Chapter 635

Moira’s solution was considerably smarter than Jessica Jones’s.

Jessica’s plan, after all, amounted to kidnapping Kilgrave, locking him in a dark room, and subjecting him to every torture method she could think of. Waterboarding, electrocution, whips, candles, and enough other horrifying implements to fill a medieval dungeon.

After all that, she figured, Kilgrave would probably confess.

The problem was what happened afterward.

Take a recording like that into court and show the judge a battered, exhausted man covered in suspicious fluids, tearfully confessing on camera that he was the mastermind behind the entire case and had committed everything through psychic mind control.

Unless the judge had completely lost his mind, he wasn’t going to believe it.

He’d probably have Jessica arrested on the spot for unlawful confinement and torture.

At that point, she’d be spending the rest of her life behind bars.

But Moira had suddenly realized something.

Jessica had dragged her into the wrong line of thinking from the beginning.

Getting Hope out of prison didn’t necessarily require Kilgrave to confess.

There was another possibility.

The prosecutor could simply withdraw the charges.

"I’ve been a prosecutor for many years," Samantha said. "I’ve seen defendants invent every excuse imaginable to avoid conviction. Some of them are so ridiculous they’re almost entertaining."

She shook her head.

"But thanks to the Battle of New York, apparently we now have an even better one."

Her eyes hardened as she looked at Moira.

"Mind control."

Samantha’s tone had sharpened into a warning.

"I understand that the Black Badge Division is still a young organization and that you’re eager to establish yourselves by producing results. I can understand that ambition. What I won’t tolerate is you interfering with the justice system."

She scoffed.

"A mind controller? Really? Is there anything more absurd?"

"I can swear that it’s true..."

Jessica was already bristling at the ridicule, but before she could launch into an argument, Moira placed a hand on her arm.

"Ms. Jones, could you step outside for a moment?"

She glanced toward the door.

"Why?"

Jessica immediately objected.

"Can’t you discuss whatever this is in front of me? Or is this something you don’t want anyone else hearing?"

"Yes."

Moira didn’t even bother pretending otherwise.

"You can’t hear this part."

Then, seeing Jessica’s expression, she softened her tone.

"Don’t worry. I’m on your side. Because of the information you’ve provided, I’ll do everything I can to resolve this."

Jessica hesitated.

Samantha stepped in before she could object.

"You really should leave. I’m the prosecutor assigned to this case, Jerry is the defendant’s attorney, and this woman..."

She gave Moira a long look.

"...is a special agent who has forced her way into an investigation that wasn’t originally hers."

Her gaze returned to Jessica.

"And you? You’re a private investigator with a considerable criminal record. At best, you’re a witness. Unless you’ve been subpoenaed, you have no right to participate in the investigation."

Jessica’s expression soured.

There was nothing she hated more than official legal language delivered with absolute seriousness.

Then she noticed Jerry discreetly gesturing for her to leave as well.

With a resigned sigh, Jessica stepped outside.

The moment the door shut behind her, she leaned against it and pressed her ear to the surface.

She didn’t trust them enough to simply walk away.

Unfortunately, she had barely gotten into position when there was a tremendous BANG.

The impact rattled the entire door and left her ears ringing.

Jessica knew a warning when she heard one.

With a frustrated grimace, she gave up and walked away.

Inside, Moira lowered her arm.

"The amateur has left."

She looked between the two women.

"Now we can speak freely."

Samantha had watched the entire exchange.

She had also watched Moira flick her wrist and send something resembling a whip cracking across the room and into the door.

"I see you’re not exactly an ordinary government agent."

Samantha was surprised, but she recovered quickly.

A woman with her reputation had spent too many years in courtrooms to be easily shaken. She was known as General Shepard, the defense attorney killer. Strange things simply weren’t enough to rattle her for long.

Jerry, meanwhile, barely reacted.

She was already accustomed to the existence of people who weren’t entirely normal.

After spending so much time with Jessica Jones, she’d learned that the world had more exceptions to the rules than most lawyers ever wanted to admit.

And only a few days ago, she’d encountered another one.

A young man had shown up claiming to be the younger son of the man who had once employed her while she was a legal intern. The problem was that his supposed father had died years ago in a plane crash, along with his entire family.

The young man looked like he’d spent months sleeping on the street.

He also spoke fluent Chinese, possessed extraordinary martial-arts skills, and, most importantly, had a right hand that could glow.

After that, Jerry’s threshold for surprise had become considerably higher.

"Different soldiers for different battles," Moira said calmly. "Given the Black Badge Division’s unusual responsibilities, it should come as no surprise that some of its personnel possess unusual abilities."

"Then perhaps the government finally did something right."

A small smile appeared on Samantha’s face.

Letting people with unusual abilities deal with other unusual abilities had a certain logic to it. It could make investigations more efficient, while also preventing superhumans from forming a unified bloc and causing trouble.

"So you’re actually prepared to acknowledge that this mind controller exists?"

Samantha glanced around the room.

It seemed obvious what Moira was getting at.

"About that..."

Moira inhaled slowly, then put on an expression so neutral it could have been carved from stone.

"Until I’ve received authorization, I neither confirm nor deny the existence of such a person."

"That won’t do."

Samantha planted a hand against the wall and folded her arms.

"You either obtain authorization, formally acknowledge his existence, and provide credible evidence, or I proceed with the prosecution based on the evidence currently available."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Those are the choices."

"Are they?"

The corner of Moira’s mouth curled upward.

"I think there’s a third option."

"What option?"

Samantha’s eyebrow rose slightly higher.

"I’m listening."

"Let’s tell the story differently."

Moira’s eyes gleamed.

"That little girl, Hope, was deceived into joining a cult. Eventually, she realized what she’d gotten herself into and hired Jessica Jones, a private investigator, to help her escape."

Samantha’s expression remained skeptical.

"But everyone knows how much cult members hate defectors. They sent someone after Hope to punish her."

Moira continued smoothly.

"On the day of the murders, that person hid on top of the elevator. Once the doors closed and the elevator became a sealed space, he opened the emergency hatch, climbed down, and shot Hope’s parents."

"Then he pumped Hope full of hallucinogens until she was barely conscious. He put the gun in her hand and manipulated her into believing she’d murdered her own parents."

Moira’s voice remained perfectly calm.

"The purpose was to condemn her to a lifetime of guilt and suffering in prison. A punishment designed to destroy her."

Samantha let out a cold laugh.

"You’re seriously proposing that?"

"This version can become the official one."

Moira didn’t so much as blink.

"All I need is your approval. Once you give it, the supporting evidence can be produced immediately."

She leaned forward slightly.

"That includes the most authoritative toxicology report available for Hope."

Samantha’s expression changed instantly.

"I think this conversation is over."

She straightened her clothes and turned toward the door.

"I’m willing to overlook this attempt to fabricate evidence. But if you actually go through with something like this, I’ll make sure every person involved ends up in prison."

"Come on, Samantha."

Jerry stopped her.

"You really think locking a little girl away for life is going to earn you much political capital?"

Samantha stopped.

Jerry continued.

"Everyone knows you want to run for mayor. But Mayor Ross isn’t some politician who climbed into office on empty campaign slogans. He got there after fighting through the Battle of New York, and his reputation only grew after the recent crackdown on organized crime."

She smiled thinly.

"Do you really think solving a few high-profile cases is going to let you replace him?"

Samantha’s face darkened.

"I am concerned only with upholding the law. I have no personal ambitions influencing my decisions."

"Oh, right."

Jerry smiled.

"You still have a path."

"Ross’s popularity is through the roof. As long as he doesn’t make some catastrophic mistake, beating him directly is probably impossible."

She tilted her head.

"But most people know someone like him isn’t going to stay mayor forever. When his term ends, he’ll move on to something bigger. That leaves the office open."

"And you’ll be right there waiting for it."

Moira glanced at Jerry.

No wonder the company hired her.

Her reasoning was almost exactly the same as Moira’s.

Maybe I can’t beat him.

But I can wait him out.

That was essentially Samantha’s strategy.

She only had to wait for Ross to finish his term and move up, then make her own run for mayor.

The fastest way for a prosecutor to build a public reputation was obvious.

Solve major cases.

Solve them decisively.

And, above all, solve the cases the public cared about.

That’s why someone as prominent as Samantha had personally taken Hope’s case despite the evidence being so overwhelmingly straightforward.

The murders had caused a public uproar.

A child killing her own parents violated one of the deepest taboos in society, and calls for harsh punishment had grown louder by the day.

If Samantha could secure a quick conviction, her reputation would soar.

"Boring."

Samantha shook her head.

Whatever Jerry thought of her ambitions, there was no chance Samantha would ever be stupid enough to openly admit them.

"Withdrawing the charges may not look particularly glorious," Moira said, tilting her head.

"But having the courage to admit a mistake doesn’t exactly ruin a prosecutor’s reputation."

Her gaze sharpened.

"Trying to conceal a known mistake through every method available is different."

She leaned closer.

"If the public learns that the prosecutor who prides herself on integrity knew she’d made a mistake and then deliberately buried the truth, how do you think they’ll react?"

Samantha’s eyes snapped toward her.

"What are you implying?"

She stood straighter.

"I have concealed nothing. Everything I’ve done in Hope’s case has been based on evidence and the law."

"I’m not talking about Hope’s case."

Moira took out her phone and pulled up an image.

She handed it across the table.

Samantha looked at the photograph.

Her stomach dropped.

It showed the victim from a murder scene.

"Why are you showing me this?"

"The park massacre a while back."

Moira took the phone back.

"You remember it well, I imagine. You had a front-row seat."

She continued before Samantha could respond.

"Three gang members somehow ended up in a firefight. A lot of them died, and civilians were caught in the middle."

"That was a tragedy."

Samantha’s expression had become guarded.

"It was."

Moira nodded.

"But suppose the Black Badge Division reopened the investigation on the grounds that a superhuman may have been involved."

Samantha’s eyes narrowed.

"You know as well as I do that once we claim jurisdiction in a superhuman case, identifying the victims and reconstructing the incident is easy for us."

Her voice remained calm.

"That includes the man whose photograph I just showed you. His real identity. Who paid him. Who he was working for."

Samantha said nothing.

"You weren’t far from the scene that night, were you?"

Moira watched her carefully.

"You knew about the gang gathering in advance. You mobilized your people and set up nearby."

She paused.

"But you didn’t intervene. You didn’t evacuate civilians."

"You wanted the gangs to think they were safe. You wanted to let the investigation run long enough to catch the bigger players."

"And, perhaps, you wanted the eventual results to strengthen your position in the mayoral race."

Moira’s smile disappeared.

"Then something went wrong."

Samantha’s face had gone pale.

"That was serious dereliction of duty."

"But you didn’t admit to the failure afterward. You covered it up instead."

Moira tapped the phone.

"Take that family of four, for example."

"You threatened the medical examiner into falsifying the autopsy report."

"You fabricated a story claiming the father, a veteran who had served his country, suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder, murdered his family, and then killed himself."

She turned toward Jerry.

"You’re the lawyer. Tell me how long our esteemed prosecutor could stay in prison for something like that."

Jerry had been visibly stunned when Moira first revealed the accusation, but she’d recovered quickly.

"Probably no more than three months."

Samantha stared at her.

Jerry continued.

"Poor judgment during an operation could get her fired and destroy her career. But deliberately concealing the truth and falsifying evidence is enough for prison."

She gave Samantha a measured look.

"Considering her position, her reputation, and the fact that she’s spent years building a successful prosecutorial career, three months would already be a remarkably generous outcome."

And that was assuming prison treated her gently.

New York’s famous prosecutor.

General Shepard, the defense attorney killer.

That reputation would not exactly earn her friends behind bars.

If she landed in minimum security, she might survive comfortably enough.

If she ended up in a serious prison, surviving three months would require extraordinary luck.

"You..."

Samantha’s composure finally cracked.

"You can’t prove any of that."

"Can’t I?"

Moira’s eyes sharpened.

"You really believe you’ve covered every trace?"

She leaned forward.

"You think we have no concrete evidence?"

Samantha couldn’t tell whether Moira was bluffing.

That was the problem.

The medical examiner had changed the report because Samantha had threatened him. There was no guarantee he wouldn’t fold under pressure from the Black Badge Division and turn on her.

Then Samantha saw her opening.

"You don’t have the authority to investigate that case."

Her confidence returned.

"It falls outside the Black Badge Division’s jurisdiction."

"Correct."

Moira smiled.

"That’s why I said there may have been a superhuman involved."

She spoke casually, as though discussing a technicality.

"Quite a lot of people have the potential to become superhuman. They simply haven’t experienced the right trigger, or their relevant genes remain dormant."

She shrugged.

"All we need is one victim from that massacre with such potential, and we have grounds to investigate the entire incident."

"And if none of them actually have abilities?"

Moira’s smile widened.

"It doesn’t matter."

"We’re the recognized authority in this field. If I determine that a superhuman may have been involved, then that’s sufficient."

"We’ll limit our investigation to the superhuman angle, of course. Anything unrelated will be referred to the proper authorities."

She held Samantha’s gaze.

"But which authority we refer the case to is our decision."

Moira began counting the possibilities off with her fingers.

"Maybe we return it to the NYPD exactly as we found it."

"Maybe we send it to the FBI."

"Maybe we’re good citizens and submit an anonymous tip to Internal Affairs."

She spread her hands.

"All of those options are available to us."

Samantha reached up and tugged at the collar of her shirt.

The little interrogation room suddenly felt unbearably hot.

Or perhaps it was simply because she had realized she was already standing in a trap.

"What do you want?"

Her voice had lost its sharpness.

"What exactly are you after?"

Moira stood.

Her expression softened into something almost angelic as she extended a hand.

"Just what I said from the beginning."

"Withdraw the charges."

She smiled.

"Give the innocent girl her freedom."

Her hand remained extended.

"Do that, and I’ll forget everything about this."

"After all, none of this falls under my jurisdiction anyway."

Samantha barely hesitated.

She reached out and shook Moira’s hand.

"Deal."

...