Karen Page's fears never materialized. If Solomon wanted to, he could be quite the charming conversationalist. He always seemed to have a story—plausible and just believable enough to mask the truth of his life. He preferred to keep the uninitiated in the dark, after all. He'd spotted Karen's little pistol right away, and he knew just how to deploy his charm so she wouldn't be tempted to shoot him in the back as he walked away.
His magic, while subtle, was overwhelming for someone like Karen—an ordinary woman with fragile resolve. One careless spell could've turned her mind to mush. Solomon knew it was irresponsible to use magic casually on non-magical folk, so he didn't. Instead, he simply made her a cup of tea and summoned an entire spread of biscuits to the Nelson & Murdock office (also known as the only desk they had). The scent of butter and cookies soon replaced the ink and stale printer toner. Karen even burped quietly, blushing in embarrassment—not just for the amount of food she'd devoured, but because she had nearly forgotten to ask about the most important thing: where had he gotten all this damning information?
She did ask, eventually.
Solomon was ready. He gave her a perfectly plausible answer: he claimed he had downloaded the documents during the time when S.H.I.E.L.D.'s files were leaked online by Natasha Romanoff after HYDRA's infiltration had been exposed. Though the files had long since been scrubbed from the internet, many had downloaded fragments, and no one knew the full extent of what had been released. His explanation was clever—and impossible to verify.
Truthfully, Solomon's visit calmed Karen's long-held fear of Wilson Fisk. The weight of the dossier filled her with confidence. She even gave Solomon her phone number, asking him to contact her directly with anything related to Fisk. She didn't want Matt or Foggy to know about her private investigations—it was too dangerous. When she was alone again in the office, deep into the night, even the street thugs outside had gone quiet (unaware that Solomon had already taught them a lesson—not that he'd ever mention such a crude thing to a host).
The stranger's presence had vanished like a soap bubble in sunlight. Karen couldn't even recall his face clearly. Had she tried, she could've remembered; the spell Solomon cast wasn't powerful. She took a deep breath and opened the folder, plugging the enclosed drive into their ancient, auction-bought computer. The screen flickered and groaned under the weight of the data. Following the folder index, she clicked through each file, and soon found herself gagging—nearly vomiting everything she'd just eaten.
She started to believe this file really had come from inside S.H.I.E.L.D.
Few organizations could gather intel with this level of detail.
Meanwhile, Solomon returned to the hotel suite, only to find Jeanne, Bayonetta, and Athena already many bottles deep into a night of drinking. The three women were cackling and whispering things he couldn't understand. The witches had long since shed their constraining formal dresses, and even Athena had thrown herself across the couch, downing wine and spirits like water. Solomon noted with concern that both his adoptive mother and his lovers had concerning drinking habits—their unique constitutions meant they could barely even get tipsy, no matter how much they drank. It was the main reason Solomon had expanded the estate's wine cellar and even bought a vineyard—these women seemed determined to hydrate solely through alcohol.
The room reeked of liquor. Solomon feared striking a match might spark an explosion. He sighed and summoned invisible servants to clean up the bottles. It was clear Athena was drinking to mask the pain of losing Vanessa as a friend, and the witches, ever loyal, kept her company.
Solomon had no intention of telling Athena what he'd been up to earlier that evening, but nothing could be hidden from her. From Wilson Fisk's disappearance at the party to the gunfire near the orphanage, the night's events all revolved around one man. A glance at the evening news made that clear.
"All done?" the goddess of wisdom asked, eyes narrowed.
"All done," Solomon nodded. He kissed his witches—lingering, since there were two—then kissed Athena on the cheek before she tugged him down onto the couch. She demanded details, but he, as always, skipped over the gory parts—legal jargon and body counts didn't make for polite conversation. "From now on, Vanessa is no longer connected to us. Fisk won't bother our lives again. We've severed all financial ties, and everything can be classified as a legitimate transaction. There's nothing left that could trigger an investigation."
He was right. Over the next few weeks, Fisk grew unusually quiet. The intelligence officers Solomon had sent to monitor him reported nothing noteworthy. It was as if Wilson Fisk had transformed into someone entirely different. But that silence wasn't all good. Drug trade in Hell's Kitchen ground to a halt. Junkies spiraled into psychosis. Gangs that had only recently learned to point their guns the right way erupted into street wars, all vying to become the new kingpin of Hell's Kitchen.
It was a demonstration—a show of control. Fisk was proving his value as a stabilizer, a buffer between the government and the underworld. Sure enough, some guests from the party began reaching out to him, setting up offshore shell companies through the Cayman Islands.
Eventually, Solomon ordered Victoria Hand's intelligence unit to pull back. She didn't have the manpower she used to have at S.H.I.E.L.D., and couldn't afford to spend too many resources on someone like Fisk. He was still just a gangster—dangerous, yes, but not the kind to evolve into a terrorist threat. Surveillance was handed off to automated monitoring systems.
She had a new assignment now: recruit a special forces instructor.
Solomon had tried before to hire one, but the need back then was minor—he only wanted someone to train his synthetic soldiers. In the end, he handled it himself. But now, with Sophia and her tribe fully integrated into the Immortal City, that had changed. The adult males of her people had become the city's first standing army unit, equipped with composite-fiber armor and high-tech firearms suitable for non-augmented humans.
To maximize their potential, Solomon needed a true special operations expert. Someone capable of shaping this tribal force into an elite military corps.
(End of Chapter)
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