Bruce ambled to the security room where they monitored the security camera, and knocked on the door.

"Hello, I'm Bruce Wayne.  Co-owner of Fisk Industries," Bruce greeted.  "I would like to view the security cameras."

"Uh, yes, sir," the guard mumbled.  "May I ask why you want to see them?"

"Just a checkup to see if I made a good investment here at Fisk Industries," Bruce answered.

The guard moved aside for Bruce to enter the security room.  Bruce watched the cameras, looking for the one that monitored Fisk's office.

"Excuse me," Bruce said, checking the guard's badge, "Mister Li, but do you know which camera observes Fisk's office?"

"Um, only the head of security is allowed to view it," Li stated.  "He's not here right now, but I'm sure he'll allow you access once he comes back from break."

"Mister Li, I'm sure you wouldn't mind making an exception for me, and allow me access to the camera, would you?"

"I don't know, sir.  Mister Fisk, is very strict about rules."

"I'll be sure you wouldn't get in any trouble," Bruce winked.

Li sighed, then unlocked the door to the head of security's office.

"I'll be out here.  I don't want to be caught in his office."

"That's fine," Bruce called, taking a seat, and watching the camera.

"So, what news do you bring, Mister Trans?" Fisk asked.

"Your assassins failed to stop the prison convoy, and Rigoletto is going to talk to the Feds," informed Trans.

"Well, I pay you to make these kinds of problems go away," Fisk replied, crossing his fingers together.

"True, sir, but Rigoletto has 24/7 Federal security.  It'll be impossible to stage an accident," Trans reported.

"Then, find some way to convince the FBI to move him.  I'll order another hit, and I want you to be there to make sure nothing goes skewed," Fisk ordered.

"Yes, sir.  It might take some time to make the Feds feel the safe house is unsafe for Rigoletto to reside," Trans stated.

"How long?"

"Maybe a week?"

"Maybe?"

"For sure, one week," Trans amended.

"Okay, then, you best be off, and notify me of the progress of your plan," Fisk said, shooing Trans away.

Trans left the room in a hurry.

"Well, that was certainly informative," Bullseye said, leaving his position behind the drapes.

"How long have you been there?" Fisk asked, annoyed.

"Long enough.  I just came to report the progress on our other assignment."

"Ah, and how is it coming along?"

"Your intimidation approach didn't quite work.  After I notified him of the situation, he pulled a Glock on me.  A Glock.  Had that been anyone else, I would have fed him his heart, but I knew you wanted him alive," Bulseye stated.

"Preferably, but if he doesn't want to cooperate than he doesn't have to.  Fisk Industries is the biggest shareholder, and if he dies, for whatever reason, I will become the head of his company."

"But doesn't he have a kid somewhere in Europe?"

"He does, but his son is estranged, and it'll take a little while to notify him of his father passing.  By that time, I will control the company, and set my plans in motion," Fisk stated.

Bruce rose from his seat, thanked the guard, left Fisk Industries, and called the law firm.

"I found out who was Fisk's nine o'clock.  Some FBI official, last name Trans.  They were plotting on how to kill Rigoletto, and prevent him from sharing Fisk's true identity," Bruce stated.

"Interesting, anything else?"

"Yes, Bullseye dropped by, and was discussing the reason the assassins were here.  The target is some executive in a Wayne Enterprises-style corporation," Bruce added.

"Do we have a name?" Matt asked.

"No, they kept referring to him as 'him' or 'he'," Bruce recalled.  "But we can use Trans to identify the target.  If that doesn't work, I'm having my friend in Gotham clean the file I found at Deadshot's hideout.  The file will reveal the target once she's done with it."

"Okay, good work.  I have my own investigation to get back to," Matt stated, as he hung up.

At the old boxing arena...

"Hello, are you Roscoe Sweeney?" Matt asked, approaching a man.

"Who's asking?"

"Matthew Murdock."

"Matt?!  When was the last time we last talked?"

"The morning of my father's murder," Matt stated.  "Actually, that's why I'm here.  I want to ask you how much you knew about his death.  Before it happened, of course."

"Matt, are you crazy?  Are you trying to imply I know the wacko who killed Jack?"

"I'm not implying it.  I know it, I just want to hear you say it.  I know your secret business you had here twenty years ago."

"What are you talking about?"

"You arranged fights.  Who would take the fall, and when they would fall.  You advised people who to put money on, but, of course, for a fee.  You see, Roscoe, I know how much money you'd make after a match.  The business was pretty strong, wasn't it?  But not until Battlin' Jack arrived, right?"

"Listen, Matt.  Your father was an amazing boxer, but he was growing old," Roscoe stated.  "Eventually, he couldn't take out his opponents without a little help.  I arranged his matches, building up the reputation of Battlin' Jack, and without me, he wouldn't have been the legend he is today.  But people started to grow suspicious of how a fifty-year-old man could take on guys in their twenties.  So, I told him how he beat all those guys, and told him it was his turn to fall.  I said that we had some serious investors that wouldn't take too kindly if he did otherwise.  But you wanna know what he said back?"

"What?"

"He told me, 'I'm not taking that fall.  My son is going to be there, and I want him to be proud of me.'  I hoped he would change his mind before the match, and one helluva match it was.  At one point, his opponent, Rocky Davis, floored him with a right hook.  I was so sure Jack took me up on the offer, right up until the ref called nine, when Jack got up.  When he got back up, the whole arena cheered.  No one believed that he could do it, but he got up with a vengeance.  He got back up, and started slamming Rocky.  The ring started shaking every time Jack threw a punch, and after Jack's infamous left cross, Rocky didn't get up for well over ten minutes," Roscoe recalled.

"And then you had him killed, didn't you?" Matt accused.

"Matt, I was painted into a corner.  One of Rigoletto's men put money on that match.  Of course, today you probably don't know who Rigoletto is, but one of his mob enforcers put money on the match.  After the match, his guy said I had to clean up my mess, and I wasn't about to say no to the mob.  So, I got a couple of guys together, and we waited for Jack to leave the arena.  It wasn't too hard to take care of him, we had a few bats, and he was still tired from the match.  He asked us what we were doing, but then we laid it into him.  He was begging us to stop, begging his friend to stop, but I ignored him.  We kept hitting him, again, again, and again!  Finally, when we got our heads together, I realized what I had done.  I booked, and so did the rest of the guys," Roscoe admitted, sobbing.

"Who were the others?" Matt asked.

"Slade McCarter and Joel Miller," Roscoe cried, his shoulders shaking.  "Matt, I didn't want your father's death, but the mob pressured me."

"Then why didn't you go to the police?!" Mat scolded.

"I wasn't thinking, Matt, I'm so sorry."

"Who in the mob put the money against my dad?"

"Harold Howard," Roscoe answered, his hands covering his face.  "Matt, for the last twenty years, I have been living a life full of regret.  I can't look at a picture of your father without thinking what I did all those years ago."

"Roscoe, you killed my father in cold blood.  I can't ever forgive that, but what you did was redeemed yourself.  If you want to stop feeling regret every second of your life, you will go to the local police station and turn yourself in," Matt stated.  "And if or when the police drag in your crew, you will testify against them."

Roscoe nodded, stating, "I'm sorry, Matt.  I understand that I took your father away from you at an unfair age, but hopefully while I'm at Rikers, you'll find some kind of peace."