Chapter Fifty: Harry Winston
Jasmine toyed with the dark navy blue ribbon on the top of the Harry Winston bag in her lap mindlessly. Its silky texture was luxurious against her skin as she stared out the blacked out windows of one of the many SUV’s in Fisk’s fleet. She only hoped that he would be in a better mood than he was the last time; Jasmine had seen worse, but she’d seen better too. No amount of anger was a comfortable amount of anger when it came to Wilson Fisk.
He’d been disgusted with her truancy, and Jasmine, in an attempt to keep her personal life just that, hadn’t offered up a good enough explanation for her absence. Still, there was a good chance that Fisk had cast a wide net and used his inexhaustible pool of connections to find out just what was keeping Jasmine away for so long. It wasn’t unlike him to use one’s family or loved ones against them, but it was unlike him to send a warning first. She wasn’t convinced the note had come from him, but it wasn’t an impossibility. The reference to her past life was cause for concern.
If he uncovered those truths, realized just how untruthful Jasmine had been towards him, there was nothing in the world that would stop him from killing her. Their alliance was amicable, even familial at times, but Fisk was always looking for a reason to eliminate points of weakness. He wouldn’t take kindly to unearthing such a fabricated narrative in his own inner circle. Jasmine knew better than to assume the terms of their meeting would be friendly, in truth, it was more likely to be lethal.
She hadn’t brought the note with her, it was tucked away safely in the drawer of her nightstand. The tiny piece of paper had consumed a large portion of her attention since it was placed in her hand. And the more she thought about it, the more peculiar it seemed. There were no demands or instructions. It was hardly a threat at all. Maybe it was a warning? Whoever sent it wanted her to know they knew where Bradley lived, but why? What did they want from her besides the space it occupied in her brain? A distraction? Maybe, but from what?
Maybe it was an attempt to lure her away from New York.
It was Wesley who greeted her at the door of an address that Jasmine did not recognize. His chilly and professional demeanor was consistent, a mirage that barely concealed the contempt wafting from his person at the mere sight of her. His stiff smile was more reminiscent of a snarl, the way his lips curled around his teeth was almost an unsettling show of passive-aggression.
“Good to see you, Miss Jackson,” he lied.
“You as well,” Jasmine lied back.
Wilson’s silhouette was unmistakable in the bluing rays of the twilight that quickly befell the city. His physical form was imposing, but there was a softness in his eyes as she rounded the corner that put her strangely at ease. His good-natured, lopsided smile graced his face briefly as he pulled out a black wood chair at an equally black table.
They’d never met at this location before. Jasmine would have been much more uneasy if it didn’t appear to be his home. High in the clouds, Fisk would be able to look down on his city with a discerning eye. Jasmine had heard mutterings that he was in the midst of lengthy remodels.
“You have a lovely home,” she falsely flattered the man. The unit was devoid of color, white walls, gray floors, black furniture. It almost looked staged, as if it were a penthouse in a brochure. It was classy enough, surely an expensive showing, but it lacked any real character or charm. It was just as serious and anonymous as its owner.
“Thank you, I’m glad you could join us here. Wesley and I were thrilled to receive your message,” Wilson’s face was earnest. Wesley’s face reflected the same default expression it always wore as he nodded on cue with Wilson’s words.
His sentiment seemed cheerful enough, a stark comparison to when they last spoke. Wilson had always been genuine in the display of his emotions, Jasmine didn’t think he could help himself if he tried. It was Wesley that was difficult to truly read. He possessed such a practiced degree of serenity, that Jasmine wasn’t sure he really contained a genuine personality. His thoughts, needs and desires, in that order, all aligned with exactly what Wilson needed from him at any given moment.
“I had begun to worry that I had scared you off with my temper,” Wilson admitted, his plump thumbs twiddling mindlessly on the dark table.
“No, of course not. I don’t take it personally, it’s just business.”
“That’s the thing, Miss Jackson,” Wilson interjected, “It was personal.”
Her stomach dropped at his words, her trained face remained unchanged.
“New developments, evolving situations,” Wilson’s voice boomed through the empty penthouse, “Things have changed for me, Miss Jackson.”
“What kinds of things?” Jasmine cautioned, her fingers clenching around the ribbon on the jewelry bag tightly.
“I’ve met someone.”
“Oh?”
“She is exquisite, captivating and as of right now, she is just as important to me as this city,” pink tones flushed across his face as he spoke. His words poured out of his mouth like a syrupy sweet admission that belied the aggressive furrow in his brow.
Jasmine fought to keep her relief from spreading onto her features, “That’s so nice to hear.” Wesley’s face remained just as impassive.
“I want to apologize for the way I’ve been treating you lately, Miss Jackson. I had to be sure that your priorities still aligned with my own, and that if necessary, you could be called upon to protect all of my interests.”
Jasmine nodded, pretending to consider his apology. “Wilson,” she began slowly, delighting in the glare she earned from Wesley, he never did like how she put herself on a first name basis with him, “I understand completely. I have people in my life that I want to protect, too. Believe it or not, I too have people I’d burn down the world for.”
“I do believe it, Miss. Jackson. If love can find me, there is no reason to believe it can’t find you, too.”
If only it were that simple.
“That’s why I was away for so long, I was burning the world,” Jasmine shrugged, “Parts of it anyway.”
“I would have been more understanding if I knew-”
“You pay me, Wilson. I work for you. My problems are my problems.”
“As true as that may be, I consider you to be more than that. Miss Jackson, you are my friend. You have yet to let me down, it was wrong of me to assume that you would.”
“Either way,” Jasmine placed the dark blue bag onto the smooth surface and slid it towards the head of the table where he was sitting, “I wanted to apologize, too. For not being around.”
His large hand disappeared into the navy blue tissue paper and rustled around until he pulled out a dark blue box covered in luxurious velvet. Wesley’s eyes were beady little pits of jealous rage as he stared her down from across the table.
“Jennifer, you really shouldn’t have,” Wilson’s eyes went wide as he opened the box. His massive fingers dwarfed the chain in his hands as he held it up to the light. Several karats worth of tiny diamonds twinkled as he turned the hearty chain in his hands.
“Nonsense. That’s why I asked for this meeting,” Jasmine fibbed, “I really dropped the ball, and I know that you count on me to get things done around here. I wanted to get you something nice, something to show you that I’m not going anywhere.”
On his own accord, Wesley dutifully rose from his chair and undid the clasp on the chain. He wrapped it around Wilson’s neck. Part of it disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt, but the portion that remained visible offered a demure sparkle.
“It’s lovely,” Wilson marveled, “Thank you. This is one of the kindest gifts anyone has ever given to me.”
“It’s my pleasure,” Jasmine said with a million dollar smile, softly tugging at the tennis bracelet on her wrist.
“Ever since you came to me proposing the staged break in of one of my facilities, I’ve held a level of trust and respect for you that I don’t extend to many others. It’s why I continue to call on you to do so much work for me. Your discretion is unparalleled,” Fisk’s brows furrowed as his prominent frown lines gave away that there was much more on his mind than just the pleasant exchange of apologies.
Jasmine nodded politely at the compliment, it had been her idea to feign infiltration into the Union Allied building. The move had been ingenious if Jasmine had to describe it in a single word. It gained Wilson’s trust while simultaneously discrediting his organization as a threat to S.H.I.E.L.D.
“There is some interest generating in your company over at S.H.I.E.L.D,” Jasmine had warned him.
“And what do you suggest we do about it?” The question had been directed to her at the time, but looking back now, Jasmine wonders if he was really talking to Wesley. She produced a chunk of metal from her bag and it collided with the wooden conference table with a loud thud.
“What is that?”
“It’s Chitari metal. It’s alien. I wouldn’t touch it with your bare hands, it's got a wicked gamma signature.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“What do you want me to do with this?” Skepticism and annoyance were spread across Wilson’s face at the time.
“Put it on lock down in your facility. It’s only a matter of time before one of the S.H.I.E.L.D gamma experts finds it. When that happens, I’ll ‘break in’ and take it off your hands. Then in the eyes of the agency, you’ll have no more assets at your disposal. You will no longer be of interest. They’ll move on to bigger and better.”
“And they’ll believe you?”
“Probably not, but I’ll bring someone they will believe.”
The imitation heist had earned a personal seal of approval from Captain America and Wilson Fisk alike, both confident that Jasmine was representing the best interest of their respective organizations.
“There is a street level threat that is growing stronger each day you’re not available to run interference for me,” Wilson began, pulling her from the memory.
Jasmine nodded once again, “I think I know who you’re talking about.”
“You do?” Wilson’s face twisted into a frown.
“It’s my job to know.”
“It’s also your job to inform me of any potential threats.”
“It’s my job to protect you and the best interest of this organization,” Jasmine’s tone was far more confident than either man would have liked it to be, “It's my job to consult on these things when necessary.”
“No,” Wesley’s sharp tone pierced the quiet, “It’s my job to provide counsel. It’s your job to follow orders, not determine what is and is not necessary information,” His words were bitter. For him, Jasmine’s brazenness was anathema.
“Wesley,” Wilson held up a silencing hand in his direction, “Miss Jackson, why haven’t you done anything about the situation?”
Jasmine didn’t fight the smug smirk that tugged at the corner of her lips as she watched Wesley be hushed. “Because, addressing him would have told him that he was on the right track.”
“Look where we are now, Jennifer,” Wesley snapped, his eyes dark and unamused, “He is on the right track.”
“Yeah,” Jasmine snapped back, “Months after the fact. Treating him as a non issue bought us a lot of time while he weeded through what portion of the mess was ours, and what was inherent to this city.”
“I thought by now that one of the others would have removed him as a threat. He’s certainly causing more than his fair share of trouble,” Wilson muttered, his shoulders as tense as granite.
“With all due respect, sir, you had me take out most of his obstacles. It cleared the path to the throne, so to speak,” Jasmine offered with more tact this time.
“He’s getting bolder,” Wilson declared, a twinge of anger seeping into his voice, “His bandwidth has become impossibly large. Reports of a masked vigilante interfering with ground level operations have increased exponentially.”
“That’s because he has a partner,” Wesley interrupted, his voice confident and a touch apologetic.
“He does?” Jasmine scoffed. They must not have been talking about the same guy, Matt Murdock was a lone wolf type. It’s part of the reason Jasmine let him live, he was an obstacle that could be removed at any time, a single man that was inconsequential in the grand scheme of it all.
“Are you sure?” Wilson demanded.
Jasmine watched Wesley nod with a nauseating degree of temerity, “I spoke with a member of the wait staff at Scarpetta’s the other night. When I asked her what she knew of our concerns regarding the informant in the Italian Mafia, she said that she already answered the questions I was asking her. When I asked who was inquiring, she said she was approached by not one, but two masked individuals.”
“Did she describe them to you?” Wilson inquired with a hopeful expression.
Jasmine knew it was a misplaced wish, Matt Murdock wouldn’t have put himself in a position to be recognized. And he wouldn’t have aligned himself with someone who would allow it, either. He was a contrarian pain in the ass, but he wasn’t a fucking idiot.
Jasmine anticipated the words before they came out of Wesley’s mouth in the same arid tone they always did, “She said it was too dark to see.”
The words displeased him. He would have let them know if it weren’t for the sudden ringing in his pocket, “Excuse me.” He left the table, clambering away to some semi-private corner of his open concept apartment as his voice grumbled incoherently into the phone.
Wesley’s face was decidedly bitter as he sat, unmoving across from her.
“Are you upset that I didn’t get you a necklace, too?” Jasmine sneered.
“I’m not sure what kind of games you’re playing here, Miss Jackson, but I can assure you that I don’t want anything from you. Ever.”
“Your mother didn’t hug you when you were a child, did she?”
“You wear way too much perfume,” he snapped in the same instant the question left her mouth.
“I’ve literally never had any complaints before.”
“You must not acquaint yourself with those who have a sense of smell,” Wesley glared at her bitterly.
“Are you still mad at me for threatening your life? That was like five years ago, grow up,” Jasmine rolled her eyes.
Wesley opened his thin lips to deliver another serrating insult, but Wilson’s booming anger ripped through the spacious penthouse, “WELL GET IT DONE.”
“I apologize for that,” Wilson sighed as he took his seat at the table once again, replacing his cell phone in his suit pocket.
“Not necessary, sir,” Wesley assured him, “Thought, I do think we’d be remiss not to mention the gala situation to Miss Jackson,” he ventured tentatively.
“Yes of course,” Wilson conceded, “There is a charity gala being held in Midtown, two nights from now . I would like for you to attend, I believe the masked vigilantes might use this opportunity to strike against me, or worse, my beloved.”
“I don’t think-”
“I’m not inclined to take no as an answer, Miss Jackson.”
“I appreciate your concern, Wilson, but I don’t think a high profile gala would be the best place for a vigilante to strike. It’s too visible. With your permission,” Jasmine made purposeful, but submissive eye contact with him, “I’d like to shake down some of my contacts in Hell’s Kitchen and see if I can’t find out who this guy really is and who he might be working with.”
“Do you really think you can find them?” Wilson questioned.
“I don’t know,” Jasmine admitted, “I’d like the wiggle room to try, though. These types of things tend to take on a life of their own, it’s hard to anticipate what might happen.”
“You’ll keep me updated?” Wilson pressed.
“Of course,” Jasmine’s response was buttery, though she had no intention of revealing what she already knew.
“Then you have my permission,” Wilson proclaimed.
“We’ll be in touch,” Jasmine assured.
“Have a good night, Miss Jackson. Thank you, for this beautiful piece,” Wilson was sincere as his fingers brushed along the dazzling diamond chain.
“Don't thank me, thank Harry Winston."
“Have a good night, Miss Jackson,” Wesley said with synthetic contentment as she pushed in her chair and saw herself out.
Get bent, asshole.