“…Shafulin.” Fisk repeated it carefully.
“…Shafulin?” The name meant absolutely nothing to him.
Not a country.
Not a criminal syndicate.
Not a codename he’d ever encountered.
Which only made it more unsettling.
He silently committed it to memory.
Richard nodded solemnly.
“Yes.” “But we generally avoid saying that name aloud.” “For your own sake…” “…I’d recommend you do the same.” Fisk slowly inclined his head.
That, at least, made perfect sense.
The truly dangerous names were rarely spoken openly.
His own reputation in New York worked much the same way.
People preferred titles over names.
Richard continued before Fisk could ask another question.
“As for Shafulin’s attitude…” “You don’t need to worry.” “You can carry out your plans for New York.” He spoke with complete confidence.
“To someone like him…” “…New York is a very small piece of a much larger board.” “I doubt he’d spare even a moment’s attention for one city’s affairs.” Relief washed across Fisk’s face.
For the first time that evening, he genuinely relaxed.
Wilson Fisk was an ambitious man.
Being one of New York’s most powerful crime bosses had never been enough.
He wanted to erase the words one of forever.
His goal was simple.
Remove every rival.
Unify the city’s underworld.
Become the undisputed king of organized crime in New York.
The groundwork had already been laid.
The Hand had agreed to remain neutral, provided Fisk honored their arrangement.
That obstacle had been accounted for.
The only remaining uncertainty had been the mysterious force standing behind Richard Carter.
And based on everything Fisk had pieced together…
…that force appeared even more intimidating than the Hand itself.
Now, at last, he had his answer.
By the time dinner ended, Fisk was in remarkably high spirits.
He stood, shook Richard’s hand warmly, and smiled with genuine sincerity.
“When my plans move forward,” he said, “if the Daily Planet ever needs assistance, call me.” He squeezed Richard’s hand firmly.
“In this city, there are times when my word carries more weight than the mayor’s.” Richard hadn’t intended to cultivate a relationship with New York’s future Kingpin.
Still…
Useful allies rarely introduced themselves twice.
He returned the handshake.
“I’ll remember that.” The two men lingered outside the restaurant, exchanging pleasantries like old friends instead of a newspaper publisher and the city’s most dangerous crime lord.
Eventually, they parted on excellent terms.
Richard waited until Fisk’s car disappeared into traffic.
Only then did the corners of his mouth finally lift.
He nearly laughed out loud.
He actually bought it.
The entire story about a mysterious benefactor had been Fisk’s idea.
Richard had denied it repeatedly.
Fisk simply refused to believe him.
So, eventually, Richard had done the only logical thing.
He’d invented one.
Honestly, it wasn’t even a bad strategy.
Once rumors spread through New York’s underworld that the Daily Planet answered to some terrifying figure named Shafulin, every small-time gang would think twice before causing trouble.
Less harassment.
Fewer headaches.
A completely imaginary protector doing real work.
Not a bad return on investment.
Besides…
Richard had to admit…
Watching Wilson Fisk solemnly accept the name without the slightest hint of skepticism had been unexpectedly entertaining.