“You might not agree with everything I do, but you can rest assured of one thing: my pace in wiping out gangs will be far faster than you beating them up one by one.”
“You’re that certain I’ll agree?”
“I’m not.” Ross Vance spread his hands, smiling candidly.
“But I don’t think you’d refuse a proposal to make Hell’s Kitchen better.
After all, isn’t that why you handle cases for the poor by day and catch criminals in tights by night?”
Murdock didn’t reply right away.
His fingers traced circles along the rim of the teacup.
Ross Vance’s words had hit the mark.
Bringing order to Hell’s Kitchen.
Fighting in court by day and acting as a vigilante by night—hadn’t all his years of struggle been for this?
Yet ideals were ideals.
Matt Murdock had rendered opposing counsel speechless in court precisely because he never let slick words fool him.
“Your men are indeed formidable.” He raised his head, his sightless eyes aligning accurately with Ross Vance.
“But how do you guarantee you’ll actually do it?
And what makes you so confident you can?
A handful of people can’t flatten the entirety of Hell’s Kitchen.”
Ross Vance gave a quiet smile.
He hadn’t expected to convince Daredevil with a single sentence.
If a fanatic like him were that easily swayed, he wouldn’t have spent years fighting every gang in New York all on his own.
“Anything I say now is just empty words, and you wouldn’t believe it anyway.
How about this: until I prove it to you, we keep our relationship strictly financial.
You accept my commissions, take my money, and handle my affairs.
When the day comes that you see with your own eyes what I can accomplish, you can decide whether to step aboard my ship.”
He leaned back against the sofa and added, “After all, our goals align—we merely use different methods.
You don’t kill; I don’t mind.
You uphold the law; I can cooperate where possible.
For the time being, that doesn’t prevent us from working together.”
Murdock was silent for a few seconds.
The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, his expression easing up.
“That, I can agree to.
Respected client, what do you need me to do?”
The shift in topic was swift enough.
Ross Vance rather appreciated the efficiency.
“So our working relationship is officially active?”
“As soon as the retainer fee hits my account, the working relationship is active immediately.” Murdock’s tone turned stern, his lawyer persona switching back in a split second.
Ross Vance burst out laughing.
“Good.
Straightforward.
First item: I don’t have a United States identity.
I need a legal, verifiable identity that stands up to scrutiny in any institution.
You can treat me as an undocumented immigrant and use legal avenues to secure my paperwork.
I don’t want forged documents—fake IDs don’t hold up under inspection.”
Murdock nodded slightly.
That fell within his field of expertise.
He was intimately familiar with immigration law and asylum applications.
While helping an unknown undocumented immigrant secure an identity leaned into a gray area, compared to the daily filth in Hell’s Kitchen, it was practically nothing.
“Second item: once the identity is settled, help me register a company.
List the scope of business as weapons research and development, along with security services.
Compile a list of the required materials and qualifications, and I’ll provide them.”
Murdock’s eyebrow twitched upward.
Weapons R&D combined with security services wasn’t a business scope easily approved in New York.
Then again, considering the man before him had pulled together a highly trained private armed force right under the noses of so many factions, opening a security company was fitting enough.
“Just those two things for now.
I’ll pay in cash or gold, whichever is more convenient for you.” Ross Vance spread his hands, leaning entirely back into the sofa.
Murdock raised his cup and took another sip.
“There are difficulties, but they can be managed.
I’ll need time to handle it.”
“No problem.
I’ll await your good news.” Ross Vance turned his head toward the stairs and called out, “Voss, prepare Mr.
Murdock’s fee.”
In less than two minutes, Griffin walked out carrying a bulging canvas bag and placed it on the coffee table.
The bag wasn’t tied shut, revealing neatly stacked US dollars and a few gold bars inside.
The gold gleamed under the dim living room lights, and though Murdock couldn’t see it, his nose twitched—he clearly caught the scent of metal mixed with ink.
“If I’m not mistaken, is this illicit money?”
Ross Vance chuckled.
“Hahaha, yes.
Which is why I’m paying triple your standard rate.”
A rare movement crossed the corner of Murdock’s mouth, though it was hard to tell if it counted as a smile.
“At triple rate, I accept this commission.
The paperwork will be delivered to you in a week.”
“Fair enough.
You go attend to your business, and don’t bother tailing us lately.”
“I don’t have that much spare time, Mr.
Vance.
The person tailing you that day was just someone I ran into during my nightly exercise.
Now that work is starting, it’s no longer on my way.” Murdock took another sip of tea, his tone as nonchalant as ever.
Ross Vance stood up and extended his right hand.
“Then here’s to a pleasant collaboration.”
Murdock rose as well, accurately grasping his hand.
“A pleasant collaboration.”
Ross Vance gestured toward the door.
“Voss, see Mr.
Murdock out.”
Griffin strode to the door, pulled it open, and stepped aside to clear the way, making a polite gesture.
“Then I’ll see you next week, Mr.
Vance.” Murdock nodded to the men, turned, and walked out the door.
Griffin shut the door, and Murdock’s footsteps gradually dissolved into the night wind outside.
***
Having sent off Hell’s Kitchen’s night ghost, Ross Vance sat back down on the sofa.
Daredevil was secured.
A lawyer, an identity, and a company registration—once these three things landed, he would no longer be an undocumented ghost in the Marvel universe, but a legitimate individual walking in the daylight.
When that time came, whether renting an industrial park or hiring employees, he wouldn’t have to rely purely on fists to solve problems.
But that was for next week.
Right now, there were more pressing matters.
He needed territory, and he needed manpower.
Hell’s Kitchen wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t small either—dozens of streets and scores of gangs, large and small.
Kingpin’s influence ran deep like tree roots into every sewer, while the ninjas of The Hand hid like rats in every shadow.
Currently, he only had ten Cadian veterans under his command.
That was more than enough to crush a minor outfit like the Three-Face Gang, but to swallow Hell’s Kitchen whole…
Ten men were nowhere near enough.
It was time to summon new reinforcements.
Ross Vance tallied his psionic energy reserves in his mind.
Three-Face had provided a massive wave of experience, and Griffin’s squad’s routine clearing of minor threats afterward had brought in steady additions.
The psionic energy within his body was now several times stronger than during his previous summon.
Last time, that small amount of psionic energy had pulled out ten Astra Militarum soldiers.
This time, he should attempt to channel a far greater amount of psionic power.
Even if he couldn’t pull an Astartes, drawing a few more squads of Astra Militarum would suffice.
Expanding his current organization from ten men to a platoon, or even a company, would at least allow him to carve out a proper foothold in Hell’s Kitchen.
However, more men also meant needing a larger location.
Living in this three-story building with eleven people was already becoming cramped.
If even one more squad arrived, someone would have to sleep in the basement.
And if his luck truly exploded and he summoned an Astartes, even surrendering his own room wouldn’t accommodate the giant.
Not to mention he required space to store equipment, train recruits, and house any heavy firepower and vehicles that might appear in the future.
A proper base was absolute necessity.
“Voss.”
“Sir.” Griffin stepped forward, his shoulders straight and rigid.
“Start scouting for a new location.
I want a larger piece of land—ideally a compound.
Standalone, walled, with controlled entry points and a clear view of the surroundings.
A converted warehouse or an abandoned factory works.
If there’s nothing ready-made, even a plot of empty land will do; we can build it ourselves.”
Ross Vance walked over to the window and pushed it open.
Outside lay the usual noisy night view of Hell’s Kitchen.
He looked down at the chaotic district as if looking at an undeveloped wasteland.
“Ten men aren’t enough to swallow Hell’s Kitchen whole.” He turned around, leaning against the window frame.
“I’m going to summon another batch of hands.
Once the identity and company registration are settled, we’ll cut loose.
But before that, the site has to be picked.
We can’t have new brothers arriving only to find nowhere to sleep—that’d be embarrassing.”
Griffin remained as impassive as ever.
“Understood.
I’ll lead a team to scout first thing tomorrow morning.
To the west of Hell’s Kitchen, near the Hudson River, there are several abandoned warehouses that used to belong to a freight company.
They’ve been vacant for years since it went bankrupt.
They should meet your requirements.”
“Go check them out.
If they’re suitable, secure them directly.
No need to squeeze the price too low—just make sure the seller doesn’t cause any hassle.”