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Wesley knows what people see when they look at him. They see the well-styled hair, the pressed suit, the expensive watch. They hear the carefully-cultivated accent delivered with a perpetual smirk and file him firmly under "bourgeoisie jackass." Wesley tries very hard to cultivate that impression.
He uses nice cologne, his tie is never askew, his shoes are always polished. And yet as he walks through the city streets, a dirty child stares back at him through his reflection in the windows he passes. He stops once again to adjust his jacket and cuffs. The country bumpkin in his reflection looks at him with sad eyes. He ignores it, turns heel, and continues on his way. He doesn't have time for the past, he never does.
+++
The freight elevator rattles and whirrs on its way up the half-built skyscraper. When he steps out, the floor is wet. This level does not yet have windows, doesn't even have walls, and the rainstorm from an hour earlier has soaked it thoroughly. His footsteps echo wetly through the not-quite-a-room.
The others are already waiting for him. He's the last one to arrive. Leland is bitching, like always. The Russians get in his face, and Wesley entertains the thought of taking the switchblade strapped to his waistband and sinking it into Vladimir's guts. He hates them. It's with great pleasure that he gets to put them in their place, even though his stomach clenches at the mention of their "cargo". He'd rather hurl them off the building. In his opinion, their "place" was six feet underground.
They tell him that the Man in Black stopped them and rescued their cargo. He fixates on this and demands they tell him more.
"Took Barrett and our guys out while they were loading the container."
"He took out your men? How?"
"Caught them by surprise. Beat them, with his bare hands."
"Four men? With his bare hands?"
"That is what we were told."
"Perhaps you should have been there yourself." No one would have cried any tears if the brothers had also been beaten. Wesley becomes fixated on the idea of the Man in Black: someone not just willing, but able to stand up to the traffickers.
That night, he dreams that the Man in Black came to save him, all those years ago. He dreams that he is the Man in Black.
He wakes up to news that Union Allied has fallen.
Rance, along with the damning evidence from Union Allied’s financial books had been hand delivered to the New York bulletin in a neat, if not bloody, package.
“Rance was a professional. How was he subdued?” Fisk asks him later.
Wesley hesitates for only a split second before replying, “I’m looking into it.”
A lie. Surveillance camera footage from the bodega across from the New York Bulletin had revealed the culprit: the Man in Black. It seemed that the Man in Black wasn’t just after the Russians. He was after all of them, even if he didn’t yet fully know the full reach of their organization. Fisk would find out eventually, of that Wesley was certain. But he would keep the secret for now, give the Man in Black a little more time to hurt them.
He asks if he should have the secretary killed. “No, everything she knows is already in the papers. Have her dealt with above board. Her lawyers?”
“Ambulance chasers. They’re clean.”
“Start a file on them. They could be of use.”
+++
The Man in Black keeps hitting the Russians. He takes out dock after dock.
Wesley’s guilty, secret admiration grows--but so does his sense of inadequacy. He’d known those people were there, known what was happening to them. But more than that, he knew… it doesn’t matter.
Wesley starts stalking the Russian operations on the docks. He watches the miserable victims, hoping to see the Man in Black again. The Man in Black doesn't show up. Instead, he ends up stepping in himself. It's messy and he fucks up. He gets lucky and manages to save a few people before he's forced to flee. One of the freed women asks for his name. On instinct, he begins to answer, "Wes--"
He scolds himself. The woman nods, smiling. "Thank you, West." Then she runs. Wesley watches her go and, for the first time in a long time, feels powerful.
From then on, Wesley takes on a more active role in sabotaging the organization. He knows he can't play his hand too soon. He also can't try to take down every arm at once. He will focus on taking out the Russians first. He’s still injured from his half-cocked rescue at the docks. He starts taking notes on all of their actions, stockpiling them.
+++
Urich receives an unmarked envelope in his residential mailbox. Inside is several copies of Union Allied’s crooked books and a letter signed “West.” Ulrich is frightened by this. He considers calling the police, but the letter contains a plea for trust.
Against his better judgment, he doesn’t call the cops. He investigates the records. They’re legitimate.
A few nights later, another envelope shows up. This once contains information of a Russian smuggling ring. Again, Ulrich can’t help but be suspicious. West’s information could only come from someone extremely close to the smuggling operation.
He decides to leave a letter in his mailbox. It disappears, and in its place appears another envelope and a reply. West and Ulrich begin to communicate this way.
Ulrich slowly starts to trust this West character, and agrees to act as an intermediary between West and the police.
+++
Wesley hasn't gone to the docks again in person, but he's itching to. Now that he knows he can, he can't stop thinking about doing it again.
The hitman takes out Prohaska, but he gets caught. Wesley opens the file Fisk had him create on Nelson and Murdock. Mr. Fisk says he will accompany him, however Wesley gently reminds him that he should spend the time reviewing the paperwork for his meeting with Leland later.
Wesley meets with Murdock and Nelson. They seem positively boring. He leaves his business card.
Wesley gives in to the urge to take things into his own hands again. This time, it goes much better. He impersonates the Man in Black. The next day, he listens to someone curse the Man in Black and can't help the feeling of pride that swells up in his chest.
+++
Ulrich convinces West to meet him in person. West finally agrees and they meet covertly in the park. Ulrich’s trust in West is cemented. He tells West that his police contacts want something they can act on. West agrees to get it for them.
“No more sneaking around my house at night, though, got it?”
“Hah, fair enough.”
Ulrich passes West’s information along to the police and they start planning a sting operation. West gives Ulrich names: which cops can be trusted, which can’t. There are rats in the police.
They assemble a team, men and women dedicated to taking down Fisk. West feeds them facility plants and schedules. He informs them that in a few weeks, Fisk will be heading to an art gallery. In the vehicle will be damning evidence of his crimes, evidence West is planning on smuggling into the car. They just need to intercept him.
+++
As Ulrich becomes more and more invested in the operation, Karen takes notice. Ulrich tries to warn her off, but this just makes her more curious. She sneaks into his office and finds out that someone has been feeding him insider information about Wilson Fisk’s operation.
She confronts him about it, angry that he would hide this from her. Fisk tried to ruin her life, tried to kill her. She wants to take him down more than anybody.
Ulrich tells her that she’s too hot-headed. Whoever the snitch is, they’re close to the operation, real close . The situation requires tact. He doesn’t trust her to stay objective when Fisk is involved.
Reluctantly, she agrees to leave it alone.
As much as she tries to ignore it, however, the knowledge eats at her. She can’t help herself. Karen noticed that Ulrich’s intel was physical, in envelopes. So there must be an actual exchange. She stalks Ulrich for several days and eventually catches him meeting with the snitch. She snaps a picture.
She brings it to Matt and Foggy. Foggy recognizes the man from their meeting. They dig up the business card he left. Murdock and Co. start looking into James Wesley. Who is this guy, and why is he helping them?
“The guy’s a ghost. No social media, no nothing,” Foggy says, leaning back and throwing his hands up in defeat.
Matt shrugs, “So he’s private. That just means we have to dig a little deeper.”
“I’ve dug deeper, Matt. I’ve hit bedrock. He doesn’t even have employment records!”
“Wait, how would you have access to his employment records? What happened to the Privacy Act?”
“Okay, so I may have committed a tiny, little bit of identity theft…”
“Foggy!”
“Point is, there are no James Wesleys working for Union Allied or Confed Global or any of their subsidiary holding companies.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” says Matt, “For him to have access to those documents he sent us, he’d have to work there in some capacity. Maybe he’s using a fake name?”
Foggy laughs. “Well then we’re screwed. But that’s seeming more and more likely. As far as I can tell, he never went to school, never graduated college, never even submitted a resume. And I asked Brett Mahoney to run a check on him, see if he has any criminal record, but I’m keeping my expectations low.”
“Brett agreed to that?”
“You don’t want to know how many favors that cost me. And cigars.”
Matt sighs. “You’ve got to stop giving his mom cigars.”
Foggy’s phone rings, it’s Brett Mahoney. “Oh-ho-ho, speak of the devil.” He answers. “Let me guess. Nada?”
“Close,” says Brett, “No criminal record, but I used our facial recognition software to run him against the database, and something popped up. Don’t know if it’s your guy, but…”
“Well, it can’t hurt to take a look. Go ahead and send it over. What is it?”
“A milk carton,” says Brett, then he hangs up.
“Milk…?” Foggy checks his email. It’s a scanned picture of the side of a milk carton. A milk carton missing persons report for a seventeen-year-old boy. Jakov Veselovsky, son of Russian immigrants. Over a decade younger, and no glasses, but Foggy’s pretty damn sure that’s their guy. “Holy shit.”
+++
The day of the sting arrives. Wesley smuggles the evidence he’s gathered into the car and gets in with Fisk.
But something is wrong. The car changes route. Instead of the gallery, they stop at a lookout. Wesley’s heart is racing, but he forces himself to remain calm.
“A scenic detour, sir?” He asks.
“Something like that,” Fisk says, walking to the railing and peering out over the water. “It’s a beautiful sight, don’t you think?”
“Yes, sir,” Wesley agrees, careful not to let any unease into his voice. He comes to stand next to Fisk.
“There’s something so artistic about the way the water reflects the sky. The waves turn what would otherwise be a perfect mirror into a living impressionist painting. It’s so… mesmerising that I sometimes think, if I touched it, I would find paint instead of water.”
Wesley says nothing. Fisk continues, “And yet, if I did touch it, I would get a cold, shocking reminder that what lies below is an unknowable black abyss.” He turns to look at Wesley. “It’s unnerving, how easy one can be deceived…by appearances.”
Wesley’s heart drops into his stomach. Fisk knows. But Wesley can’t summon any words.
“I was informed that your picture was run by the police. I was hoping there was an explanation.”
Still, he remains silent.
Until, “James …”
He snapped, “That's not my name.”
Fisk’s expression turns stormy. “I gave you everything. Everything you are, everything you'll ever be, is thanks to me. When I found you, you were nothing!”
“I never asked for this!” Wesley screams.
“No,” Fisk agrees, “You begged for it. Like a dog.”
Wesley takes off the watch Fisk gave him and throws it at the man’s feet. Fisk flies into a rage, grabbing Wesley by the front of his shirt and hauling him backwards until Wesley’s back hits the railing.
“You owe me your life .” Fisk’s eyes are wild and yet…desperate. It makes Wesley sick to his stomach. “I want to forgive you. Despite all you've done, I still consider you…a friend.”
Wesley just laughs. “I'm not your friend, Wilson , I never was. You don't have friends, it's beyond you. You're a sad, lonely, pathetic man, and the only reason anyone would ever put up with you is if you own them. I'd rather die than be your pet any longer.”
Wesley shoves himself away from Fisk. He must have truly shocked Fisk, because the man's hands were slack, and Wesley fell away from his grasp--off the bridge and into the water below.
+++
James Wesley falls into the river and dies.
Jakov Veselovsky pulls his heavy, sopping body onto the shore. His first free breath in 10 years is an ugly, coughing thing, rattling as he spits up water.
+++
Whistling through Hell’s Kitchen, a Westward wind blows…